Got Your Number (10 page)

"Thanks," she choked out, "but I don't think that would be fair."

"By the way, what kind of a doctor was he?"

"A podiatrist."

"A foot doctor? I don't think that counts anyway—a bunion isn't life-threatening."

"You're just trying to make me feel better."

"Angora, you don't have anything to feel bad about."

Her cousin started crying in earnest. "I couldn't keep my man."

"Oh, God—are you going to sing a country song?"

She blew her nose on her sleeve. "No—that's number thirteen on my list."

"Hey, watch it, that's my favorite T-shirt."

"Sorry." Angora sighed. "I wouldn't expect you to understand about Trenton."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't need a man."

"Don't tell me you believe your mother."

"I didn't mean you don't need a
man,
I mean you don't
need
a man."

Roxann shifted, ashamed to admit she'd been the tiniest bit envious watching Angora walk down the aisle. "Yeah, well... yeah."

Angora gestured to the ruined dress heaped on the floor. "Daddy spent a fortune on that dress, the florist, the caterers."

"If you feel bad about it, pay him back."

"With what? The allowance he gives me?"

She blinked. "You still get an allowance?"

"Just for extras."

Roxann was starting to remember how high-maintenance Angora could be. "So sell the rock like Trenton said and give the money to your folks."

Her cousin stared down at her enormous ring, and a new wellspring of tears erupted. "But look at it—it's the
perfect
ring."

"And will scare off every eligible man in the state."

Angora hiccupped. "The ring goes back. Next?"

" 'Get a postgraduate degree.' "

" 'Get a gold credit card.' "

" 'Go parasailing.' "

" 'Go on a round-the-world cruise.' "

" 'Become proficient at chess.' "

" 'Become a famous painter.' "

"Angora, I didn't know you were an artist."

"I'm not, but I've seen enough of that abstract nonsense in the museum to fake it."

You fake.
Roxann peered over the top of her list at her tipsy cousin and considered telling Angora about the break-in and the message left on her computer. She chewed on her impulse, testing the story in her head. Maybe it was the distance, or maybe it was lying on her childhood bed, but the threat of danger now seemed more perceived than real. She changed her mind and swallowed the rest of her drink, closing her eyes to ward off the bitter sting at the back of her throat.

Angora, who seemed to have acquired a taste for the mixed drink, refilled Roxann's glass under protest. By the time they were nearing the end of their lists, they were both feeling the effects of the alcohol—and from the items rounding out their lists, Roxann realized they must have been feeling the effects of that joint years ago.

"Number thirty-one," Angora slurred, "is 'Get a tattoo.' "

"Mine is 'Become a prosecuting attorney'—ha. The legal system is a joke."

"Thirty-two is 'Enter an amateur strip contest.' "

"Which explains why my number thirty-two says, 'Watch Angora make a fool out of herself in an amateur strip contest.' " They laughed hysterically, but Roxann sobered when she saw the next item on her list.

"What is it?"

"Well... remember Dr. Carl Seger?"

"Do I ever."

"I had a wild crush on him." An understatement.

"And?"

"And number thirty-three on my list is... well... "

" 'Sleep with Dr. Carl,' " Angora finished.

Roxann frowned. "How did you know?"

Angora held up her list. "Ditto. I had a wild crush on him, too. And so did every female on campus."

"I suppose you're right." Roxann stewed in the juices of old memories—the first time Carl had kissed her, the nights they'd stayed up late putting together research for his presentation, the special looks he reserved for her during his lectures. She'd adored him, all right.

"He's still single, you know." Angora wagged her eyebrows. "The newsletter I got a couple of months ago said he was going to auction himself off for a fund-raiser during Homecoming."

"I saw that issue."

Angora sighed. "Wonder what a man like that would go for?"

Roxann opted for silence again, but computed the amount in her IRA.

Angora yawned. "The rest of my list makes no sense—what's a 'spebanker'?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, I wanted to own one."

"You wanted to own one of everything."

"What are your last two?"

Roxann looked at her list, then swallowed hard.
Have a daughter. Be a good mother.
"Uh... mine are unreadable, too. I guess we fell asleep."

