"What? Oh, no, I didn't expect you to..." He made a rueful noise. "I just wanted to see if you were okay."
"I'm okay."
"Good." He nodded. "Then...I'll be on my way."
She watched him begin to walk away, remorse coursing through her chest. If only she had left Caskey's with him, she reasoned crazily, she wouldn't have been in the mess she was in. The next time she had the choice between fun and obligation, she would choose fun...assuming there would be a next time. "Hey," she said. "Wait."
He turned back.
"I guess I owe you an explanation."
He shrugged. "Not unless you want to talk about it."
She crossed her arms over her baggy sweatshirt. "Just who are you anyway?"
He gave a little laugh. "That's a fair question. My name is Beaumont."
"Why are you in Mojo?"
"I'm in town on business."
"What kind of business?"
He hesitated. "I'm a private investigator from New Orleans. I specialize in missing persons. I go where the crowds are—festivals, concerts."
Penny narrowed her eyes. "Why were you at Sheena Linder's house yesterday morning?"
"How did you know about that?"
"She's engaged to my ex-husband, the man who was murdered tonight. And she lives in the house I used to—only it wasn't pink when I lived there. I have a business across the street, and I saw you drive up in a green car."
He whistled low. "Not bad. If you got my license plate number, I'd like to offer you a job."
"Are you two involved or something?"
"No." He held up his hands. "I'd never met the Linder woman until yesterday, and it didn't take me long to realize she's not my type."
Okay, so he was improving in her eyes. "Then why were you there?"
Another hesitation. "It was a dead-end lead. Wait a minute—did she kill your ex-husband?"
"That would be too simple." Immediately, guilt descended, and Penny sighed. "I'm sorry—that was a terrible thing to say. I'm tired."
"Right." He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. "Look, I know it's late, but do you want to talk, maybe grab a cup of coffee at the diner?"
She looked down to the far left corner of the square. Sure enough, Ted's was still open. Penny wavered and looked down at her baggy sweats and flip-flops. "I'm not exactly dressed for it."
"It's a diner. There's mashed potatoes on the floor."
She smiled for the first time in what seemed like days.
"Come on—just a cup of coffee. Decaf."
Why did she gravitate toward this stranger? He looked dark and potentially dangerous, yet there was no denying the fact that he exuded a vibe of strength that she needed...and wanted. She caved to curiosity and walked toward him. "That's the only thing on Ted's menu that's passable, and just barely."
They walked in silence, past the erected shelter and the vendor booths that had been closed up for the night, past bundles of people sitting on tarps around portable Coleman lanterns with blankets wrapped around them. Without being obvious, B.J. glanced at every face.
"Does the voodoo festival always bring out such a big crowd?" he asked.
"Never quite this big. The weather has helped."
He held open the diner door, and she walked under his arm. "What kind of business do you own?"
She frowned at the deadly desserts rotating in the refrigerator case as they passed. "A health food store."
He chortled. "That explains the tofu remark at the bar."
"Have you tried it?" she asked as she slid into a sticky red-and-white booth.
He shrugged out of his leather bomber jacket and tossed it on the seat before sitting opposite her. "No, I can honestly say I've never tried tofu."
"Well, don't knock it until you've tried it." She glanced around to see if she knew anyone in the diner and spotted the two friends of Marie's who worked at the Hair Affair, who had come to her party. One of the girls saw her and put her hand to her mouth, then whispered to the other one, who looked up, her eyes wide.
Penny turned away, wondering what she'd been thinking to come here—in standard issue Mojo jail garb, no less.
"Friends of yours?" B.J. asked.
"Not really. But I guess word has gotten around about Deke."
"That was your ex's name—Deke?"
"Deke Black. I went back to my maiden name, Francisco."
"Penny Francisco," he said, as if testing it on his tongue. "Nice." Then he frowned. "His name sounds familiar—would I know him?"
"He's an attorney—" She stopped. "I mean, he was an attorney here in Mojo. Maybe your paths crossed at some point."
"Maybe."
Ted walked by and tossed two menus on the table.
"So," B.J. said, opening a menu. "What happened?"
She fingered the menu and told him about running into Sheena before she left the bar and the messages Deke had left for her at her apartment. "After I called you, I kept getting a busy signal at Deke's." She lifted her hands. "Don't ask me why, but I decided to walk to the house to see what he wanted and get it over with. When I got there, I found his...body." A shudder overtook her, but she was determined not to break down. "And then Sheena came home and found me."
He was quiet, but from his eyes, she could tell his mind was racing.
"Made up yer mind yet?" Ted asked. His apron was stained every color in the rainbow and smeared with some chunky stuff that Penny didn't want to identify.
"Decaf coffee for me," she said, pushing away the menu.
B.J. looked up. "Do you mind if I get some food? I'll eat fast."
"No, go ahead." While he ordered, she studied his features, placing him in his late thirties. His square jaw had a day's growth, and his hair was long on top and windblown. His black Kenny Wayne Shepherd Band T-shirt had seen a few washings. She'd never met a PI, but she decided the occupation suited him and idly wondered about his background.
