Love Can Be Murder

her own, then she checked other issues of the magazine and found a mother lode of wonderful comfort-food recipes—homemade macaroni and cheese, buttermilk biscuits, hot brown, sweet potato pie. When she had her own kitchen, she could make whatever she wanted to eat. And if Trenton didn't like it, she'd simply sneak and eat it alone.
    Her phone rang, and Mike Brown was on the other end with the time and place of the polygraph the following day. "I'll drive you," he offered. "I have to dress a couple of hams, but I should be through in plenty of time."
    She had the feeling that dressing the hams didn't involve matching shoes and handbags. "Mike, I want to thank you for all your help, and I'd like to pay you for your trouble."
    "Ah, forget about it," he said. "Just getting to know you has been a pleasure."
    She imagined him pushing up his glasses. "I think you're nice, too," she said.
    "See you tomorrow," he said cheerfully. "Call me if you need anything."
    Angora hung up the phone thinking that Mike Brown was the kind of man who probably put away a lot of meat loaf and gravy. Heck, he probably grew his own meat loaf.
    She reached for the remote and turned on the TV. Carl's murder and the death of Frank Cape were all the rage on the local news. She shivered at her brush with danger. Her guardian angel must have senior status to have gotten her through this mess.
    A honking noise blared into her room, startling her. The source of the intermittent sound wasn't readily apparent, but she deduced it was some kind of alarm. She sat up, holding one hand against her bandages. The intercom beeped.
    "The fire alarm has been sounded. If you’re able, please vacate your room and proceed to the nearest exit. Emergency personnel will be around to make sure each room has been evacuated. The fire alarm has been sounded..."
    Her heart beat faster as she swung her feet over the edge of the bed. The movement pulled at her incisions, sending burning pain through her abdomen. She inhaled sharply. Her room was on the eighth floor—how would she ever make it down the stairs?
    The door to her room swung open and she sighed in relief at the sight of Nell Oney. "Dr. Oney, thank goodness you're here. Can you help me? Over there are my house shoes, and my coat is in that closet."
    But instead, the woman locked the door and walked toward her, smiling. "There is no fire."

Chapter Thirty-three

    ROXANN SLAMMED DOWN t he phone—Angora's line was still busy. Nearing panic, she tore downstairs and outside into the parking lot, praying that Capistrano had been delayed. It would take her forever to flag a taxi. She spotted the Dooley pulling away from her and her immense relief fueled a burst of adrenaline. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, waving and screaming at the top of her lungs. "Wait! Capistrano, wait!" Just when her fear peaked, the brake lights came on. She stumbled, recovered, and flung herself toward the truck.
    He opened the door. "What's wrong?"
    She was too winded to talk. "To the hospital...fast." She yanked open the passenger side door and vaulted inside.
    Capistrano pulled out, following her hand directions. "Did something happen to Angora?"
    "I can't...be sure...but I think...she's in danger."
    "From whom?"
    "Nell."
    "What?"
    She took a deep breath and exhaled. "I found a page from the ME report that fell under the credenza in the hotel room. Carl's middle name is Chester."
    He frowned. "I don't get it."
    "Nell's favorite cat, the one she dotes on, is named Chester."
    He scratched his temple. "Okay."
    "I think she's been in love with him all these years. I think she put Frank Cape up to killing Carl."
    "That's a pretty big leap, Roxann."
    "No. I remembered something that Cape said when he told me he killed Carl. He said a lot of good it did him, and that nobody keeps their word. I think Nell struck a bargain with him—kill Carl, and she'd find out where Melissa was living."
    "Did she find out?"
    "No, but not for lack of trying. She asked me several times, and my supervisor said she'd even been in touch with him about the case. And I distinctly remember a conversation where she asked about Melissa and Renita." She shook her head. "I never mentioned their names."
    "But how would she have gotten in touch with Cape?"
    "I'm guessing through Elise James—she ran with a pretty bad element." She wet her lips. "Elise is dead, by the way. Overdose on prescription drugs that were laced with something. But I'm starting to