Love Can Be Murder (boxed set of humorous mysteries)

by Stephanie Bond

  He took a drink from the bottle, still reading. "Looks like a good kid, I hope she's found safe."

  "Or not."

  He arched one eyebrow. "You hope she isn't found?"

  Penny shrugged. "She's seventeen. Maybe she doesn't want to be found."

  He pursed his mouth. "Is that the voice of personal experience? Do you have secrets, Penny?"

  Her mouth went dry as his gaze bored into hers. One minute in and he was already too close for comfort. "No," she croaked.

  "Ah. So it's the cynicism of someone newly divorced." He grinned and took another drink. "You left your own party?"

  "I just stepped out for a few minutes."

  "I'm ready to leave, too. So why don't we leave together?"

  She blinked, wondering if she'd misheard him, but the sexy glint in his eyes and the curve of his mouth was unmistakable—he wanted to get busy...with her. A tug on her midsection answered his call, and her breasts tingled, but her good-girl training kicked in. "I don't even know your name."

  "It's B.J.," he said. "And don't worry—I'm not a serial killer."

  She smirked. "I'll bet that's what all the serial killers say."

  He laughed, a pleasant noise that stroked her curiosity. "I promise as long as you're with me, nothing will ever happen to you...that you don't want to happen."

  She swallowed hard. Strangely, she believed him, trusted him...with her body anyway.

  He leaned forward. "You smell good."

  "Thanks...it's, um, almond oil."

  "Really? Smells like doughnuts."

  She pushed her tongue into her cheek. She had to find a new place to live.

  He grinned. "I love doughnuts."

  "I don't," she said firmly, and started to push away from the wall.

  "Hey," he said with a little laugh. "Relax. What do you like?"

  She lifted her chin. "Tofu."

  "Tofu?" He made a rueful noise. "Lady, I'd sure like to try to change your idea of fun."

  She couldn't help but laugh at his Cajun masochism. The man was appealing in a base sort of way.

  He nodded toward the exit. "So how about it, Penny? Let me take your mind off...whatever."

  Penny started to shake her head no, but something took hold inside her chest that she recognized as power. Feminine satisfaction swelled in her belly, and her thighs pulsed with pleasure. It had been a long time since she'd been pursued by a man. It had been over a decade since she'd even seen a man other than Deke naked, and she suspected that B J. here would measure up...and then some. Besides, if she were very clever, maybe she'd find out something about Sheena that would help her to apply pressure when she took Deke back to court.

  She wet her lips, testing the words silently. Okay...let's go...your place or mine? She tried desperately to remember what kind of underwear she'd worn—black lace bikini, or full coverage cotton?

  "Penny!"

  Down the hall Marie motioned to her and shouted, "Come on—it's time to open the gag gifts!" then disappeared back into the room.

  Penny straightened, remorse and...relief?...bleeding through her. "I guess I'd better get back to my party."

  He tore a corner off a faded flyer and wrote something on it using a pen that was attached to the wall. "I have to take off," he said, extending the paper. "But here's my cell number. Why don't you call me when you're finished here and we'll...see what happens."

  Penny took the piece of paper but decided not to commit. He didn't press her for an answer, just inclined his head and left. She shoved the slip of paper deep into her pocket and watched him disappear into the crowd. He didn't act like a player—he wasn't scouting the bar for another score, and he didn't have an entourage. She made her way back to the party, her heart thudding with apprehension.

  Everyone was in high spirits when she returned, although she spotted Liz checking her watch a couple of times and felt guilty; her friend had probably traded a night of sophisticated entertainment to come to Mojo and have watered-down drinks at a hole-in-the-wall bar. Wendy looked equally out of place, stabbing at her glasses and checking her cell phone. Guy, too, looked restless, and Diane Davidson appeared ready to bolt at the first chance. Determined to put everyone out of their misery, Penny went to the gift table and clinked a fork against her glass to get everyone's attention. Guy turned down the music.