"Comin' right up," Ted said, then he looked at Penny. "Weren't you married to that Deke Black who was murdered tonight?"
She swallowed. "We were divorced."
"Word is that you stabbed a voodoo doll and did him in."
Penny tried her best to look outraged. "That's ridiculous."
B.J. looked at Ted. "How about that coffee?" When the man shuffled away, B.J. said, "What's all this about a voodoo doll?"
She sighed. "It's silly. I got a voodoo doll dressed like Deke as a gag gift at my party. I got carried away and...stabbed it."
He nodded thoughtfully. "And how was Deke killed?"
"Um...he was stabbed."
"Oh."
She started to get up. "Look, this was a bad idea...I'm in a lot of trouble...I shouldn't even be here...with you."
He put his hand on her arm. "Maybe I can help."
She looked down at his big hand, thinking how wrong everything seemed—Deke was gone and another man was touching her, offering help. Her eyes welled with tears, and she was afraid to move or speak. Mortification rolled over her in waves.
"Shhh," he murmured. "Don't break down...not now. There are too many eyes."
He was right. She blinked furiously just as Ted returned to slide two mugs of coffee across the table. She sat back down and drank deeply from hers, feeling somewhat calmer. "Are you saying that I should hire you to help clear me?"
He shrugged. "Maybe."
"Are you any good?" The words hung in the air, thick with the implication of what might have happened tonight if she hadn't gone to Deke's.
A little smile curved his mouth. "The best in three states."
What was he going to say? Still, she believed him. Yet the urge to tell this man everything scared her a little. "Do you have some sort of ID or something that says you're what you say you are?"
He withdrew his wallet and showed her a card-sized registration for his agency. Beaumont Investigative Agency. "I started the business with my brother about five years ago."
Then he showed her his Louisiana driver's license
—on top of everything else, he was photogenic. She nodded, satisfied.
"Are you still interested?" he asked, then smiled. "In my help, I mean?"
The idea of relying on him was unnerving simply because she was so physically attracted to him, which was a bit insane considering her situation. Regardless, it wouldn't hurt to have someone with his expertise on her side until things settled down. "Are you expensive?"
He winked. "Don't worry—you can afford me."
"Okay, you're hired."
He nodded, as if it had been a foregone conclusion. "Now, tell me more about this voodoo doll."
Chapter Fourteen
Keep stirring to prevent anything from sticking...
PENNY TOOK A DEEP BREATH, then told B.J. about the gag gifts and how everyone had goaded her to stab the voodoo doll. "It was just a joke, of course."
A half-smile curved his mouth. "But it probably felt good."
She nodded sheepishly. "Of course now I feel terrible."
"Was it a bad breakup?"
She shrugged, loath to share all the sordid details. "I caught him with Sheena, I moved out, I filed for divorce."
"Rather recently, I assume?"
"It all started about ten months ago, and it was final this week."
He grunted. "So, his girlfriend tells you he wants something, you call and the line is busy, then you go to his house and find him dead."
"Right. In his office."
"You still have a key to the house?"
She pursed her mouth. "Probably a couple." One on the extra key ring in her purse that the police had, dammit. She told him about the door being open.
"And what was he stabbed with?"
"A garden stake."
"Come again?"
"A wire garden stake with a flag on the end. I, um, used them this week to stake off a garden next to my business."
He looked at her as he drank from his cup, as if he was wondering whether or not to believe her innocence. "I guess the police put you through the wringer," he said carefully.
"Yes."
"So why didn't they arrest you?"
"A detective from New Orleans was there—I think he believed me. It seemed to me that he didn't want to make an arrest until the crime scene was processed."
"What was his name?"
"Maynard."
B.J. nodded. "He has a reputation for being fair. Did you have an attorney present?"
"Gloria Dalton. She's my divorce attorney."
He looked alarmed. "Divorce attorney?"
"She told me I'd have to find someone else if I'm...charged."
"The police must have set a record for obtaining a search warrant."
"Did I mention that Deke's mother is the mayor?"
"Ah."
Ted returned with a platter of sausages and bacon swimming in brown grease, three fried eggs, and four pieces of toast drenched in butter.
Penny stared. "You're not going to eat all of that?"
He proceeded to cover everything with a layer of salt. "Want some?"
She made a face. "No. You're clogging your arteries."
"Probably." He shoveled in a huge amount of food and chewed heartily. "So, does your ex-husband have any enemies?"
"I don't know—maybe. He's an attorney, so I'm sure he's pissed off a few people along the way."
"Did he have any girlfriends other than Sheena?"
She flushed. "I don't know...wait. When Sheena first arrived at the house, she accused me of sneaking around with Deke behind her back. She said she suspected that something was going on."
"Was there?" he asked pointedly.
"No. But maybe he was seeing someone else."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"Yesterday morning. I ran into him at the museum."
"Museum?"
"The Instruments of Death and Voodoo Museum. It's Mojo's claim to fame. And it's located next to my business. I walked over there yesterday morning to drop off some misdelivered mail, and I ran into Deke coming out of the museum."
"Is that unusual?"
"No, he takes care of the museum's legal affairs."
"Did he seem upset or preoccupied?"
