Love Can Be Murder Box Set

by Bond, Stephanie

  She gritted her teeth at his conceit, but the thought that Sheena might already be fooling around on Deke flashed through her mind. Deke was going to get his comeuppance...eventually. She leaned forward, invading his personal space and catching a whiff of noxious cologne. "I was trying to be nice, but forget it. By the way, I'm having a party at Caskey's tonight to celebrate our divorce. I'm over you, Deke." She wheeled and walked toward the front entrance of the museum.

  "Penny!" he called.

  She had one foot on the bottom step, but something in his voice made her turn around.

  "You were too good for me," he said, his expression suspiciously sincere.

  His words were nirvana to her ears, the closest he'd come to saying that he was sorry for the way he'd behaved, for the misery he'd put her through. For a split second, something in his eyes reminded her of the old Deke, the Deke she'd quizzed for exams while he'd been in law school, the Deke who had defied his mother's plans for a big wedding in favor of the private ceremony that Penny had wanted, the Deke who had promised to find a way to buy and help her renovate the Victorian house on Charm Street that she adored. Penny's throat tightened in profound sadness for what he'd thrown away as carelessly as a toy that had fallen out of favor. She opened her mouth to respond, but he had turned on his heel and was striding away from her.

  "No, I wasn't," she whispered to his retreating back, acknowledging that as hurt and humiliated as she'd been by their breakup, some very small part of her was relieved that she no longer had to feel guilty about the secrets she'd kept from Deke during their marriage. She inhaled a cleansing breath and realized suddenly that she was looking forward to the divorce party Marie was throwing tonight in her honor. What had Marie said it would be—liberating?

  God, she hoped so.

  She turned back to the museum and was seized by a sudden bout of vertigo as she stood at the bottom of the steep flagstone stairs, the gloomy house towering over her. A low, moaning sound floated on the wind, seeming to come from the house itself. For the span of two heartbeats, she was paralyzed with the crazy sensation that the house was alive and might consume her. Her pulse echoed in her head, while her gaze bounced around. She took a half-step backward, leaning on the stick she held to keep from falling. The moaning sounded again, but just when she was ready to bolt, she looked up and saw a large tree branch rubbing against an eave, scraping paint and making the noise that had spooked her.

  Feeling foolish, she laughed at herself and climbed the steps, crossed the creaky porch boards, and stood before the ten-foot-tall wooden door stained blood red—another of Hazel's wild tales, that the door had been stained crimson with blood from tortured victims. Penny lifted the brass mail chute in the door and dropped the envelopes through.

  From the rear of the house came the sound of a sports car leaving in a big hurry—Deke, driving like a teenager in his penis-extending red convertible. Penny walked back down the steps, replaying what he'd said just before he'd left, wondering why she was still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, why she wanted to believe that he harbored some amount of remorse for what he'd put her through: Because she wanted not to doubt her judgment for falling for him in the first place, or because she was so starved for love that she was willing to accept crumbs?

  A movement in the window on the third floor of the museum caught her eye, sending a zing of alarm through her chest. Was it a flash of a cape? A curtain? She had assumed that the house was empty, that Deke had simply dropped by to pick up a file, but perhaps he'd been meeting with someone. Or maybe Hazel had arrived early to clean and had heard Penny and Deke talking. Penny stared at the window but saw nothing; she dismissed it as sun glare...or her overactive imagination. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched as she trespassed her way back to the opening in the fence and across the tangled field next to her shop.

  She tossed down the impromptu walking stick, then spotted a police car on Charm Street turning onto Voodoo Street—Chief Allyson Davis, no doubt, cruising for troublemakers like Penny, according to Deke. As if the woman had anything better to do. The only crime in Mojo was the occasional bar fight at Caskey's and misdemeanor mischief like the recent break-in at Primo Dry Cleaners during which a roll of quarters had gone missing.

  The Charm Farm parking lot was full of cars, so Penny picked up the pace to give Marie and Guy a hand. Yet at the corner of the lot, Penny was unable to resist one glance back at the Archambault mansion. From this vantage point, only the turrets and the cupola were visible...and a person standing in the cupola?

