Love Can Be Murder (boxed set of humorous mysteries)

by Stephanie Bond

  Penny glanced around her little apartment, conceding it wasn't without its own charm: tall plaster ceilings, waist-high white bead board that ran throughout, worn wood floors that were always pleasingly warm because of the heat generated beneath her in the doughnut shop. And the windows—the windows were magnificent. Two in the living room, two in the bedroom, nearly floor to ceiling. The pair in the bedroom opened onto a Juliet balcony, encased by an intricate cast-iron railing.

  If only she had a Romeo to gaze down upon, instead of a giant revolving square doughnut.

  Penny shrugged out of her coat and dropped it onto the quilted coverlet on her bed. For a few seconds, she stared at the coat with envy—she'd had a long, disturbing day, and she'd rather have curled up on her bed and listen to the crowd through an open window than attend this party that Marie had planned. She stretched high on her toes and exhaled noisily. She couldn't back out now—it was nice of Marie to have planned it. And maybe the party would help her put some closure on her relationship with Deke.

  First things first. She phoned her landlord and left another message about the lightbulbs. The plain yogurt and dried bananas she'd eaten for lunch were long gone, and Caskey's would have few to no healthy choices on the menu, so she made a quick spinach and tofu salad and washed it down with mineral water and lemon. A long, hot shower would have felt great, but her water heater was on the fritz more often than not, so she settled for a long, lukewarm shower. Afterward, she took special care to smooth on scented lotion, dab almond oil on her pulse points, and make an attempt to tame her auburn curls with a round brush.

  Frowning into the mirror, she studied her reflection, something she'd been doing more of lately, she acknowledged. She wasn't about to accept blame for Deke's sleeping around, but after being tossed aside as carelessly as she had been, she did have her moments of self-doubt.

  Okay, make that hours of self-doubt. At thirty-two, her features were beginning to sharpen as youthful lipids left her skin. Sometimes when she looked in the mirror, she felt old; at other times, simply mature. Her face was unremarkable, although she'd always believed her green eyes were her best attribute. Deke seemed to prefer her smile, but she thought she showed too much gum.

  That's when I know you're really happy, he'd said once. When I see a lot of gum.

  She couldn't remember the last time she'd shown a lot of gum.

  With a sigh, she withdrew her dusty makeup case and poked around for products that weren't dried up. A dusting of powder would have to suffice as foundation. Too late, she remembered why she didn't use the powder more often—it contained skin "brighteners," which sounded scientific but were, in effect, ground-up glitter so difficult to remove, it practically had to wear off a person's skin. She lucked out and found an unopened wand of mascara and a pinkish lipstick that did double-duty as blush. Then she gave up while she was ahead.

  With much trepidation, she opened the door of her closet, Marie's not so subtle suggestion to dress up ringing in her mind.

  "Festive, festive, festive," she murmured, flipping through jeans, corduroys, chinos, painter's pants, overalls, jumpers, and sweaters. In a near panic, she reached into the back of her closet, and her hand closed over a forgotten dress, one she'd purchased at a local boutique when she'd first detected Deke's restlessness. She withdrew it and held it in front of her, the tags dangling. The sleeveless emerald green wrap dress was fitted through the bodice, tied at the waist, then fell to a long, swishy skirt edged with a thick row of embroidered gold trim. The lustrous fabric was finely cut and flattering to her lean figure. She had paid more for it and a pair of gold wedge-heel sandals than any ensemble since her wedding gown, but she hadn't gotten the chance to wear it and had been too embarrassed to return it...afterward.

  She removed the tags, then slid into the dress and stepped into the shoes, turning this way and that way in the mirror, remembering Deke's reference to her "bony ass." She looked, she decided, as good as she was ever going to look. She added dangly earrings and a few ethnic bracelets, tied a yellow shawl around her shoulders, and dropped essentials into an appliquéd canvas shoulder bag, including a flashlight so she wouldn't have to climb the stairs in the dark again.

  At the last minute, she glanced in the mirror and panicked at her made-over reflection. Did she look as if she was trying too hard?

  Then she winced. Trying too hard to do what? To forget about Deke? Wasn't that the plan?

