In Deep Voodoo

by Stephanie Bond

  “Is that so?” Penny asked, noticing that despite the dirt caked beneath the man’s fingernails, he had well-shaped hands.

  He nodded and picked out another root that was the size of her palm and shaped remarkably like a human heart. “I brought this one for you,” he offered gently. “Your ex is a no-good polecat, running around with that nasty Sheena Linder.”

  Penny bristled at the personal topic and raised her gaze to his. A mistake, she realized, when she saw affection shining in his eyes. “Thank you, Jimmy, but actually, Toby Madeer was in last week asking for ginseng. He lost his wife over the summer and he’s still in a bad way. I think he could grind up this root and use it more than I.”

  Jimmy stared at her for a few seconds, then something akin to frustration flashed in his eyes. “Whatever you say, Miss Penny.”

  She smiled. “I’ll buy all of these. Did you bring anything else?”

  “Some oyster mushrooms,” he said, lifting them out of his bag and spreading them on the table.

  Penny nodded. “I’ll take them. Anything else?”

  He scratched his temple. “Got any interest in truffles?”

  Penny’s eyes went wide. “Truffles? You mean the underground kind?”

  He nodded.

  “But truffles grow only in the Pacific Northwest and in France.”

  “And here,” Jimmy said with a mischievous smile.

  Penny gave a little laugh. “How is that possible?”

  Jimmy leaned in closer and lowered his chin. “My granddaddy was a Frenchie and knew something about truffles. He started messing around with growing them when I was just a boy—even if they catch in the ground, it takes ten years or so before they’re ready to harvest.” He made a rueful noise. “Granddaddy died a few years back, but I’ve kept watch over the area. Trained my dog Henry to sniff ’em out.”

  He opened his hand to reveal two dark lumps of what looked like large animal droppings, but their fishy pungency wafted through the air. She had never seen a whole black truffle before—just precious shavings over pasta or baked in puff pastry. She carefully picked up one of the spongy lumps and knew instantly that she was holding gold. “H-how many do you have, Jimmy?”

  “Probably a pound or so. And there’s more where they came from.”

  She felt giddy. “Let me make a phone call.” As she made her way back to the office, she glanced over to see Marie and Guy both tending to the first customers of the morning. She closed the door to her office, checked her Rolodex, and dialed the number for Ziggy’s in New Orleans, her pulse clicking higher. When a woman answered on the second ring, Penny identified herself and asked for Ziggy.

  “Chère, Penny! How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Ziggy. I called to see if you would be interested in homegrown truffles.”

  “Grown where?” he asked, sounding dubious.

  “According to my woodsman, right here in Mojo.”

  He made a dismissive noise. “That’s impossible.”

  “That’s what I thought … until he showed them to me. It’s possible to grow them commercially, right?”

  “Yes, but the conditions have to be perfect, and even then it’s iffy. Are you sure they aren’t morels?”

  She held up the truffle between forefinger and thumb. “I’ve only seen pictures, but they look like the real thing to me, Ziggy.”

  “What color?”

  “Black.”

  He was silent for several seconds, but Penny could hear the wheels turning in his head … or maybe it was his saliva glands pumping. “How much of these homegrown truffles does your man have to sell?”

  “A pound.”

  “Bon Dieu. Is he trustworthy? People have been known to dye cheap Chinese truffles and try to pass them off as authentic black ones.”

  “That’s not how this guy works,” Penny said. “But if you’re not interested, I’ll call someone else—”

  “Okay, okay.” He sighed dramatically. “I’ll come up and take a look at these so-called truffles. What time do you close?”

  “Six P.M.”

  “I’ll be there just before six.”

  She frowned. “Won’t that cut it close for you getting back for the dinner hour?”

  “There’s a water line break on our street—it’s chaos here and we can’t open tonight. The city is trying to put me out of business!” Ziggy cleared his throat delicately. “And Penny … just in case there is some truth to these homegrown truffles, let’s keep this between you and me and your woodsman, shall we?”

  She smirked. “For now, Ziggy. But I can’t make any long-term promises.”

