Penny pursed her mouth. Hmm … curious.
The doorbell rang, and she allowed herself a spike in her pulse—but not a quick check in the mirror. She pushed a button on the intercom next to her door. “Yes?”
“It’s B.J.,” he said. “Can I come up?”
She hesitated. “I’ll meet you down there.”
“I’ve got something for you.”
“If it’s doughnuts, I’m not interested.”
He laughed. “It isn’t.”
Despite her resolve to resist him, a smile curved her mouth. “Okay, I’ll buzz you in.”
She pushed a button to release the lock on the outer door, then opened her apartment door and looked down the stairs. B.J. appeared in the doorway carrying a box. The sight of him alone gave her a sobering little jolt—wow, if she wasn’t careful, she might fall for this guy.
And something told her that falling for B.J. Beaumont would take her to a new level of aloneness when he left.
“What’s in the box?” she asked.
“Something you desperately need.”
Her mind raced with the possibilities as he reached the landing.
“No, it’s not that,” he said, reading her mind. “Something you need even more—130-volt lightbulbs.”
She grinned. “Thank you.”
“If you have a stepladder, I’ll change them for you.”
She retrieved a stepladder from the pantry and followed him around as he changed every bulb in her apartment. Such a domestic thing to do, she realized, watching him make short work of the chore. Her heart beat with appreciation … and something else.
“You’ve been busy,” he said, gesturing to her pristine apartment.
“Uh-hm,” she murmured vaguely, wondering whether to tell him about Jimmy Scaggs and her suspicions.
He squinted as he climbed down from the stepladder. “Are you okay?”
She looked into his dark eyes—trustworthy eyes? Or just convincing?
“Did something happen?”
She took a deep breath and told him about Jimmy Scaggs waiting for her, and what she’d found when she had entered her apartment. She showed him the little car and explained its connection to the doll. B.J. held the toy by two fingers. Too late, Penny realized she had probably obliterated any fingerprints.
“Jimmy is that woodsman of yours?” he asked.
“Right.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She hesitated, then exhaled noisily. “Because I … don’t want the police to question Jimmy.”
His eyebrows climbed. “Why not?”
“Because … Jimmy saw me … do something … that I’d rather the police not know about.”
B.J. crossed his arms. “I’m listening.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I … might have tried to … kill Sheena.”
His eyebrows flew up again. “Excuse me?”
“It was an accident,” she said. “Well, I meant to do it, but—”
“What did you do?”
“I … pushed her off the sidewalk in front of a car.”
He pressed his lips together. She couldn’t tell if he was smiling or grimacing. “And when was this?”
“Friday.”
“Friday, the day your ex-husband was murdered, you pushed his girlfriend in front of a car?”
She winced and nodded.
“And what precipitated this, um, push?”
“She told me that she and Deke were engaged … among other things.”
“Ah. And what makes you think she didn’t tell the police what you did?”
She lifted her chin. “Because … I threatened to tell Deke that I saw you at the house.”
He frowned. “Me?”
“Remember? I saw you at the house Friday morning. I assumed you were lovers and that she didn’t want Deke to know.”
His frown deepened. “No—I told you, it was the first time I’d met her.”
She wet her lips. “Then why were you there? What was the dead end lead?”
“The Reynolds girl liked to tan, so I stopped by the tanning salon in the square to show her picture, and the kid working there told me the owner lived down the street. I thought I’d check with her.”
Penny squinted. “From what I saw, she seemed angry.”
“She was angry, but damned if I know why. Said she’d never seen the girl and how dare I disturb her at home, then she practically slammed the door in my face.”
“So why wouldn’t she want Deke to know you’d been there?”
He shrugged. “Maybe he was a jealous guy.”
She started to deny it but bit her tongue—just because Deke was jealous where she was concerned didn’t mean he wasn’t jealous where his mistress was concerned.
B.J. pulled his hand down his face. “Do you think this Scaggs guy could have murdered your ex?”
Penny grimaced. “I don’t know why he would.”
“Maybe he has a crush on you, and he thought Deke had treated you badly.”
She recalled Jimmy comparing Deke to a polecat. “It just seems so—”
“Crazy? Look around. Everyone in this town is a little cuckoo.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He gave a little smile and leaned in close. “Sorry—except for you, of course.”
His nearness made the breath catch in her lungs. If standing next to him fully clothed could make her body do such crazy things, what would it be like to make love with this man?
He pulled her to him slowly, as if he expected her to resist. But she didn’t, lifting her mouth to his for a long overdue exploration of what he felt like, tasted like. He slanted his mouth over hers and flicked his tongue over her teeth, moaning as he delved deeper and slid her body against his. She sank into his arms, her senses electrified as his erection grew against her stomach. She slipped her hands beneath his T-shirt and ran her fingers over the expanse of his back. When he cupped her bottom against his sex, an age-old tug on her womb answered, setting off warning signals in her brain. Slow down … proceed with caution … bumpy road ahead.