  Penny blinked to focus, then pulled out her binoculars, but whatever she thought she'd seen was gone. She shook herself and wondered if Marie had put something in that so-called love potion to make her paranoid.

  She wet her lips and acknowledged that she was feeling...self-aware. Maybe tonight at Caskey's she'd run into a stranger who wasn't too strange.

  The day passed quickly because business was hopping. The Voodoo Festival brought out three types of people: tourists who wanted to buy souvenirs and have their palms read, the cautious believers who came with cash and hopes of learning black magic tricks, and the hard-core vodou crowd who came from New Orleans and beyond to ensure the festival maintained a level of authenticity. Robes and costumes abounded, along with headwraps, charm pouches, and colorful language—a mixture of English, Cajun, and voodoo speak. The smoothie machine ran constantly, herbs flew off the shelves, and, just as Marie had predicted, several customers asked for voodoo dolls and various bizarre items.

  "Do you have tarantulas?"

  "Um, no."

  "Powdered bones?"

  "No."

  "Goat blood?"

  "No."

  "We should start giving classes on voodoo potions and spells," Marie said. "We'd make a killing."

  "Please stop saying that," Penny said, bagging a handful of dried nasturtiums. "You're giving me the creeps. Besides, you heard what Jules said—voodoo isn't for amateurs." She walked over to the smoothie bar and smiled at the next customer. "May I help you?"

  The woman nodded. "I'll have the hot voodoo sex."

  Penny blinked. "Pardon me?"

  Marie leaned in and whispered, "That's what I named the new juice—Hot Voodoo Sex. It's selling like mad."

  Penny gave her a withering look, then put a glass under the dispenser and pulled the lever for Marie's love potion. She shook her head at the woman's nonsense, but when some of the yellow juice splashed onto Penny's hand, she licked it off when no one was looking...just in case.

  Foot traffic had begun to slow just before closing when Ziggy Hines arrived, larger than life, wearing his chef's hat.

  "Chere, Penny!" he cried, turning on the charm and the accent for the customers. "Ziggy has arrived."

  "I see," Penny observed with a smile.

  The dimpled, black-haired man walked over and kissed her on both cheeks, then angled his head close to her ear. "Where are the little treasures you told me about?"

  "Follow me." She went into her office and closed the door, then unlocked the file cabinet and withdrew the bag of truffles.

  "Mon Dieu," he muttered when he opened the bag. He lifted a truffle and scrutinized it under the light, then inhaled its pungent odor and rolled his eyes in ecstasy.

  Penny laughed. "So do these Mojo truffles pass muster?"

  He nodded, then stroked his chin. "I am amazed. Are there more where these came from?"

  "So he says."

  "How does this man grow them? I must meet him."

  "I'm not sure that's a good idea," she said. "He's a very private person." Plus she had the feeling that Ziggy was trying to cut out the middleman—her. She didn't mind, but she would have to talk to Jimmy first.

  "Does he use a pig to sniff them out?"

  "A dog, actually."

  "Ah. Dogs are preferable because they won't eat the truffle when they dig it up, but they are difficult to train." He sighed. "Now...how much?"

  "Five
hundred for the pound."

  "Three hundred," he countered.

  "Four hundred."

  "Three hundred fifty."

  "Four hundred," Penny repeated firmly. "And you know that's a great price."

  "That's a great price for imported French black truffles," Ziggy corrected. "We do not yet know what the market will be for Mojo black truffles."

  Penny crossed her arms. "Perhaps I should find out."

  "Four hundred," he agreed, then removed his wallet with a sigh. "And as many more as he and his wonder-dog can find." He counted one-hundred-dollar bills into her palm. "And this is our little secret?"

  "I can't make any promises on the part of my woodsman."

  Ziggy frowned. "Your woodsman had better be quiet for his own safety. The minute the word gets out that he's sitting on black truffles, he will be descended upon."

  Penny gave a little laugh. "You're joking."

