Love Can Be Murder

and me together, so you sneaked over to spy on us."
    "You're wrong." Roxann crossed her arms. "I had heard some bad things about Carl, and I was worried about you. But when I got there, I realized it was wrong and that you're old enough to take care of yourself."
    "That's right," Angora flung back. "Haven't you interfered enough in my life?"
    Roxann gaped. "Interfered? If you recall, I've gotten you out of more than one jam."
    Angora narrowed her eyes. "And if I recall, you were rewarded nicely."
    Her stomach leaped. "Angora, don't do this. You're upset."
    She flailed against the sheets, eyes wild. "And why shouldn't I be? My cousin is framing me for murder. I knew everyone else was out to get me, but I thought I could trust you."
    Roxann eased down to sit on the end of the bed, maintaining level eye contact. It was the best way to calm an unstable person. "Angora," she said softly. "No one is out to get you—we all want to help. If you killed Carl in self-defense, you'll be acquitted."
    But Angora became even more agitated. "I told you, and I told the police—I passed out!"
    "And I believe you," Roxann assured her. At least she believed that Angora believed she'd passed out.
    "No you don't," Angora said, pulling up her legs and hunkering against her pillow. "I think you did it, and you're setting me up. You've made my life miserable since we were kids—you had everything. You were prettier and smarter." Her face contorted and she assumed a "Dee" pose. "Angora, why can't you be more like Roxann?"
    Roxann swallowed hard. "You're not being fair."
    "Fair? Don't talk to me about fair." She laughed, a high-pitched screech. "My mother wanted you instead of me. She wanted you more than your own mother wanted you."
    "That's not true."
    "Oh, yes it is." Angora stabbed the air with an ink-stained finger. "The reason your father got custody of you after the divorce wasn't because he was trying to keep you from your mother—your mother didn't want you."
    Her lungs shrank. "That's an ugly thing to say."
    But Angora was triumphant. "It's true. Your mother didn't want you. And everyone in the family knew except you."
    Roxann stood and stumbled back, shaking her head, replaying snatches of long-forgotten memories in her head—the custody hearing that had seemed so lopsided, plans to see her mother that always seemed to dissolve at the last minute. She thought her father had thwarted the visits, but had he been covering up for her mother all these years? Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, a mild reaction considering the fact that the foundation of her childhood beliefs had just been rocked. She whirled and ran smack into Capistrano, who, by the look on his face, had heard at least the end of their conversation. Face flaming, she charged around him. "I'm leaving."
    But he captured her with one arm. "Dr. Oney just called. Frank Cape came to see her."
    Alarm zigzagged through her limbs. "Is she okay?"
    He nodded. "Just shaken up. She'd like to see you."
    She puffed out her cheeks in an exhausted sigh. "Will you take me?"
    "Of course." He waved a uniformed security officer forward. "I notified the police to be on the lookout for Cape, and I thought I'd have someone posted near your cousin in case he made an appearance here."
    He'd thought of everything, and God, it was nice to be looked after, instead of doing the looking aftering. "Thank you."
    He nodded, taking it all in stride, this being-in-charge thing. "Let's get out of here," he said, his eyes sympathetic.
    "Roxann," Angora said behind them, her voice contrite. "Roxann, don't leave me here alone with a madman on the loose. I'm sorry for what I said. Roxann?"
    But she was over Angora's tantrums, and tired of making excuses for her. At the doorway she turned back. "I never thought I'd say this, Angora, but you're your mother's daughter."
    From the blanched look on Angora's face, the comment had hit its mark.

Chapter Twenty-three

    ROXANN SLUMPED IN THE SEAT of Capistrano's truck and wondered what all the sane people in the world were doing. And to think a week ago she'd believed her life was complicated. Ha.
    She glanced at her watch—six o'clock in the evening, and the longest day of her life seemed far from over. If she were in England, she'd be getting ready for bed about now. A memory stirred and she cursed.
    "Was that meant for me?"
    She sighed. "No. With all the commotion, I completely forgot about meeting Elise at the chapel."
    "So call her. The police might want