Got Your Number (17 page)

"You think I'm dumb."

"I don't want to put you in danger."

She teared up. "Just because I'm not as smart as you, Roxann, doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid, Angora." Roxann sighed. "Melissa Cape is a woman I helped to relocate away from her ex-husband, Frank."

The tears evaporated. "And Capistrano wants to send her back?"

"He wants her to testify against her ex, who shot Capistrano's partner and put him in a coma. Meanwhile, Frank Cape is on my ass because he's trying to find her, too."

"To prevent her from testifying."

"Right"

"Wowee. You're the only one who knows where she is?"

"Yes."

"Omigod, this is so much better than my job."

Roxann glanced in the side mirror, perplexed to see no headlights behind her.

Capistrano had given up the chase? "The story gets a little more complicated."

"Okay, but talk slow."

Roxann counted to three. "I left Biloxi because someone broke into my duplex and typed a threat on my computer screen."

"So you weren't planning to come to my wedding all along?"

All roads led back to Angora. "I only received the invitation that day."

"Oh. Was it the freaky Cape guy who broke into your place?"

"I thought so, but just now when he confronted me at the carnival—"

"He was
here?
Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. "He was only trying to scare me. Capistrano got there before anything happened."

"So Joe saved your life?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

"He's really dreamy."

"Can I finish?"

"Well, he is."

"Anyway,
when I accused Cape of breaking into my place, he denied it."

"So he lied."

"No, he truly seemed surprised."

"But who else could have done it?"

"Well, there are other ex-husbands, I suppose, who might have found out where I live, but that would take some doing. Cape is a PI, so he has resources."

"What did the message say?"

Roxann exhaled. "It said, 'I've got your number, you fake.'"

"What does that mean?"

"I honestly don't know."

"It sounds personal."

"I had a problem with a roommate, so she might have come back."

"She?"

"Elise James—she was a grad student at Notre Dame when we were freshmen, but I didn't know her then. Did you?"

Angora squinted. "I... don't believe so."

"The Rescue program paired us up when I moved to Biloxi."

"What kind of problem did you have with her?"

Roxann sighed. "It's personal."

"Ooh, tell me."

"Elise... made a pass at me."

The whites of Angora's eyes shone clear in the semi-darkness of the cab. "She's a lesbian?"

"Actually, I think she might be experimenting."

"And you weren't interested in experimenting?"

"No,
Angora, I wasn't."

"Don't get so testy. Can you find out if this woman broke into your place?"

"I don't know how to contact her. Elise left the program and they don't know where she is."

"Are there any other suspects?"

She quirked a brow—Angora was getting into this. "An old boyfriend from Birmingham crossed my mind. He and I parted on bad terms several months ago."

"Was he violent?"

"No, but he had an attitude. And a drinking problem, so anything's possible."

"You have bad taste in men."

Roxann checked the side mirror—no Capistrano. "
We
have bad taste in men."

"Except for Dr. Carl."

Roxann had to admit that he seemed to be pulling her toward South Bend, but part of that, she acknowledged, was wanting to escape her current problems. "Capistrano had Frank Cape's car impounded, and he won't be able to pick it up until morning. So to get a jump on him, we'll have to drive all night."

"Okay."

"And no more credit cards—the charges are too easy to trace. Whatever cash you need, get it from an ATM while we're here."

Angora sighed. "Without Trenton's card, I don't have any money."

"What about your own bank account?"

"Overdrawn—there were too many wedding expenses."

Roxann slowed the van. "Angora, I have a little money, but we're going to have to be
very
frugal for the rest of the trip." An alien notion to her cousin.

But Angora held her left hand out in front of her. Her enormous engagement ring caught the light. "No we won't."

Chapter 13

"Welcome home, my dear."

Roxann walked into Dr. Nell Oney's sweatered embrace, inhaling the woman's signature vanilla scent, grateful beyond words that she hadn't changed over the years. But when she felt the woman's frail bones through the heavy clothing, she realized how much her mentor had aged—more gray in her soft brown hair, more lines around her gentle mouth. Still, she remained an attractive woman, aging gracefully.

"You look wonderful," Dr. Oney said, squeezing her hands.

"So do you," she said, applying light pressure to the woman's cold hands. Dr. Oney was a bit past fifty, Roxann calculated. And no family, save the cats she took in. She had once told Roxann that the people at Rescue were her family. With a start, Roxann acknowledged that she was looking at herself in twenty years. And while living in a patio home just off campus wearing hand-knit sweaters covered with cat hair held a certain literary appeal, it seemed fantastically lonely.

"Meet Angora Ryder, my cousin. We graduated in the same class. Angora, I'm sure you remember Dr. Nell Oney."

"It's nice to see you," the professor said, shaking Angora's hand. Then she squinted and looked back and forth. "You two do bear a striking resemblance—except for the coloring, of course."

"And the crown," Roxann added dryly.

"Dr. Oney, I hope you don't mind me tagging along," Angora said. "Roxann rescued me from a little scrape."

"I don't mind," she said. "And call me 'Nell.' Let me show you girls where you can put your things. The guest room has twin beds."

They traipsed after her, dodging four—no, five—cats. Angora sneezed a thousand times before they set their things down on outdated red comforters in the tiny guest room. The walls were lined with shelves of worn paperbacks—proof positive, Roxann conceded, of those long, lonely years stretching ahead of her. In fact, didn't she immediately upon relocating to a new city acquire a library card?

"I have two classes to teach this afternoon, so I'd better be off," Nell said from the doorway. "Do you need anything before I go?"

Roxann wanted to ask about Carl, but bit her tongue and shook her head. "We can't thank you enough."

