Got Your Number (11 page)

She sighed and sat back in the dark, pulling her legs up under her. How strange that she and Angora had spent the evening reminiscing, and now it looked as if she were bound for South Bend, Indiana, after all. Back to Carl—number thirty-three on her life list. Maybe this would be her opportunity to satisfy her burning curiosity about the man who had inspired her to make a difference in the world.

Roxann closed her eyes and conjured up his face. With the situation she was in, and the slump she'd experienced lately, she could certainly use a little inspiration. She'd never believed in premonition, but she had the queerest feeling of being pushed in a certain direction, as if she were careening toward the rest of her life. And that Carl Seger was destined to play a major role.

Chapter 9

Angora smiled and waved to the crowd. Thousands of bulbs flashed. Here she was, Miss America. The first woman to break the age barrier. Who needed a husband and a career when you had a sash and a crown?

"Congratulations, Angora. Angora... Angora... "

"Angora?"

She opened her eyes and blinked her cousin Roxann into view. Why was Roxann in Atlantic City?

"Angora, something's come up. I have to leave."

She squinted. "Hmm?"

"Wake up, Angora. We have to go."

She moved her tongue, only to discover that someone had deposited something foul in her mouth.
"Ugh.
Where am I?"

"You spent the night at my dad's. Can you sit up?"

"Why wouldn't I be able to sit up?" She sat up, and a bomb exploded in her head. "Ohhhhhh."

"I brought you some aspirin."

"Shhhh!"

"Take deep breaths."

On the third deep breath, her stomach vaulted to her throat. She barely made it to the bathroom before everything she'd ingested the night before came surging toward daylight. Oh, God, she'd never eat pepperoni pizza again. In fact, she might never eat again, period. The Hangover Diet. Maybe she'd finally shed those ten pounds that had eluded her since puberty.

Roxann handed her a cool cloth, and she buried her face in it. Then yesterday's events came flooding back to her—the shame, the disappointment—and she wanted never to lift her head again. The next few years of her life, so carefully planned as late as yesterday, now stretched before her... empty... lonely... not rich. She would be damaged goods in the eyes of the families that belonged to the club, forever referred to as "the jilted one." And Dee would never let her live down this fiasco.

"Try to swallow these aspirin," Roxann urged. "It helped me."

"If I die," she whispered, "don't let the coroner take a picture of me like this."

"Don't worry—I'd fix your hair first. Can you make it to the bed?"

"Only if you bring the bed into the bathroom."

"Come on, up you go."

Angora groaned as she became vertical again. The bed was a mile away, but she finally reached the end of it and eased down to a sitting position. "Why do I feel like hell and you don't?"

"Because my body is used to processing more than carrots and popcorn."

Roxann was right, of course. Roxann was always right. Her cousin's duffel bag sat on the floor, zipped and ready to go. "Did you say you have to leave?"

"Yes—as soon as possible. I found a pair of Dad's sweatpants for you to wear, and a flannel shirt."

Angora peered at the darkened window. "What time is it?"

"Four-thirty."

"In the morning?" She hadn't been up at four-thirty in the morning since... wait—she'd
never
been up at four-thirty in the morning.

"Sorry—I really need to get going."

"Back to Biloxi?"

"Eventually. I have a few stops to make first."

"Take me with you."

Roxann shook her head. "I can't."

"Please, Roxann? I can't face everyone, not yet." And not like this.

"I called your parents last night and told them you were all right."

"Thanks." She bit into her bottom lip. "Were they worried?"

"Absolutely."

A sliver of happiness cut through the disappointment that cocooned her heart. If they were worried now, think how much more worried they'd be if she didn't come home right away. "I don't want to go home."

"Okay, then I'll take you to a friend's."

Her mind wasn't operating at top speed, but she had the feeling that even if she weren't hung over, she wouldn't be able to come up with a name.

"Angora?"

"I'm thinking."

Roxann sighed. "How about your maid of honor?"

"Amanda Whittaker? We're not that close."

"Then why did you ask her to be your maid of honor?"

"Because she asked me to be hers last year."

"Come on, Angora—there must have been twenty girls up there with you."

"Twenty-four. You know, I wanted to ask you to be a bridesmaid."

"I'm... flattered."

"Dee had a fit, though, and I was pretty sure I'd never get you in a pink dress anyway."

"I guess you were the one who sent me the invitation?"

She nodded. "I wasn't sure you'd get it, but I'm glad you did."

"So am I. I think. Angora, you're not close to
any
of the women in your wedding party?"

"To Trenton's three sisters, I thought. But I heard them saying nasty things about me in the bathroom at my bridal shower."
She's not very bright, is she? No, and she's chunky. I don't know what Trenton sees in her.

"What about a coworker?"

"The only person I associate with outside of work is my boss, and that's only because he's a friend of Dee's." Her coworkers had made it clear that since she'd gotten the job because of her connections, they weren't about to include her in their art-uppity circle. They seemed to enjoy talking over her head, discussing artists and paintings that she had to look up during her lunch hour. She was sure they had come to the wedding for the shrimp cocktail.

"There must be someone."

"Maybe I should just go with you."

But Roxann shook her head. "Sorry."

She lifted her arms and allowed Roxann to pull off the hideous tie-dyed T-shirt. "I won't be any trouble."

"Angora, you can't
help
but be trouble."

"I know." She sniffled.

"Don't start crying, your head will hurt worse."

"It can't hurt worse," she mumbled as she shrugged into the flannel shirt Roxann held behind her. "And these thongs of yours make me feel like I had a wedding night after all."

"You'll feel better once you can rest in your own bed in your own underwear."

