Love Can Be Murder

morning in a South Bend neighborhood, a few miles from campus. Police are releasing few details, but a source tells us that Seger, a bachelor and a deacon of the university church, was strangled by a woman's scarf. The mystery comes in the middle of the university's Homecoming activities, when the city's population increases by half. The police have questioned suspects, including some of Dr. Seger's former students, but an arrest has not yet been made. School officials will hold a memorial service for Dr. Seger next week."
    She lowered the volume. "It still doesn't seem real."
    "Much of life is like that," he said, then stretched tall in a yawn. "Do you want to hit the shower first, or should I?"
    "Um, go ahead. I need to make a few phone calls."
    He stood and gestured to his gun lying in a holster on the TV cabinet. "Do you know how to use old Pete here?"
    She nodded. "I've been to the firing range a few times."
    "The safety is on. Don't answer the door."
    "Duh."
    He moved his body like an animal, slow and measured, and sure of himself. Comfortable. Sexy. Male. The smooth skin of his wide back was broken by a four-inch-long scar, fully healed, but red and perhaps less than a year old. She was torn between asking its origin and not wanting him to know she noticed.
    "Steak knife," he said, standing with his back to her.
    "What?"
    He turned. "The scar. I was stabbed with a steak knife by a woman trying to keep me from arresting her boyfriend who had just broken her jaw." His smile was wry. "My partner told me that's what I got for turning my back on a woman."
    "Looks like it was a serious wound."
    "Serious enough. Made me start appreciating the things that are important."
    "Like?"
    "Like family and friends and pistachio ice cream."
    She relinquished a small smile. "You're lucky. Most people spend their entire lives trying to figure out what makes them happy." The voice of experience.
    "I'm no expert," he said, folding thick arms over his chest, "but it seems to me that people complicate their lives either by trying to be something they're not, or by trying to fix things they can't."
    I'VE GOT YOUR NUMBER, YOU FAKE.
    Some things just can't be fixed, Roxann, no matter how much glue you put on 'em.
    She swallowed and gestured to the phone. "I really should make those calls."
    He leaned over to pull off his boots and tall thick socks. She watched beneath her lashes, mesmerized. Bare feet were not typically the sexiest part of the body, but just the fact that she was seeing them reminded her of the intimacy of their sleeping arrangement. He rifled through a drawer and removed pale blue boxers, navy pajama pants, and a white T-shirt. He walked toward the bathroom, then stopped short of the door and grinned. "If you happen to change your mind—"
    "I won't, Detective."
    He sighed and disappeared behind the closed door. The water came on, then the shower, and she tried to think about something else. Oh, yes—the phone calls.
    Not a pleasant task. First to her father, who would've probably heard about the murder by now. He had, and he was worried.
    "Yes, Dad, Angora and I both know—knew—Dr. Seger. And we were both questioned because we saw him last night at a campus event." True enough. "The police haven't made any arrests yet."
    "When are you coming back?" he asked, suddenly sounding old.
    "Soon," she promised. "Angora had a gallbladder attack this morning and is in the hospital. She's having surgery tomorrow and we'll stay until she's able to travel, probably a few more days."
    "Does Dixie know?"
    "I thought I'd leave it up to Angora whether she wanted to contact her mother."
    "I don't like the idea of you being there alone with a murderer on the loose."
    "I'm not alone." She hesitated. "Officer Capistrano is... around."
    "Oh. Well, I guess that makes me feel a little better."
    The bathroom door opened and Capistrano yelled, "Roxann, can you hand me a bar of soap?" Then the door closed again.
    She covered the mouth of the phone, sending curses through the wall.
    "So you are seeing him?" her dad asked.
    "No, I'm not seeing him. He just happens to be—never mind. One thing before I go, Dad." She took a deep breath. "Angora told me about Mother...that she didn't want custody of me when you divorced."
    After a few seconds of silence, he said, "Dixie has a big mouth."
    "Why didn't you tell me?"
    He sighed. "Your heart was already broken like that sad little teacup you carried around. I couldn't bear for you to know that your