  He grunted and hung up.

  Penny laughed, then hurried back to Jimmy, who stared warily at the activity around him. The man was antisocial and a bit of a conspiracy theorist. She leaned in and whispered, “Jimmy, I have someone coming from the city to look at the truffles. Do you trust me enough to leave them with me?”

  He withdrew a bulging cheesecloth sack and handed it to her. “I trust you.”

  She smiled. “I’ll check the Internet for market prices and get you the best deal I can.”

  He nodded. “Thank you kindly.”

  “Meanwhile, I’ll pay you for the other items.” She weighed the ginseng and oyster mushrooms and jotted figures in a notebook.

  Two more customers had arrived, including Steve Chasen, a clean-cut guy in his twenties who worked as a paralegal in Deke’s office and who dropped in occasionally to get a fruit smoothie. Penny didn’t completely trust the man, and from the probing nature of his questions, she’d sometimes wondered if Deke had sent him to spy on her … although admittedly, that could have been a manifestation of her fantasy that Deke cared what she did.

  She also suspected that Steve had a crush on Marie, although the young woman seemed to have nothing but disdain for the man who looked as if he’d been scrubbed with a brush and spit-shined. Steve waved, and Penny smiled hello. Voices buzzed, and the smoothie machine whirred busily in the background.

  “Um, Miss Penny, I was wondering …”

  She looked up. “Yes, Jimmy?”

  “Want to go out with me sometime?”

  Suddenly the room fell dead quiet—conversation halted, the smoothie machine stopped, and in a moment of what could only be described as unfortunate timing, the sounds of the nature CD on the overhead speakers played crickets chirping. Penny glanced around, and everyone stared at her, wide-eyed, mouths twitching. Heat scalded her neck as she cast around for a polite way to turn down the man’s pass.

  “I’m very flattered, Jimmy, but I’d rather keep our relationship professional.”

  “Oh.” His shoulders fell.

  She gave him a cajoling smile. “What would I do if I lost one of my best suppliers?”

  He seemed unconvinced of her sincerity, but he didn’t argue.

  “Um, Guy,” she said quickly, tearing the sheet of paper from the notebook, “would you cut a check for Jimmy, please?”

  “Sure thing,” Guy said, although he and Jimmy moved around each other like repelling magnets as they made their way toward Guy’s cubicle inside the stockroom.

  Penny carried the bag of truffles to her office and glanced around for a secure place to store them. Her gaze dropped to the locked bottom desk drawer, but she quickly dismissed it as a temporary stash. The drawer, after all, was her survival kit behind glass—to be breached only in an emergency.

  Instead she located a lockable file cabinet drawer that was half empty. Penny opened the bag in her hand and stared at the dozens of valuable little lumps of fungus that sent chefs around the world into fits of orgasmic pleasure. She tucked the bag into the drawer, then slid it back into place and locked it.

  When she emerged, she saw that Jimmy and Guy were still in his office. She waited on a mousy woman dressed in running clothes who was a regular customer, but whose name always slipped Penny’s mind. After the woman purchased a box of energy bars and left, Penny turned to Marie, who was studiously ignoring St
eve Chasen while he finished his smoothie. “Why can’t I remember that woman’s name?”

  “It’s Diane,” Steve offered. “Diane Davidson.”

  Penny nodded. “Oh, right. She’s a teacher at the high school.”

  Marie leaned on the counter. “Was a teacher—I heard she was fired.”

  “Yeah,” Steve said thickly, then swallowed. “For being a witch.”

  Marie rolled her eyes. “She’s Wiccan—that doesn’t mean she’s a practicing witch. And even if she is, that’s religious discrimination.”

  “She wanted Deke to file a lawsuit against the school system for wrongful dismissal,” Steve said, “but he didn’t take the case.”

  Penny straightened, loathe to discuss anything having to do with Deke.

  But Marie had no such qualms. “Why not?”

  “I don’t think—” Penny began.

  “Deke said he was afraid of her,” Steve said, his voice low and expressive.

  Penny frowned. Deke was the least superstitious person she knew.