  Penny inhaled and cleared her throat. "Thank you so much for coming tonight and thanks to Marie for putting this together." The alcohol was pumping through her body, unhindered by food. As she looked over the motley crew that had assembled on her behalf, she suddenly felt sorry for herself, and for them for being dragged into her personal drama. Unbidden, revulsion for Deke and what he had put her through welled in her chest. Tension whipped through the room as everyone waited. Marie pressed her lips together and averted her gaze.

  In a desperate attempt to ward off tears, Penny decided to play the sarcasm card. "Most of you know the circumstances of my divorce. For those of you who don't—my husband was a lying, cheating, son of a bitch."

  Everyone erupted in laughter, relieving the tension in the room and thankfully, in her chest. "But I got the last laugh because he has to live in a pink house and I got all these presents!"

  Marie handed her a gift bag. "I asked everyone to keep the gifts anonymous."

  "Ooh, mysterious." She pulled out a box of condoms, and cheers broke out. A flush warmed her face, and B.J.'s number seemed to burn through her clothing into her skin.

  Subsequent bags and boxes revealed a ball cap and T-shirt that espoused the virtues of divorce, a roll of ex-husband toilet paper (Guy's gift, she suspected), a bottle of champagne that was speedily opened, an inflatable husband (from Liz and Wendy?), a couple of Happy Divorce chocolate bars (although she hadn't eaten chocolate in over a year), a Charm Kit to Bury the Past (probably from Hazel), and a vibrator (definitely from Marie).

  The last box, however, got the biggest laugh—an eight-inch voodoo doll dressed in a little suit. A red Hot Wheels sports car had been glued to his hand. Penny shrieked with laughter at the likeness to Deke.

  "Stick him!" someone shouted, then everyone started chanting, "Stick him! Stick him!"

  Caught up in the moment, she removed one of the black hat pins and considered sticking the doll in the crotch. At the last second, she settled for stabbing his cheating heart, to the sound of enthusiastic cheers. The force dislodged the little car from his hand, sending it crashing to the floor, crumpling the front end. Groans and chortles chorused around the room, then everyone applauded heartily.

  "A prick for a prick!" Liz shouted.

  Penny took a little bow, flushed with the exhilaration of retaliation—even if it was meaningless. Then unbidden, Jules's words of warning came back to her about voodoo not being for amateurs. Staring down at the mortally wounded doll, Penny experienced a blip of panic: She didn't truly wish Deke harm.

  Although she wouldn't lose sleep if the thieving bastard came down with his own bad case of heartache.

  Chapter Ten

  Allow everything to ferment...

  "I CAN’T THANK YOU ENOUGH for coming," Penny said, hugging Liz, then Wendy. They had stayed behind for farewell drinks. Everyone else had left Caskey's in various stages of inebriation and celebration to enjoy the festival that was still going strong. "It was wonderful to see you both."

  "I wish we could stay longer," Wendy said, "but I have to be back tomorrow to get ready for an exhibit. Maybe we can all get together during the holidays."

  "Liz,” Penny said, “we can have lunch when I come to the city to see Gloria Dalton. I invited her to come tonight, but she said she had a commitment."

  Liz lifted her hands. "I've tried to get to know Gloria, but she's so private. I've heard that her house is like a fortress." Then she scowled. "I can't believe that on top of everything else, Deke hid assets during the divorce." She nodded to Penny's bag of gag gifts. "You should have torn the head off of that voodoo doll!"

  At Liz's vicious tone, Penny
laughed nervously. "Were you the one who brought it?"

  "No, but it was brilliant. That man deserves to be taught a lesson."

  Wendy nodded fervently. "He can't get away with this."

  Touched that her friends were so angry on her behalf, Penny set her jaw. She was definitely going to call B.J. and begin laying her plan of attack against Deke and Sheena. (Lay being the operative word.) "Don't worry—I have plans for Deke. He's going to regret screwing me over." She stood and grabbed the table to steady herself.

  Liz frowned. "Are you sure you're okay to walk home? Maybe you should get some coffee first?"

  "No, I'm just across the square," Penny said, then inhaled deeply before turning toward the exit. "I'll be fine." Besides, if she sobered up, she might not make that phone call.

  "You're going to feel like hell tomorrow," Wendy said.

  Penny winced and put her hand to her head. "I think I will go to the ladies' room before I leave."

