Love Can Be Murder

weren't fixin' to leave town, were you?"
    "No. Just wanted to get my things from the hotel and book a room."
    "You have a room."
    "And book a private room."
    "Look, about what happened between us, I'm sorry—"
    "I'm sorry, too," she cut in with a glib smile. "And we need never to talk about it again."
    He frowned. "I was going to say I'm sorry we were interrupted."
    Oh. "Well, considering I was taken from the hotel in handcuffs, so am I."
    He sighed and ran his hands through his auburn hair, displacing more water. "Do you think I could dry off before we continue our one long argument?"
    She dug her keys out of her purse. "I might have a towel in the van. I want to take a look inside anyway."
    Big mistake.
    The seats had been slashed, including the bench behind the driver's seat. The items from her box of mementos were strewn. She found the crushed box and slowly started putting things in as she found them—a keychain, a charm bracelet, the Magic 8 Ball. All of the personal items she kept stashed in the back had been ransacked and scattered—blankets to cover cold, fleeing bodies, nonperishable snacks to feed hungry little bellies, and her relic of a suitcase filled with disguise clothing. This was most apparent in the form of a blond wig that had been singled out and attached to the dashboard with a wicked-looking buck knife.
    A blond wig.
    They said Tammy had something on your cousin, was holding it over her head... something to do with a blond wig.
    Her lungs squeezed, and she gulped for air. It was all connected somehow, her past and her present.
    "What is it?" Capistrano demanded. "Roxann, what's wrong?"
    YOU FAKE. I'VE GOT YOUR NUMBER, YOU FAKE.

Chapter Twenty-eight

    IT WAS A PITIFUL collection of memories, Roxann decided, looking over the contents of the battered box jostling on her lap. She picked up the Magic 8 Ball and silently posed the question "Is my life a national disaster?" She turned over the toy.
    Yes, definitely.
    Capistrano thumped his hand on the steering wheel of the Dooley. "Dammit, Roxann, if you don't tell me what's wrong, I can't help you."
    "What's wrong? What isn't wrong?"
    "Something spooked you back there."
    "Isn't it enough to find Goldie destroyed?"
    "You named your van?"
    "You named your gun."
    He frowned. "All those clothes and wigs—do you use them when you move women from place to place?"
    "Sometimes."
    "Is there some significance to that blond wig?"
    She swallowed. "It had a knife through it."
    "I mean the wig itself—or the color. Is Melissa Cape blond?"
    "Brunette."
    "Do you think it was a threat against Angora?"
    "Maybe."
    "You know something you're not telling me."
    "Give it a rest, Detective. I've had a bad day."
    He sighed and shifted on the towel he'd spread over the seat of his truck. Another towel was draped over his bare shoulders. "How did it go today at the courthouse?"
    "Fine and dandy."
    "I'm serious."
    She fingered her green and white Notre Dame tassel, with the little '96 gold-tone charm attached. "After the arraignment, the DA offered me and Angora a deal if we'd serve up the other one."
    "And your cousin didn't jump on it?"
    "No." She frowned. "I thought you liked Angora."
    "Like?"
    "Well, the way you look at her—" She stopped before he got the impression that she was jealous or something stupid like that.
    He grinned. "You're jealous."
    "You're delusional. And I thought we were talking about the meeting."
    "Did you tell the DA about Angora—the possible mental problems, the comments she made?"
    "No. She underwent a psych consult at the hospital."
    "And?"
    "And, according to her attorney, she's a pathological liar and fantastically spoiled, but she wouldn't harm anyone. I had a private heart-to-heart with her—she didn't do it."
    "I hope you're right." He checked the rearview mirror, ever alert.
    "But she did tell me a couple of things that could be important."
    "Like?"
    She dropped the tassel back into the box. "Like she went down on Dr. Seger in his office once when she was a student."
    He emitted a low whistle. "I thought you said she was a virgin."
    "Do I have to give you a definition of 'virgin'?"
    "No, but that's not exactly virginal behavior."
    Roxann shrugged. "She must've been crazy about him is all I can say."
    "So chances are, Dr. Seger was participating in extracurricular activities with his students?"
    She squirmed. "Chances are."
    "But he never hit on you?"
    "No."
    "He must've liked you."
    She cut her gaze to him. "Are you saying that guys