  She walked to the window and looked out across the people milling in the square—couples holding hands, friends arm in arm, children running wild. The main crowd still gravitated around the shelter, where the dancing had grown more frenzied. Small groups of dancers had erupted on all sides, and everyone seemed to be getting into the spirit of the festival. From her vantage point, she scanned the crowd for anyone familiar and spotted Marie's blue hair as the young woman hurried in the direction of the bar.

  Penny smiled wryly—time to stop stalling and go celebrate her failed marriage.

  She started to turn away from the window when she noticed a tall, muscular man standing next to a streetlight, casually inspecting the crowd. Something about him struck her as familiar....

  The man who had visited Sheena!

  She took an involuntary half step back from the window, then peeked around to see if Sheena was lurking about. If she was, she wasn't making herself known...or maybe the man was waiting for her.

  Penny picked up her purse, her chest bursting with curiosity. She left the light over the dining room table burning and prayed it would last until she got home. The new shoes made getting down the dark stairs precarious, especially when she had to use one hand to hold the flashlight. When she opened the door onto the street, the noise blasted her. The volume had increased twofold since she had gone inside. Night had fallen, but the square was awash with pink and yellow light. The lamp under which the mystery man had been standing illuminated emptiness. Penny glanced around but didn't see him anywhere.

  A child ran by and Penny jumped back, laughing, to avoid being plowed by a train of shrieking children holding sparklers high. She worked her way through the crowd, past the trinket vendors. She fingered glass bead necklaces and velvet charm pouches and smiled over jars of crushed "bones" like the ones on sale at the souvenir shop at the voodoo museum. (Close scrutiny of the label revealed the contents as "rock bones," or in layman's terms, crushed limestone.) Jars of "spider legs," "poison frog skin," and "fish eyes" were equally bogus but were being snapped up anyway.

  The booth selling voodoo dolls was the busiest by far. Factory-stamped "stick it to your boss" fabric dolls were prevalent, as were cartoonish "love" and "revenge" dolls of ambiguous sex and miniature novelty dolls in bright hues. High in the rafters of the tent, however, she spied more authentic versions of the dolls, some of them grotesque, made from black cloth or wax, wrapped in scraps of fabric. The woman running the booth saw her studying the dolls and made a move to get one down for her, but Penny waved her off.

  She made her way toward Caskey's, marveling over the intensity of the atmosphere. She had experienced the festival every year she'd lived in Mojo, but she'd never seen so many people, so much energy. It had the feeling of Mardi Gras, without the beads and the nudity. The strong aroma of incense and cloves cleared her sinuses and stung her eyes. The air throbbed with the beat of the three drummers of the batri playing for the ceremony, and the ground vibrated with the force of pounding feet.

  As she walked past the shelter, she noticed wooden cages of white chickens lined up. Their frantic squawking added to the din, as if they knew their fate. The priests and priestesses had met animal control halfway by agreeing to kill the birds humanely in their sacrificial ritual, and only at a time when children most likely would be home in bed.

  Penny shivered and pulled her shawl higher on her bare shoulders as she wound through the crowd waiting at Caskey's. Marie was smart to have reserved a room for the party. Penny only hoped that enough people showed up. When she finally made it to
the hostess stand, she shouted to be heard above the noise, and the young girl directed her to the party room. On the way past the bar, Penny did a double take; the mystery man sat alone, nursing a long-neck beer.

  Still dressed in the brown leather coat and clothes she'd seen him in this morning, he was as long-limbed as he had appeared from a distance, and broad-shouldered, but slouching in a "screw everyone" posture. His black gaze latched onto her in puzzled recognition, then darted to her cleavage. Penny realized with a flush that she looked radically different than when he'd stopped to ask for directions. She quickly averted her gaze and hurried toward her destination.

  But poor Deke—even with the hair transplant, he didn't stand a chance against the guy.

  She grinned and was pretty sure she was showing gum.

  Suddenly she felt like celebrating. She found the room and smiled at the sign reading Congratulations on Your Divorce, Penny! She rapped on the door that was ajar before sticking her head inside the nearly empty room. Rollicking zydeco music blared from a MP3 player in the corner. "Is this the divorce party?"