  Marie put her hand to her mouth. “I asked her to stop by the party tonight—I hope that’s alright.”

  Penny shrugged. “I don’t mind, although I don’t know her very well.”

  Marie looked embarrassed. “There weren’t a lot of people to invite.”

  Penny’s skin tingled with humiliation. Deke had gotten most of their friends. Deke and Sheena. The more she said their names together, the more it sounded like the title of a redneck Tarzan movie.

  “Kirk was going to fly in for the festival and the party,” Marie said, “but he was called to Canada on business at the last minute.”

  Of course he was, Penny thought wryly.

  “Who’s Kirk?” Steve asked.

  “My rich, older boyfriend,” Marie said emphatically.

  Steve’s mouth turned down. “Oh. What party?”

  “We’re having a divorce party for Penny tonight at Caskey’s,” Marie said, then picked a piece of lint off her apron. “You can come if you want.”

  Steve straightened. “Really? Okay.”

  “Bring a gag gift,” Marie said.

  “That’s not necessary,” Penny said with a frown. She considered calling her friend Liz in New Orleans and inviting her, but something stopped her … embarrassment maybe. Despite their proximity, she hadn’t seen her friend in ages—Liz didn’t even know that Penny had used her divorce attorney. Liz had gone to school with her and Deke and had never approved of Penny’s being with Deke. Since the breakup, Penny had wondered if Deke had cheated on her in college and Liz had known about it. That would explain a lot… .

  Marie nudged Penny playfully. “Want me to invite Mountain Man?”

  Penny looked over her shoulder in the direction of Jimmy and Guy, then looked back to Marie. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  Marie angled her head. “He might not be too bad if he had a bath.”

  Penny ignored the others’ chuckles, then retrieved three pieces of mail for the museum that had been misdelivered. “I think I’ll drop off Hazel’s mail.”

  “Good excuse to leave,” Marie murmured.

  “Hey, Penny,” Steve said as she was leaving. “What do you think about the color Deke’s having the house painted?”

  His eyes seemed cool, almost mocking. Again Penny was assailed by the feeling that she didn’t trust him. And the thought that Steve would report to her ex-husband that her best prospect for a postdivorce affair was with a man who could find water with a forked stick made her shrivel inside. But Penny managed to feign a look of disinterest. “Is he painting the house? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Marie gave her an approving smile. Penny turned and strode to the front door of the store and out, underneath the hood-shaped red canopy that welcomed customers to The Charm Farm, and into the small parking lot in the breezy sunshine. It was a perfect fall day—blue sky, drifting white clouds that made one want to look for animal shapes, and just a hint of crispness to the air.

  In the parking lot sat Marie’s red bicycle with its wire basket, leaning benignly on its kickstand. Locks were unnecessary in Mojo. Steve Chasen’s white BMW sat next to Guy’s impeccable black Lexus and Jimmy’s battered blue Chevy pickup. Jimmy’s bloodhound, Henry—the mighty truffle hunter—stood up on his hind legs in the bed of the truck, whining for attention. Penny walked over and scratched his elephantine ears. He closed his eyes, and one leg started to jerk spasmodically. Penny laughed; maybe she should get a pet. Deke had a bizarre aversion to animals—she’d bet it had something to do with having Mona the Stone for a mother. Remembering her errand, she gave the dog a final pat.

  In the distance to her left, the steeply pitched roof of the hulking three-story Archambault mansion that housed the Instruments of Death and Voodoo Museum was barely visible through the trees. Penny checked her watch—ten minutes before eleven. Hazel Means, the manager of the museum, wouldn’t be in yet, so Penny would just drop the mail through the door chute. Hazel wouldn’t have time to chat anyway, not with readying the museum for tourists, the number of which would balloon for the weeklong festival and remain steady through Halloween.

  Which would, in turn, be good for her own business.

  The house that she had renovated for The Charm Farm faced east, toward downtown Mojo, with her former house to the right, facing the side of her business. She held off looking at it, instead staring out over the small town where she’d lived for the past eight years. Nestled in a little bowl the size of six city blocks by six city blocks, Mojo was the perfect town for a Disney movie … or a horror flick.