  "No, I'm not. If he and his dog can forage a pound of truffles a day for the season, that's excellent money—especially if he can avoid the tax man."

  She nodded solemnly. In an area like Mojo, where jobs were scarce, it was the equivalent of drug money, without the risk of jail time.

  Penny led Ziggy back out into the store, and he nodded approvingly at the customers milling around. "I see the festival is bringing in the tourists."

  "Yes, it's been very good for business."

  His gaze latched onto a couple of fetching young women who were looking through the magazines but glancing at him under their lashes. "Hm. I might find somewhere to get a drink before I return to the city."

  "Try Caskey's," Penny said. "It's right on the square." She hesitated, then added, "We're having a little party there tonight if you want to stop by."

  His eyebrows went up. "And what are we celebrating?"

  Warmth crept up her face. "My divorce."

  "Oh? I didn't know. I've talked to Deke a couple of times and he didn't mention it."

  Penny blinked. "I remember the two of you meeting here once, but I didn't realize that you were friends."

  Ziggy's face reddened. "I was having a little personal problem, and I needed an out-of-town attorney to handle it."

  "Oh."

  "I'm sorry to hear your marriage didn't work out."

  She still didn't know what to say when people told her that. That she was sorry too? That she wished she'd never met Deke Black? That she had lost faith in marriage as an institution and in the idea that she would ever trust someone again? "Thanks."

  "I might see you at Caskey's," Ziggy said, then hurried to open the door for the women he'd been ogling.

  "I'll lock up," Marie said, then gave Penny a pointed glance. "So you can go home and change into something more...festive."

  Penny looked down at her overalls and wrinkled shirt, which still bore skid marks from her earlier encounter with the asphalt. "You think?"

  "I think."

  "I'm not sure I have anything festive."

  "Look," Marie said. "Hard."

  "Okay," Penny agreed with a sigh. "I'll meet you there in, say, a half hour?"

  "Why don't you take a full hour to get ready?" Marie suggested. "Maybe even break out the lipstick."

  Penny frowned. "See you there."

  After retrieving her coat and waving to Guy, she slipped out the front door and turned right, out of habit. She had reached the sidewalk and stood face-to-face with the house in all of its pink misery before she realized what she'd done. Self-pity washed over her.

  Some people were like rubber bands—willing to stretch but eager to snap back into place at the first opportunity.

  It was a Freudian slip, she decided, to walk back to her former home just before she celebrated her divorce. Shaken, she abruptly turned and strode toward her apartment over the odorous doughnut store. She scanned the faces of the pedestrians trickling toward the downtown square, hoping no one who knew her had seen her gaffe.

  Penny frowned—she had done a lot of things today she hoped no one had seen. And the day wasn't even over yet.

  Chapter Six

  A cup of celebration...

  THE THREE-BLOCK WALK to Penny's apartment was typically a quiet, meditative time of the day. But as she neared downtown, the murmur of drumming and chanting rode on the still air. The voodoo rituals were about to begin and would continue on the town square all evening and well into the night. The sharp scent of burning wood stung her nostrils, leading her gaze to the plume of lavender-colored smoke rising in the air, marking the site of a makeshift temple. Her bedroom window would give her a bird's-eye view of the activity and, for once, a good reason to miss sleep.

  She threaded her way through the crowds, which became more dense the closer she got to her apartment. Dusk was falling, and as the daylight faded, she could feel a spike in the energy. She was jostled by enthusiastic visitors who danced as they walked, flinging their arms and swaying their hips. Perfume, spices, and perspiration mingled for an erotic aroma. Yet as she rounded the corner, the sickening sugary smell of doughnuts managed to cut through every other odor.

  Ugh—she was home.