  Marie turned, and her eyes widened. "Wow, Penny, you look..." She squinted. "Your skin is all glittery."

  Penny smirked. "You said festive."

  "You look awesome, boss, really."

  Penny thanked her, then laughed as she walked into the room festooned in streamers and balloons. "The decorations are awesome, too," she said, picking up a noisemaker and giving it a spin. "But it looks like this is going to be one dead divorce party."

  "Gee, then maybe we should go," said a voice behind her.

  Penny turned, and at the sight of the two women standing in the doorway, she let out a happy cry and broke into a run.

  Chapter Seven

  Toss in some unexpected spice...

  "LIZ, WENDY...what are you doing here?"

  "We came to liven up this dead party," Liz said with a laugh.

  Penny embraced the women one at a time, then angled her head at Marie. "You set this up."

  Marie looked pleased with herself. "So I snooped in your address book."

  "Marie called me," Liz said, "then I called Wendy."

  Penny pulled her two friends forward, glad that her employee had made the call that she herself had been too embarrassed to make. "Marie, meet my two best friends from college—Liz Brockwell and Wendy Metzger."

  Still tingling with shock and pleasure, Penny observed the sleek women as they shook hands with Marie and said hello. They were just as attractive as when they'd all met at Louisiana State University—maybe more so. Liz was a vivacious blond, twice divorced, who lived in New Orleans and ran a chain of chiropractic clinics. She had always been the personality of the trio, as well as the fashion plate—and still was, as evidenced by her Tory Burch tweed jacket over Decca jeans and the Fendi bag—things that Penny recognized from the Saks ads in the Post.

  Wendy was a quiet, petite, raven-haired beauty from Atlanta who had never been married. She ran an art gallery—perfect for her reserved nature and refined taste. Only Wendy could look so feminine in her tiny Versace glasses and tailored boyish clothes, her long hair pulled back into a simple ponytail.

  Liz lifted a gift bag. "Where do you want the gag gifts?"

  Marie pointed to a gaily decorated table just inside the door. "Put them there and Penny can open them later. I'm going to get a round of drinks." She grinned at Penny, then skipped out of the room, leaving the three of them alone.

  Penny flushed under Liz's direct gaze. "What—you couldn't call and tell us that you and Deke were getting a divorce?"

  "You didn't call me when you got your last divorce," Penny pointed out.

  Liz shrugged. "You'd only met Richard once. Besides, I wasn't exactly torn up about it."

  Penny lifted her chin slightly.

  "Not that you're torn up about it," Wendy said quickly, then winced and touched Penny's arm. "Are you?"

  "She's having a party, isn't she?" Liz said, swatting at an errant balloon.

  "What happened?" Wendy asked, her voice laced with curiosity and concern.

  Penny shrugged and tried to sound philosophical. "Deke found someone else."

  Liz rolled her eyes. "How young is she?"

  "Young," Penny admitted. "And...voluptuous. I caught them together...in our bed."

  "I'm so sorry," Wendy said, giving her a hug.

  "Well, I'm not," Liz declared to Penny. "You've never looked better in your life, so the divorce must be agreeing with you."

  "You're gorgeous," Wendy agreed.

  "Thanks," Penny said, knowing they were trying to make her feel better, and letting them.

  "Are you changing your name back to Francisco?" Wendy asked.

  Penny nodded. "Already done."

  "I assume you got the house," Liz said, tapping her foot.

  "No, but I had a good attorney—I called Gloria Dalton."

  Liz's eyebrows climbed. "Gloria is a great attorney—she didn't get you the house?"

  Penny smiled. "Deke got the house, but I got the rental property across the street."

  "Which is your health food store," Wendy said. "Right?"

  "Liz pointed it out to me when we drove in—it looks terrific."

  "Thanks, I really love it. And business is good, knock on wood."

  Wendy's dark eyes widened. "But you're across the street from Deke in the house—that's kind of icky, isn't it?"

  "It hasn't been easy," Penny conceded. "His girlfriend moved in."