"Stressed, maybe, but that's been the norm lately when we're together."
"Did you two have an argument?"
"Not really. I was irritated that he'd painted the house pink."
He winced. "Yeah, that's bad. So...maybe he has another honey on the side who was tired of being ignored."
Penny nodded, then another thought struck her. "Sheena and Deke just got engaged, so if he had another woman on the side, maybe that sent her over the edge."
B.J. studied Penny, and she knew what he was thinking—that the engagement could just as easily have sent her over the edge. But he simply nodded. "You think that whoever did it might have been trying to frame you by using a stake from your property and simulating the voodoo doll stabbing?"
When he said it, it sounded utterly ridiculous. "I don't know what to think. I'm a little numb."
He shoveled, chewed, and swallowed. "Who gave you the doll?"
"I don't know—the gifts were anonymous. But there were only a few people at the party, so it shouldn't be hard to find out."
He shoved a napkin in her direction, then fished a pen out of his coat pocket. "Write down the names."
She took the pen and wrote down everyone she could remember, pausing when she got to Liz and Wendy—she needed to call them, to break the news about Deke.
"Does anyone stick out in your mind as someone who would have done this?"
Penny turned her head to glance at the two girls from the Hair Affair, who had their heads together. One of them was biting her nails. Penny looked back and sighed. "No. But Deke hid a lot of things from me."
"There's always the possibility that it was a random killing—a stranger passing through for the festival."
She nodded, strangely buoyed by the fact that it could be someone who didn't know Deke...who hadn't killed him because they hated him. "What happens now?"
He finished the last bit of food and washed it down with a swallow of coffee. She stared at his empty plate as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "Now I do the legwork that the police might not do."
She pursed her mouth. "If I lose my business over this, I might have to pay you in vitamins."
He winked. "We might have to think of something else."
She tried to laugh but found suddenly that she didn't have the energy. "I need to get to bed."
"Okay," he said, withdrawing his wallet. He threw cash on the table.
"Alone," she added, then instantly felt like an idiot.
His smile was sardonic. "You're in luck—I don't sleep with clients." He stood and picked up his jacket. "Come on, I'll walk you back."
Penny clamped her mouth shut lest she say something else brainless.
On the way out of the diner, he stopped at the public bulletin board. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a white flyer and used a pushpin to attach it to the corkboard.
MISSING: Jodi Reynolds, age 17, last seen in New Orleans, September 12.
Penny bit her lip. "So you're the one who posted the flyer."
He nodded. "I'm hoping someone in town for the festival might have seen her."
"Who hired you to look for her?"
"Her grandmother." He held open the door, and she walked under his arm.
She shivered when the cool, dewy air hit her face. "How many of them do you find?"
He opened his leather jacket and settled it onto her shoulders. She started to object, but honestly, it felt good. "About half. But even then, like you said earlier, some of them don't want to be found. I'm working on about a dozen missing person cases at the moment, some of them a couple of years old."
"Do you have a feeling about this girl?"
He nodded. "My feeling is that she ran away, then ran into trouble. And from what I know about her, she wouldn't last long on the streets."
&nbs
p; A chill ran down Penny's back. Evil people were out there, just looking for an innocent to prey upon. "Do you have any leads?"
"The bartender at Caskey's said he thinks this is the girl who tried to pass him a fake ID a couple of weeks ago, but he wasn't sure. Truthfully, she could be anywhere."
"Or dead?"
"Yeah," he said in a voice that told her that if he were a betting man (and he probably was), he'd bet that the girl was never coming home.
The campers were more subdued when she and B.J. walked back through the square, with a few diehards kicking around a hackey sack. The fire in the peristil had petered out. Penny averted her gaze from the empty chicken cages.
"This festival seems to bring out an interesting crowd," B.J. observed.
"Interesting? I had a woman come in my store and ask for bat brains."
He laughed, a warm, throaty sound. "It takes all kinds."
When they reached the outside door leading to her apartment, her dread at seeing what the police had done to her place mounted. "Wonder how they got in," she murmured.
"Some guy let them in—short, stocky, smelly."
"Elton," she said. "My landlord. I hope he installed some lightbulbs while he was here." She opened the door and flipped the light switch—nothing. "Guess not."
"I take it your apartment is at the top of these stairs?"
"Right."
"I'll follow you up."
She didn't argue, glad to have company as she felt her way up. And she got felt up once when he reached forward and found her rear end.
"Sorry," he muttered.
She was sorry too—that such an accidental graze could leave her tingling all over. The sleep deprivation had left her vulnerable, she rationalized. Oh, and the looming murder rap.
At the top of the stairs, B.J. pulled out a penlight to help her find the keyhole. She pushed open the door, turned on the light over the dining table, and gasped. Everything was upturned, on end, or inside out. The gag gifts were strewn across the dining room table—the toilet paper unfurled, the condoms strung out accordion-style, the vibrator dismantled, batteries and springs hanging out.
She fisted her hands, on the verge of laughing maniacally...and gobbling down the Happy Divorce chocolate bars.
Love Can Be Murder (boxed set of humorous mysteries) Page 39