  Benny's Beignet shop was overflowing with bodies, and across the square, Caskey's bar was also enjoying a brisk business, as were the food and drink vendors set up around the perimeter of the square, selling sausage kabobs, crawfish etouffee, spicy pickles, hot peppers, and Creole coffee. In another area, booths draped in multicolored lights offered jewelry and vibrant clothing, voodoo dolls, and thousands of trinkets. Since she had left for work this morning, a covered shelter had been erected to house the voodoo rituals and readings, with a hole in the roof to allow smoke from the ceremonial fire to escape. The structure itself could barely be seen for the crush of bodies vying for a good viewing spot. The energy was contagious, and Penny's pulse synched to the rhythm of the drums, her muscles jumping to the jingle of tambourines, flutes, and rattles.

  The door leading to her apartment was next to the door of the beignet shop. She excused and pardoned herself through the crowd, working up a claustrophobic sweat by the time she unlocked the door and closed it behind her. A dim light overhead provided just enough illumination for her to get her bearings. The narrow, steep stairway in front of her disappeared into darkness. She felt for the light switch and flipped it, but the bulb on the landing above popped and fizzled futilely.

  Penny groaned in frustration—it was the fifth lightbulb to burn out in a matter of weeks. When she'd complained to Elton, the landlord, he'd said something about a high-voltage pull running through the building, that she needed 130-volt bulbs instead of the standard 120-volt. Which wouldn't be a problem if the local hardware store actually carried 130-volt bulbs.

  The fine hair on the back of Penny's neck prickled in dread as she slowly climbed the worn steps, which listed slightly to the left. She was being ridiculous, she knew, but since she had moved out of the house that she and Deke had shared, her childhood fear of the dark had returned. It was understandable, she assumed, since she was living alone for the first time in her life, but justification didn't make her phobia any easier to deal with. The drone of the noisy crowd at her back didn't help—in fact, it made her feel more isolated. If something happened, no one would hear her screams.

  She gripped the handrail all the way up, stumbling once on the landing before catching herself. The stink of burnt bulb hung in the musty air. She turned left and felt for the door to her apartment, fumbling for what seemed like an eternity to find the keyhole with her key. The landing was large enough and the air black enough that someone could be standing behind her and she wouldn't even know it. Her skin crawled as perspiration gathered at the small of her back. At last, she turned the dead bolt and practically fell into her apartment, lunging for a light switch as she pushed the door closed behind her.

  The light flickered but caught, illuminating her tiny dining room to the right and part of the kitchen behind it. She exhaled to relieve her pent-up tension and walked a few feet to her left, hitting
another light switch to reveal the living room, which led into a bathroom straight ahead and into the bedroom around the corner. All five rooms could have fit into the master bedroom suite in the Victorian on Charm Street. The upside was that they'd been easy to furnish—one delivery from Furniture Galaxy and she'd been set: miniature dining table and chairs, two bar stools, sage green leather couch and butter yellow leather chair, side table, lamp number one, hooked area rug, television cabinet, television, queen-size bed, chest of drawers, and lamp number two.

  She tried not to think about the luscious antiques that had stayed with the house, all of which she had handpicked, refurbishing many herself. On her way out the door, she had stolen a plant, a ficus tree sitting in the foyer that had thrived under her care. She couldn't imagine Deke missing it; in hindsight, he hadn't been particularly attached to anything in the house that was living.

  The one thing that she most regretted leaving was a lovebirds tree ornament that Deke had given her the first Christmas they were together in college at Louisiana State University. He hadn't been able to understand why she'd cried, and she'd been too embarrassed to confess that as a child she'd always longed for a twinkling Christmas tree with lots of ornaments. That kind of admission would have led to questions about her family that she hadn't wanted to address. As far as Deke knew, she was an only child and both of her parents had died.

  Which was partly true.

  When she'd been gathering her clothes and personal effects, she had forgotten about the ornament, which she had kept wrapped in tissue paper in a chest in the attic. On some level she wanted the ornament as a reminder that she hadn't imagined Deke's love for her, but a stronger motivation was envisioning Sheena running across the ornament and having a belly laugh at Penny's sentimentality. The thought of that woman—or Deke—tossing the ornament as if it meant nothing kept Penny awake at nights. Someday she would figure out a way to get it back without either one of them knowing. She was too ashamed to let anyone know the ornament still meant something to her.