  "Well," Liz said dryly, "that explains the pink paint job. I knew that wasn't your handiwork."

  Penny made a face and shook her head. "I confronted Deke about it this morning and he said it's what she wants."

  Wendy frowned. "Who is this woman?"

  Penny sighed. "The town bimbo, unfortunately. And she owns the local tanning salon."

  Liz snorted. "Couldn't Deke at least have been original?"

  "Did the two of you just grow apart?" Wendy asked.

  Good question, one that Penny had asked herself a hundred times. "We must have," she said carefully. "We were happy for the first few years we lived here, but I was bored working in his law office, so I suggested opening the health food store. Deke was against it, but in the end he gave in—I think he believed it would go under within a couple of months and I'd come back to work with him." Penny made a rueful noise. "I thought it was a good thing, that maybe we were spending too much time together, but that's when things started to go south."

  "Is his mother still alive?" Liz asked.

  Penny nodded. "And she's still the mayor. She always tried to interfere in our marriage, but Deke stood up to her." Penny frowned. "At first. Then his practice started to slide. When I left to start the health food store, his business dropped off even more, and his entire personality changed. I think he blamed me for leaving him without an office manager. He was jumpy and irritable, and...paranoid."

  Liz crossed her arms. "Paranoid?"

  "Paranoid might not be the right word—stressed. He was stressed all the time, working longer and longer hours. That's when I began to suspect that something was wrong."

  "Sounds like drugs," Liz muttered.

  Penny bit down on the inside of her cheek. She had considered the possibility, and it would have explained a lot of things, like his erratic passive-aggressive behavior. "Nothing so dramatic—he was just having a good old-fashioned midlife crisis."

  "Penny, are you doing okay, really?" Wendy asked.

  Penny nodded. "Some days are harder than others, but overall, yeah, I'm fine."

  "Did you consider leaving Mojo?" Liz asked.

  Somehow Liz always managed to find Penny's sore spots. "I might have if my business wasn't doing so well." And the sad truth was, she had nowhere else to go. She clasped their hands, eager to change the subject. "How long has it been since we were all together?"

  "Two years," Liz said. "Your thirtieth birthday."

  "How long can you stay?"

  "We have to go back t
o the city right after the party—Wendy's flying out at the crack of dawn."

  Penny groaned. "So, catch me up."

  "Same old, same old for me," Liz said with a languid smile.

  "Still rich and single, in other words," Penny said dryly.

  Liz's laugh tinkled. "It's a great life, isn't it, Wendy?"

  "Don't ask me. I've got the single part down, but the rich part has eluded me."

  "Not true," Liz said, then looked at Penny. "She just bought a fabulous loft in an artsy section of Atlanta."

  "Really?" Penny asked, surprised. Wendy had always said she wanted to wait until she married Mr. Right before taking on a mortgage. "That's wonderful. Your career must be going gangbusters."

  "She's been asked to curate an exhibit at the High Museum of Art," Liz said, then slanted a glance toward their doe-eyed friend. "And she has a mystery boyfriend."

  Penny lifted her eyebrows. "Do tell."

  Wendy gave Liz an exasperated glance. "Liz talks too much."

  A cell phone rang, and Wendy glanced toward her purse.

  "Speak of the devil," Liz said.

  "Answer it," Penny encouraged.

  But Wendy seemed nervous and shook her head as the phone continued to ring. It stopped, only to start ringing again a few seconds later.

  "He's persistent," Liz declared.

  Wendy bit her lip as she reached into her bag and withdrew the phone.

  Liz leaned over to steal a glance at the screen, and Wendy yanked it back. "Liz, mind your own business!"

  Liz laughed and looked at Penny. "He must really be important—maybe he's a famous artist."

  "I need to take this," Wendy said with a frown, then hurried out the door.

  Liz smirked. "I think she's doing her boss, Mr. Shepherd."

  "Why would she want to keep it a secret?"

  "Because he's married."

  "Oh." Penny swallowed. Having been cheated on gave her a different perspective of an affair. If Wendy was seeing Mr. Shepherd, that made her Mrs. Shepherd's Sheena.