Angora laughed. "Or passed out. You know what we should do, Roxann?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

Her cousin's jaw seemed a little loose, and her eyes were bleary. "We should take a vacation and mark off some of the items on our list."

Roxann laughed—go on vacation with Angora? "You're nuts."

"Why not? I'm supposed to be on my honeymoon for three weeks." Her face lit up. "Hey—we could go back to South Bend for Homecoming!"

Her heart thumped faster. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Oh, come on, wouldn't you like to see Dr. Carl again and see how he turned out?"

More than anything. "I still don't think—"

Angora's snore cut her off. Her cousin had fallen asleep sitting up, holding her glass and wearing her crown.

Roxann nudged herself up slowly to prevent a head rush. She retrieved Angora's drink, then made her stretch out on the bed. Angora emitted little sounds of protest and refused to relinquish her crown. Roxann gathered up the remains of their meal and tiptoed from the room—although she was sure her cousin wouldn't have heard a plane land on the roof.

She walked to the old phone mounted on the kitchen wall and, after consulting directory assistance, dialed Angora's parents' home. Of course, Dee answered.

"Hello?"

"Dee, this is Roxann."

"Where
is my daughter?"

"She's with me, at my dad's."

"You kidnapped her."

"She's an adult."

"You always were a bad influence on her."

"Angora's fine, thanks for asking."

"Why, you—"

"I'll bring her home in the morning, but don't worry, I won't come in. Bye, now." She hung up the phone, wondering why people had kids at all if they didn't give a damn about them.

Nine thirty-five p.m.—what a day. She stuffed the pizza box into the trash. Fatigue pulled at her limbs, but her mind raced, refusing to shut down. Yesterday's events in Biloxi... today's events at the church... being home where the memories were relentless. The alcohol should have numbed her, but instead, seemed to have keened her senses, magnifying the panic, the anxiety, the sadness.

An alien sound sent fear bolting through her, until she recognized the ring of her father's phone. It was probably Dee calling back, so she wasn't about to answer it. After three rings, though, an answering machine kicked on in the bedroom. She had sent the machine to her father for Christmas, although she was sure he wouldn't use it. In fairness, though, she hadn't called enough to know.

Curious as to what her aunt would say for herself, she walked into the bedroom and leaned against the door, arms crossed as her father's raspy voice trailed off and the tone sounded. But instead of Dee's unbearable high-pitched whine, a man's voice came on the line. A
familiar
man's voice.

"Mr. Beadleman, this is Detective Capistrano from the Biloxi Police Department. I'm looking for your daughter, Roxann. If you've heard from her or seen her in the last twenty-four hours, please call me back at—"

She snatched up the phone and fairly hissed into the receiver. "How dare you call my father's home."

"Good, you're there. Saves me a heap of paperwork."

She squeezed the phone, wishing it were his red neck. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I went by your place a while ago to finish our conversation. Remodeling?"

"Funny."

"Do you know who did it?"

"You came to mind."

"I'm much neater when I break and enter."

"Why are you calling?"

"When I saw the mess, I started thinking maybe Frank Cape had dropped by to bully you into giving up his wife's hiding place."

"You're the only bully I've encountered, Detective."

"Then you're unharmed."

"Unemployed
and
unharmed."

He sighed. "Is that why you're in Baton Rouge? To look for a job?"

"That's none of your business. How did you find me?"

"I took a chance that you would run home to Daddy if you were frightened."

The gross misinterpretation of her relationship with her father made her want to laugh... and cry. "I'm
not
frightened."

"You should be. Has it occurred to you that if I could track you down in a single phone call, Frank Cape could do the same?"

"You're assuming, Detective, that he's the one who ransacked my place."

"You have other enemies?"

She certainly didn't want to get into the other suspects—Elise, Richard. "It might have been a random crime."

"Then you should consider moving to a better neighborhood."

She smirked. "I'll do that, Detective, as soon as I get a job."

"That 'got your number' message on your computer screen—does it have something to do with the break-in?"

"You went inside?"