She wrenched her mouth from his and stepped back, breathing hard. She brought the back of her hand to her mouth and swallowed. His eyes were hooded, his lips parted, his body in an obvious state of arousal.
“I … can’t,” she said.
“But you want to,” he said bluntly.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, then turned away. “I’m in trouble … big trouble. I have too many things going on in my life for … another complication.” She drew in a cleansing breath. “I need for you to … concentrate.” She lifted her gaze to his, and he blinked, as if she’d slapped him.
“Okay,” he said, pulling on his chin. “No problem.” He cleared his throat and straightened. “If the Scaggs guy comes around again, call the police … or call me, understand?”
She nodded, still trying to regain her composure.
He sighed, clearly frustrated. “Are you still up for going to the festival?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “I want to talk to the woman at the voodoo doll booth.”
He winked. “Good thinking. Let’s go.”
“Thank you for changing the bulbs,” she said as they walked down the stairs.
“No problem,” he said, although she had the distinct feeling he was thinking that maybe there was something she needed more than lightbulbs after all.
Out in the square, the festival was rolling along, marred only by a few churchgoers holding signs that said Jesus Saves, not Voodoo.
“I wonder if someone in that crowd is behind the graffiti at Diane Davidson’s house,” B.J. murmured.
Penny studied his profile and felt a warm rush in her chest that dismayed her. B.J. Beaumont truly championed the underdogs of the world … and he stirred her like no man ever had.
Then he sniffed the air. “I’m starved,” he said. “Want a sausage on a stick?”
And then again, there were the man’s eating habits. She laughed and shook her head no. “I’ll be over there,” she said, pointing to the booth she sought.
On the way, she skirted the peristil, wondering about the masked priestess who had so spooked her Friday night. Did the woman know that something bad was about to happen to Penny … or could she have caused it?
Penny tried to shake off the silly thoughts of black magic but found it difficult not to be drawn into the mystique when she was surrounded by the sights and sounds of voodoo, where she could witness how seriously the people took their religion. She approached the booth with the voodoo dolls, noticing that the inventory had nearly been depleted.
“You were here the other night,” the woman said when she saw Penny surveying the dolls.
“That’s right. What can you tell me about voodoo dolls?”
The woman smiled. She was missing a tooth. “What do you want to know?”
Penny squirmed. “Do they work?”
“Of course,” the woman said. “If something is attached to the doll that belongs to the person … and if the person who uses the doll believes in what they’re doing.”
Penny wet her lips and glanced around to make sure that neither B.J. nor anyone else she knew was within hearing distance. “Is it possible to … accidentally make something happen that you didn’t mean to happen?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, if the passion is there—anger, love, jealousy.”
Penny swallowed hard. She had certainly been passionate when she’d stabbed that doll.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” B.J. asked. He was chomping a sausage that was almost as big as her arm.
She frowned. “You don’t want to know how many preservatives are in that piece of meat.”
He grinned. “You’re right—I don’t.” Then he nodded toward the park where two guitarists were setting up. “Come on—let’s go have some fun.”
For the rest of the afternoon, Penny tried to put Deke’s murder out of her mind and focus on the living that was going on all around her—the children who were laughing and singing, the people who danced and clapped to the music, the families who walked with their hands chained together. She watched the families with envy, wondering how different her life might have been if she’d been sandwiched between a loving mother and father. At one point, she caught B.J. staring at her.
“Where’s your family?” he asked.
“I don’t have any,” she said. Her rote answer. “I heard you mention a niece and nephew in the souvenir shop. Do you have a big family?”
“Nope,” he said lazily. “Just me and my brother and our mother.”
“So where do the niece and nephew come in?”
“In the future, hopefully,” he said with a smile. “I thought it sounded better to say I was buying those things for my niece and nephew than to say I was buying them for myself.”
She frowned. “Why did you want bottles of crushed limestone?”
He shrugged. “Just curious, I guess.” Then he winked. “Same with the handcuffs.”
Penny burned with more questions about his family and his background, but she was afraid that he might ask questions about her family and background. They sat in the grass and listened to the music until the day’s festivities began to wind down, with Penny fighting the growing realization that she simply enjoyed B.J.’s company. “I should be getting back,” she said. “The funeral is tomorrow, and I know it’s going to be a long day.”
He nodded and pushed to his feet, then extended his hand. She clasped his warm fingers, then allowed him to pull her up, close to his body. A thrill of awareness traveled through her; the attraction between them was hard to deny. It would be easy, she thought, to spend the night in his arms. But it wouldn’t be right to go to the funeral tomorrow with another man in her mind. He held onto her hand longer than necessary, but she pulled free and maintained extra distance between them as they made their way back through the square.
They walked by a booth that sold more of the little brown bottles that had attracted B.J.’s attention at the souvenir shop in the museum. The booth was packed, and Penny recognized at least one of the women from her shop.
“That’s the woman who asked for bat brains,” she whispered to B.J.
“Maybe she needs them for a spell,” B.J. said.
“I’m not judging her,” Penny said. “I just hate to see people get scammed and spend their money on ridiculous potions.”