  "Want us to wait?" Wendy asked.

  "No, go ahead. Drive safely."

  They embraced again, then the women left the bar. Penny watched them, her chest squeezing with fondness. But as she watched, Liz wheeled on Wendy and said something sharp, her expression angry, her finger accusing. Wendy seemed to shrink under the verbal attack before responding. Then Wendy strode ahead, her body language jerky. Liz glared after her before following.

  Penny frowned at the exchange, wondering what they were arguing about—Wendy's mystery friend? Penny's predicament? Liz's ability to drive home? Then Penny dismissed it; the two women had always bickered, but they'd somehow managed to stay friends.

  In the ladies' room, she wet a paper towel and dabbed at her neck and forehead. Her reflection in the mirror was fuzzily attractive—she finally understood the concept of "beer glasses." But her hands were covered with the damnable glitter from her makeup. Everything she touched sparkled...and B.J. didn't seem like the kind of guy who would appreciate waking up tomorrow with sparkles on his—

  "Granola Girl—I thought that was you."

  Penny looked up to see Sheena standing next to her, her hip cocked and her neck hitched in an unnatural position, a huge python-skin bag over her shoulder. “Hello, Sheena.”

  The woman snapped her gum. "Did Deke get ahold of you?"

  Penny sighed and tossed the soggy paper towel in the trash. "I don't know what you mean."

  Snap, snap, cock, hitch. "He's lookin' for somethin' in the house and thought you might know where it is."

  "What's he lookin'—I mean looking—for?"

  "Search me," she said with a shrug.

  "Considering how few clothes you're wearing, that wouldn't take long."

  Sheena narrowed her eyes. "He's been tryin' to reach you. He seemed kinda worried, so you should give him a call at our home."

  At their home. "Okay." And then she'd spend the night with Sheena's hottie boyfriend.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Nothing. See you around."

  Penny left the bar and strolled across the square to her apartment. With alcohol buzzing through her system, the climb up the stairs was precarious at best. Twice she dropped her bag of gag gifts and had to go back to retrieve items—the ex-husband toilet paper, she had to admit, was a hoot. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she was exhausted, but the flashlight helped dispel the darkness.

  Once inside, she set the bag on the dining table and picked up the phone, wondering what Deke had misplaced that was so important (other than his accurate financial records), and how she was going to get through a conversation with him without tipping him off that she was on to him.

  The machine display said she had four messages. She pushed the button.

  "Penny, it's Deke." His voice was low and angry. "I've lost something and thought you might know where it is. Call me."

  Penny frowned.

  "It's me again. Why don't you get a cell phone like the rest of the world? Call me as soon as you get in."

  "Call me." Heavy sigh. "It's important."

  "Damnit, Penny, where the hell are you?"

  His tone startled her—no matter what a bonehead he was, he never raised his voice to her. Whatever he'd misplaced, it must be important. With her heart thudding in her chest, she dialed the number to the house, but the line was busy.

  Her hand brushed against her pocket, rustling the piece of paper inside. She withdrew the scrap and studied the phone number that B.J. had scrawled there. Her thighs quickened at the memory of his dark, interested gaze raking over her, but on the heels of the excitement was apprehension. She hadn't been with a man for a long time...she couldn't even remember the scant lovers she'd had before Deke. What did men like these days—meat and potatoes sex, or whipped cream and cherries? And what was she supposed to like? Freaky positions? Flavored lube?

  She really should read a magazine once in a while.

  Deciding that she needed a boost before dealing with Deke, she dialed the number B.J. had given her and inhaled for courage. After two rings, she panicked and started to hang up.

  "B.J. here."

  His voice sent a rumble through her midsection. "Um...hi. It's Penny." She swallowed. "We met at Caskey's."

  "I remember," he said cheerfully. "The redheaded lady with the secrets. I didn't think you were going to call."

  "Well...I did." She winced—that was bright.

  He laughed. "So you did. Where do you want to meet?"

  She debated the safety and privacy of her apartment versus a hotel room and decided that her apartment was probably better on both accounts. "My place. I live over the beignet shop on the square."

  "Benny's?" He laughed. "Well, that explains your perfume."

  She flushed hot. "Where are you?"