"No need, really. But just so that I know, this Cape fellow who's been following you, what does he look like?"

"Tall, thin, rednecky. He was wearing camouflage when he caught up with me in Little Rock."

"Do you have a weapon?"

"Pepper spray. But hopefully he's given up by now."

Nell nodded. "Still, you can't be too careful. Do you two have plans tonight?"

She exchanged looks with Angora, and her cheeks grew warm. "Well, uh—"

"We're going to the bachelor auction," Angora cut in. "Want to come?"

Nell laughed and shrugged. "I hadn't thought about it, but maybe I will. Just to watch."

They made plans to meet back at the house, then Nell left.

"Did she seem old to you?" Angora asked.

"We
seem old to me."

"I remember her looking more, I don't know—more liberated. Cool. Braless."

"People change, buy underwear." She rummaged in her purse, then frowned. "Have you seen my life list?"

Angora wasn't paying attention. "Do you think she's happy?"

"I suppose so. Have you seen my list?"

"She doesn't even drive a car—don't you think that's kind of backward?"

"She marches to the beat of a different drum.
Angora,
have you seen my list?"

"No. When did you have it last?"

"I can't remember—maybe when we were in Springfield?" Where Angora had blown the afternoon with a travel agent planning the round-the-world cruise on her life list as if she were launching next week. Sometimes the woman seemed to be on another plane of reality. "Or Bloomington?" Where they'd forgone the tattoo artist's needle in favor of ornate henna tattoos around their ankles so Angora could strike another item from her list.

"I thought you didn't care about that silly old list," Angora teased.

"I... don't." But there was something bothersome about misplacing a list that had outstanding items on it. Since you couldn't possibly remember everything on it, you were, of course, relieved of the obligation. Still, it seemed like... cheating.

I'VE GOT YOUR NUMBER, YOU FAKE.

She shivered. Knowing that someone was looking over your shoulder had a way of making you evaluate your life, your decisions. Had she made good ones? Bad ones? She checked her watch—it was 6 p.m. in London.

"Come on," Angora said. "Let's unpack later—I want to cruise campus."

"I don't think people use that phrase anymore."

Angora grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the door. "You look a little peaked—are you more worried about that Cape guy than you're letting on?"

She didn't answer, because in truth, she was more worried about seeing Carl again—how petty was that? A dangerous criminal wanted to extract information out of her, and she was concerned about how her old flame would react to seeing her again. What if he didn't recognize her?

"Don't worry—that cute hunky detective probably scared the crap out of Cape."

At the mention of Capistrano, she scowled. He wasn't cute, he was...
noticeable.
And he wasn't hunky, he was...
bulky.
But he did have an uncanny sense of timing. And maybe he had scared Cape—for now. But Frank Cape would be back. Or he'd just wait until she returned to Biloxi.

Then she pursed her mouth—perhaps she
wouldn't
return to Biloxi. It wasn't as if she had a gaggle of friends waiting for her, or even a job, for that matter. In fact, she'd bet that no one even noticed she was gone. Once Capistrano's partner recovered, she'd certainly drop off his radar.

"I'd like to check my voice recorder first," she said, padding to the living room. She found a base unit for a cordless phone on a glass table, but no handset there, or in the tidy, but cramped blue kitchen. Nell's bedroom and office were across the hall, but Roxann didn't want to pry behind the closed door, opting to wait until her cell phone recharged. The highly processed foods she'd been sharing with Angora had made her thirsty, though, so she peeked into a kitchen cabinet in search of a water glass. Instead, she stumbled onto a stash of medical supplies. A few prescription bottles rolled out onto the counter. Antibiotics. Antivirals. She recalled suddenly that Nell was a bit of a hypochondriac—another manifestation of loneliness.

From out of nowhere, a cough emerged from her throat, and her future hit her like a ton of bricks. She had to get out of there. "Let's go, Angora."

They walked the short distance to the campus entrance. The exercise felt good to her unused muscles, but her new boots still weren't broken in. Considering her new duds and hairstyle, she thought she'd feel young again when they reached the university grounds. Instead she felt exposed as a middle-aged has-been, and downright light-headed from the deluge of forgotten impressions: the pleasing mix of period architecture, the throngs of majestic trees, and the wind barreling down the streets as if propelled by the energy of the young bodies. Although the chance that she'd see Carl on the sidewalk was remote, her gaze darted over each face, poised to see him at every turn. Perhaps she should have called him...

"It looks smaller than I remember," Angora offered, pivoting her head.

Roxann agreed. Even the students seemed smaller, compact and waiflike. And so impossibly young. It was a warm Wednesday afternoon, and the little people streamed in all directions over sidewalks and grassy banks with purpose and synchronization. They looked so happy and so unburdened. Had she ever been that happy?

"Let's go this way," Angora said, pointing to a sidewalk that would take them up and away from the direction Roxann wanted to take—through the oldest part of campus, and coincidentally, past the building where Carl's office was still housed, according to the address in the alumni newsletter.

"Okay," she agreed, chastising herself. She'd see him in due time.

As they walked, Angora pointed to a nondescript redbrick building on the crest of a wooded hill. "There's our old dorm."

"Uh-huh. Probably coed now."

"You think? Wow, I bet no one leaves here a virgin anymore."

Roxann smiled her agreement. Students surged by them, laughing and poking each other, lopsided from the bulging backpacks on their shoulders. Earbuds bounded. Despite the brisk temperature, lots of skin was on display—navels, thighs, and oh, the cleavage. And from all the touching that was going on, hormones did indeed appear to be running amuck. A tall athletic guy winked at Angora and turned around to walk backward as he perused her up and down.