He laughed. “Is that really so different than buying vitamins?”
She gave him what she hoped was the evil eye. “There’s more limestone dust,” she said, pointing.
“Mine aren’t limestone,” the man behind the booth said. “It’s real bones—chicken bones, of course.”
B.J. walked closer to take a look, and Penny observed other customers at the booth.
“I’m a chemist,” the man told B.J. “My mixtures are all authentic and guaranteed. This stuff isn’t souvenir grade.”
A customer next to Penny uncorked one of the bottles, and an unpleasant odor filtered out. “Ew,” she said, covering her nose even as a memory chord stirred. She prided herself on knowing the fragrance of herbs, but she couldn’t recall where she’d smelled this scent … it was recently … and in an unexpected place, she somehow knew. Then it hit her—Deke’s cologne the day she’d seen him at the museum. God, it had been awful—no doubt some trendy blend derived from something exotic, like animal pheromones.
She picked up the bottle. “What is this stuff?” she asked the man.
“Dimethyl sulfoxide,” he said.
“But what does it do?”
He leaned in conspiratorially. “It preserves human organs. Got a body you want to keep fresh?”
23
Keep everything bottled up …
“It could be nothing,” Penny said as they reached the outer door of her building.
“Right,” B.J. said. “But I’ll probably check it out tomorrow, while you’re at the funeral.”
She nodded, the disturbing information about Deke and the chemical she’d smelled on him only adding to her discomfort about tomorrow’s service.
“Unless you want some company tomorrow,” B.J. said.
She glanced up sharply, but his eyes were unreadable in the dusk, his voice barely audible with all the noise behind them in the square.
“You can bet Maynard will be there,” he added. “Sometimes a funeral will shed new light on a murder case.”
Oh—of course, he’d offered to go for the good of the case. “Guy is going to pick me up,” she said. “Besides, I’m not sure what kind of reception I’ll get, but people are bound to talk if they think that you’re … that we’re …”
“Right,” he agreed, his gaze holding hers. “I guess they’d really talk if I were to spend the night.”
Her eyebrows went up. “P-probably.”
“Still, I’d like to … if that’s okay with you.”
Her throat tightened, and while her body screamed Yes! she knew that she was too vulnerable for anything good to come of their sleeping together tonight. “I don’t think—”
“On the couch,” he said quickly. “To be on the safe side, until you get your locks changed tomorrow.”
Oh—of course, he’d offered to sleep over for the good of the case. She felt like an idiot and tried to save face. “Do you charge time and a half for after hours?”
He grinned. “If I charged for my skills after hours, you couldn’t afford it.”
She pursed her mouth and tried to ignore the little firestorms igniting all over her body. “Okay … but just for tonight.” She stepped inside, flipped the light switch, and was met with beautiful white light flooding the stairwell. Such a small thing, but she was disproportionately grateful.
Slowly she climbed the stairs, conscious of him behind her, warmed from his concern. But when he stood close behind her on the landing while she tried to open the door, something changed.
For a split second, she felt the tiniest finger of unease, the merest hint of danger. Working with B.J. on the case was one thing, but allowing him to spend the night in her apartment was another. How well did she really know this man?
“Having trouble?” he asked, then he slipped his arms around hers, covering her hands with his, guiding the key into the keyhole. Penny’s breath stalled in her lungs as his chest pressed into her back. She allowed him to direct her hand, but suddenly the act of inserting the key took on a new connotation. He seemed to hesitate over the opening, waiting for her to complete the task. But when she pushed the key forward, he put his weight behind it and sent the key home. Desire whipped through her body, heightened by the tendrils of uncertainty where B.J. was concerned. Perhaps the man didn’t mean her danger intentionally; perhaps she was only picking up on the transient vibes the man exuded.
Besides, she’d been willing to spend the night with him within hours of knowing him, hadn’t she? Why the hesitation now—because she knew him better?
The door swung open, and the lamp she’d left burning in the living room was still going strong. She stepped inside, both relieved and vexed to be away from him. Then a new panic set in—what were they going to do until bedtime?
“Do you mind if I get my laptop from my car?” B.J. asked.
“No,” she said, immensely relieved.
He left, then returned a few minutes later. He settled in at the dining room table, dwarfing the furniture. “Don’t feel like you have to entertain me,” he said. “Do whatever you normally do.”
Penny flushed and glanced around her apartment. How embarrassing for a stranger to see how little she truly had going on in her life. She could read a magazine, or watch television, but neither seemed particularly appealing. “Actually, I’m hungry. Can I fix you something to eat?”
His head popped up. “Don’t go to any trouble.”
A smiled curved her mouth—he was hungry, too. And perhaps if she was able to satisfy one appetite, the other wouldn’t get out of control. She went to the tiny kitchen, and while he typed on the keyboard, she prepared a spinach and arugula salad with garbanzo beans, sprouts, and flax seed, served with whole wheat rolls and, just for B.J., a side of soft tofu drizzled with lemon juice and olive oil.
In Deep Voodoo Page 21