  Once populated by families with long, peculiar lineages (like Deke’s), the brick-sidewalk community with matching streetlights and little nylon banners that changed with the seasons (and now heralded the festival) had been gentrified by New Orleans upper-class, double-income couples who gladly traded the thirty-minute commute for safer, smaller classrooms for their children and safer, larger homes for themselves. Vintage houses in town had been gobbled up, sending property values skyrocketing and displacing locals who could no longer afford the taxes. Storerooms and attics over businesses had been turned into pricey apartments.

  The one-bedroom hovel she leased over Benny’s Beignet shop in the center of town three blocks away was easy to spot because of the giant spinning brownish square speckled with white paint that was supposed to resemble a beignet—a gob of fried dough sprinkled with powdered sugar … a French doughnut. She lifted her sleeve for a sniff and grimaced—the sickeningly sweet scent had permeated the rugs and the curtains of her apartment, and now her clothing. Even if someday doughnuts were miraculously declared to be healthy, she would never eat another one the rest of her life.

  The rest of her life. The phrase sounded so benign, but the rest of her life was going to be so different now, she thought with a twinge of sentimentality. Deke …

  A sudden gust of cold wind blew over her, raising a chill. Penny hugged herself and lifted her gaze to the new subdivisions carved into the hills around Mojo proper. The palatial, modern homes stared down at her and the town like predators with huge glass eyes. Even in the daylight, the creepy feeling of being watched was inescapable.

  Penny inhaled deeply to calm her frayed nerves with clean, pumpkin-scented air, but instead she got a head full of paint fumes. Unable to deny her curiosity any longer, Penny pivoted to her right and gasped at the sight of her beloved home, now almost completely covered in the dreadful pink color, like the stomach being coated in the Pepto-Bismol commercial. She covered her mouth with her hand to smother the choking noise that erupted from her throat. Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Ain’t it something?”

  Penny blinked. Her feet had carried her to the sidewalk on their own volition. And to her horror, Sheena Linder stood across the narrow two-lane road, dressed in tight jeans and a tighter sweater, sporting a white neck brace and smirking at Penny behind enormous gold sunglasses.

  Penny’s tongue lodged again
st the roof of her mouth. She’d seen the woman come and go from the tanning salon on the square, but the last time she’d seen her face-to-face (so to speak) had been when Penny had caught her having sex with Deke. She’d relived that scene a thousand times, wishing she had done or said something so profound that both of them would have begged for forgiveness—or at least disengaged from each other. Instead, they had paused to stare at her stupidly only long enough to curse before resuming their slapping, heaving screw. She had heard them climax as she had stumbled out into the hall, their squeals and moans mingling to create a noise as unnerving and unforgettable as the screech of a computer connecting to a modem. It was the single most degrading moment of her life.

  During the divorce, Penny had somehow managed to avoid the woman’s company, although she had secretly fantasized about writing something nasty on the windows of the Forever Sun tanning salon or running into Sheena at the grocery store and saying something wicked and clever over the public address system.

  But whatever clever words she had dreamed up escaped her now as the woman looked both ways and teetered across the street on hooker high heels. Penny could not have been more terrified if a car had been careening toward her. Her feet were rooted to the spot as she estimated the distance back to the front door of her store. And yet some small, realistic part of her knew she was going to have to deal with the woman sooner or later.

  Although later was definitely more appealing.

  Traffic literally stopped for the curvaceous woman as she crossed the two lanes. Catcalls ensued as Sheena beamed and waved at the male drivers in both directions, stroking the brace around her neck, managing to look sexy and sympathetic at the same time. Penny watched in stupefied awe, taking a couple of steps backward as Sheena joined her on the sidewalk. The woman’s skin was the color of a scorched sweet potato, her hair platinum blond. Next to Sheena’s trendy, tight clothing, Penny felt like a plain, pale pioneer woman in her wrinkled denim overalls, flat, chunky-heeled sandals, and long-sleeve hemp shirt.