Angora relented, knowing that her cousin didn't want to be bothered with her on whatever exciting adventure she was off to next. No one wanted to be bothered with her. She choked back a sob, and tugged on gray sweatpants that swallowed her, tummy bulge and all. She looked like a bum, but her only alternative was to wear her wedding gown home, and she wasn't about to try to get back into that torture garb. "What will I do for shoes?"

"I have an extra pair of sneakers."

"But you wear a size six and a half, and I need at least an eight."

Roxann frowned. "You remember my shoe size?"

She remembered a lot about Roxann. In fact, from those few months rooming together, she probably knew more about her aloof cousin, and had revealed more of herself
to
Roxann, than anyone else on earth.

"Well, I might be able to find a pair of Dad's house shoes."

"Never mind," she said, standing and holding on to her head to keep it from flying apart. "I'll wear my pumps. Might as well get one more wear out of them, considering they cost as much as the plane tickets to Hawaii." Dee wouldn't be up anyway, to be scandalized by her appearance. She wadded up the dress that she'd spent so many hours searching for and stuffed it under her arm. "I'm ready." Not really, but she was trying to prove to Roxann that she could be brave, too.

Roxann picked up her duffel and led the way back through the cramped little house, which seemed much neater and smelled a little nicer than the previous evening—for that, her stomach was grateful. When had Roxann had time to clean? As always, she seemed capable of doing everything at once. Envy barbed through her—was there anything her cousin couldn't do?

Roxann turned when they reached the side door. "Stay here until I tell you to come out."

Angora frowned. "Why?"

"Because... this isn't the best neighborhood. Sometimes homeless people sleep under the carports."

She watched as Roxann slipped out, her hand inside her duffel bag, probably on the pepper spray can. Her cousin was so brave. In the dim light of a naked bulb, Roxann walked all around the van, then signaled her to come out.

Angora stepped down onto the uneven concrete and promptly twisted her ankle in the high heels, but recovered adequately. It was still dark out, the air wet and cool. The tang of garbage from a nearby Dumpster burned her nostrils and toyed with her unsettled stomach. Still, the lights in the small houses across the road, silhouetting people moving around in their kitchens, probably getting ready to go to work at the electric plant, was somehow comforting. Living in a tight-knit neighborhood must have been so fun growing up, with kids everywhere, and fire hydrants opened wide in the dog days of summer. Since she had no friends of her own, she'd always hoped Roxann would invite her over to play with hers. Dee wouldn't have agreed, of course, but she'd wished anyway.

She opened the creaky door to the van and pulled herself up, wincing against the pain in her skull, then tossed the wedding gown in the backseat. The vehicle had a peculiar odor, raising questions about what kinds of exotic things had taken place inside. Stakeouts with lots of take-out food? Sleeping on an air mattress, hiding out from the law? Transporting entire families and their belongings?

Roxann opened the sliding door of the van and set a box on the floorboard.

"What's that?"

"Some of the junk from my room—I thought it was time to get it out of Dad's way." Roxann set the duffel bag on the backseat, then closed the door and swung up into the driver's seat.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to see your father."

"Maybe next time."

Even through her headache fog, she detected a measure of insincerity in Roxann's voice that perplexed her. Sure, Uncle Walt was messy and poor, but he was an adoring father who thought enough of his daughter to maintain her girlish bedroom. Dee had already hired an interior designer to change
her
bedroom into a day spa. Twice she'd come out of the shower to find people measuring.

She watched as Roxann cranked the engine and launched into some kind of strange hand-slapping routine on the dashboard. Then a shot rang out, sending Angora at least an inch off the seat. "What was that?"

Roxann gripped the wheel and pivoted her head to the side, her eyes wide. Then she relaxed and sighed. "The van backfired."

Angora managed a little laugh. "For a minute I thought someone was shooting at us."

"Well, that's pretty unlikely, even in this neighborhood."

But her cousin seemed genuinely spooked as she backed out of the narrow driveway and onto the quiet street. "Maybe it's just my weak stomach," Angora said in an attempt to lighten the moment, "but I don't remember the van vibrating this much yesterday."

"You were a little preoccupied yesterday," Roxann offered wryly.

"No offense, but this is a wreck."

"I don't have a need for a BMW."

"How did you know I drive a BMW?"

"Lucky guess. Don't worry—Goldie might seem a little rickety, but she runs like a deer."

"Goldie—is she your undercover car? Does it have a race-car engine under the hood so you can outrun the Smokies?"

"The
Smokies
? Angora, you watch too much television. And the van is a regular old eight-cylinder."

"But you do use it for your... work?"

She nodded.

"Can't you tell me
anything?"

"My work's not nearly as glamorous as you might think."

Probably more glamorous than disinfecting the headsets for audio tours of the Baton Rouge River Walk Museum. "How do you find out about women who are in trouble?"

"There's a network of counselors and social workers all over the country who know about Rescue."

"Rescue? Is that what it's called?"

Roxann nodded. "It's a last resort for women who want to get away from abusive partners."

"What do you do for them?"

"Help them and their children relocate. And, in some cases, help them establish new identities."

"Is it legal?"

"In most cases," Roxann said, nodding. "But there have been a few times when a woman's ex had visitation rights despite evidence that he was a threat to the children."

"And?"

"And in those cases, the woman is thwarting court-ordered visitation by denying her ex access to the children."

"So she's kidnapping her own children."

"As far as the law is concerned, yes."

Angora pursed her mouth. "Can you get in trouble for helping them?"

"It's possible to be brought up on obstruction-of-justice charges, or maybe contempt charges... but not likely."