"How else was I going to make sure you hadn't been stuffed in the refrigerator?"

Oh. "Yes, whoever broke in left the message, but I don't know what it means."

"Old boyfriend?" He sounded dubious.

Roxann frowned. "It's possible, but not likely."

"Did you file a police report?"

"No. Because I thought it might have been you."

He scoffed. "Have you changed your mind about cooperating?"

"No."

"I can protect you from Cape."

"I can protect myself."

"Is your father home?"

"He's gone for the weekend."

"Don't tell me you're alone."

"My cousin is here."

"In the event Cape drops by, is your cousin a big strapping guy?"

"No, but she could talk him to death."

"Christ. Do you have a gun?"

"No. I have pepper spray."

"Christ
. I have your father's address, I'll be there by daybreak. Stay put."

"Don't—" But he'd already hung up. Roxann cursed and flailed for a full minute before she realized it was just the kind of hysterics that Capistrano would have expected. She counted to ten to calm her thinking, then used her cell phone to call Tom Atlas, her supervisor at Rescue.

"Roxann, I was just about to call." His tone was rushed, elevated. "Where are you?"

"At my father's in Baton Rouge."

"Get out of there, pronto."

"What's wrong?"

"After you called me about the break-in, I left a message with Melissa Cape's sister. She just called back to tell me that Frank is on the warpath. Said he was going to find you and make you take him to Melissa. He has a dossier on you—where you live, where you work, where you grew up." Tom paused to take a breath. "He was making threats against your family, Roxann."

Her throat convulsed—if something happened to her father because of her, she couldn't bear it.

"Unfortunately, there's no money for a hotel. Do you have someone you can stay with for a while? Somewhere Cape wouldn't find you?"

Her sluggish mind chugged away until Dr. Nell Oney's sweet face materialized. "I have a friend associated with the organization I can call. I'm sure she'd put me up for a few days."

"Good. Keep me posted on your whereabouts."

Roxann disconnected the call and extinguished all the lights, then with heart racing double-time, checked every window in the house to make sure they were locked securely. She flipped on the outside lights, irritated to discover that most of the bulbs were out. Frank Cape would be glad to know he had her completely spooked, although she was slightly relieved to know who was behind the break-in. Pure luck must have kept their paths from crossing at 255 Amberjack, Unit B.

With a shaky hand, she punched in Dr. Oney's number by the glow of a flashlight, weak with relief when her voice came on the line.

"Dr. Oney, it's Roxann Beadleman. Do you remember me?"

"Roxann? Of course I do. I've been hearing such good things about you through Rescue. Are you coming to South Bend for Homecoming?"

Her chest welled with emotion at the warmth in Nell's voice—she hadn't realized how much she missed her. "Not exactly," she hedged. "Although I could use a place to stay for a few days."

"Are you in trouble?"

"Just a disgruntled ex-husband of a woman I relocated a couple of weeks ago."

"Ah—been there. Usually the bullies are more bark than bite, but there's no reason to take chances. And I'd love to see you again—why have you stayed away so long?"

"I've... been busy."

"Are you married?"

"No."

"Kids?"

"No. I'll be coming by myself." She glanced toward the bedroom. Once she got rid of Angora, that is.

"When can I expect you?"

"I'm not sure—I might avoid the interstates."

"Good idea. Don't hurry, I'll see you when I see you. Do you remember where I live?"

"Yes." The few times she'd been to Dr. Oney's cozy little home, she hadn't wanted to leave.

"I'll put a key under a flowerpot. You've been on my mind lately, Roxann—I saw an old photo of you in the alumni newsletter."

"That rally seems like a lifetime ago."

Dr. Oney laughed. "It was. I can't wait to see you and catch up."

Roxann smiled into the phone, immensely cheered. She thanked Dr. Oney and hung up, then sank into her father's indented recliner, oddly comforted by its contours even as her body twitched to be on the road. But she'd have to wait until the alcohol wore off. At least she'd be gone by the time Capistrano arrived. Bothersome fool. She'd let him drive to Baton Rouge in case he crossed paths with Cape—better him than her father—but the detective needn't know where she was headed.