  "Not far," he said vaguely. "What time do you want to meet?"

  "I need a few minutes to take care of something," she said, glancing at her watch. It was a little past ten o'clock. "How about eleven? It's the door to the right of the shop. Just ring my bell. I mean...the bell."

  "I'll be there," he promised, his voice thick and full of other wicked promises.

  A silly smile crept up her face. "Okay. Good-bye." She hung up the phone and squealed like a teenager. She was going to have hot voodoo sex tonight.

  Impatient and horny, she called Deke's number again, but the phone was still busy. Sighing in frustration, she worked her mouth from side to side. She could walk to the house, ring the doorbell, and be done with it faster than waiting for him to get off the phone. And maybe this was her chance to get back her lovebirds ornament under the pretense of finding whatever he was looking for. She moved toward the door a little too quickly, and a sharp pain stabbed her temples. Maybe the short walk would sober her up just a tad, too.

  If she was going to spend the night with a long, hot Cajun, she wanted to be able to remember some of it.

  She retrieved her purse, then grabbed her flashlight and headed back down the stairs, slowly. Out in the square, she blinked against the bright lights—fireworks were being set off in the fire department parking lot. The festival had grown even more frenetic, with the crowd around the peristil chanting, whirling, and twirling to the increased tempo. Lulled by the earthy rhythms, Penny relaxed and moved through the crowd at a leisurely pace, enjoying the weightlessness of her buzz and the hum of noise around her, womblike and comforting. On the far side of the shelter, she spotted Jules Lamborne performing some kind of dance in slow motion, her eyes closed and her movements fluid. She seemed to be stepping and waving to a song in her head.

  Penny smiled, thinking she'd have something to tease Jules about in the morning—that she'd decided to put in an appearance at the festival after all. A sharp, whacking sound close by startled Penny. She turned and winced to see a chicken's head fall to the ground mere inches from her foot, its body spirited away to be offered to whatever lwa was being celebrated. A robed priestess was leading the ceremony, wearing an eerie mask that resembled the front of a human skull, minus the lowe
r jaw, and topped with a spray of feathers. She held the headless chicken in one hand and a bead-covered rattle in the other hand.

  Fascinated, Penny watched as the priestess began to spin, slowly at first, then faster and faster, more times than what seemed humanly tolerable. When she finally stopped, she was facing Penny. Suddenly the woman lifted the rattle in Penny's direction with an arm so rigid that it shook from sheer effort. Penny stood rooted to the ground, mesmerized by the rattling noise and the jingle of the bell attached to the handle, unable to move. Cold fear trickled down her back, like ice water. Was the priestess singling her out, casting a spell to rid her of—or to infuse her with—evil?

  The moment was broken when the priestess abandoned her rattle to snatch another squirming chicken from its cage and relieve it of its head, this time with a savage twist of her bare hands, leaving a long white neck bone exposed. Penny winced—the sacrifice was even more bloody than the first, and in violation of an agreement with animal control. But the crowd seemed energized, cheering when the priestess set the headless chicken on its feet and the carcass ran around, flapping its wings, exhausting adrenaline in its muscle tissue.

  Penny shuddered and backed away, eager now to finish her errand. The dark side of voodoo did not amuse her.

  The streetlights were bright, illuminating the sidewalk during the three-block trek back to the Victorian on Charm Street. Away from the main crowd, though, the temperature had dropped into the low fifties, she guessed as she pulled the yellow shawl tighter around her shoulders. And something else warmed her—the anticipation of spending the night with the sexy, mysterious B.J.

  The Victorian fairly glowed with its new pink paint job—if possible, the color was even more ghastly at night, and it emitted a damp, fusty odor. The porch light was on, as were the light in front of the garage and a few strategic landscape lights she had installed herself. From the street she could see lights on inside the house—the kitchen, Deke's office, and the master bedroom. She climbed the steps to the porch and glanced at the metal glider before ringing the doorbell. After a couple of minutes passed, she cupped her hands around her eyes and peered into the small square window on the door. The pressure made the door swing inward. Deke still hadn't adjusted the plate on the frame so that the door would catch without leaning a shoulder into it.