Love Can Be Murder

I want?
    Then Deke glanced at the padlocked front gate and back to her. "How did you get in here?"
    She squirmed. "I found an opening in the fence when I staked off the garden."
    He rolled his eyes. "Not the garden again." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I have to warn you—Mother is rallying the city council for a zone restriction. She said a garden in the downtown area will look out of place and will attract rodents."
    Penny frowned. "Can she do that?"
    "You know Mother."
    Penny set her jaw, then swallowed her pride. "Deke, can't you help me out here? I'm trying to grow my business."
    He shook his head, as if the matter was inconsequential. "Sorry, I tried to tell you the idea wouldn't fly."
    Her throat closed, and she averted her eyes lest he see how his casual dismissal—again—hurt her.
    "Anyway," he admonished, "you shouldn't be snooping around over here. The back gate was vandalized last week. Chief Davis added an extra patrol, and I'd hate to have to bail your bony ass out of jail for trespassing."
    Anger pinged through her chest. "I wasn't snooping. I was dropping off mail that landed in my box by mistake." She held it up, and the tire imprints across the envelopes reminded her of the incident with Sheena and how close she'd come to having to call Deke to bail her bony ass out of jail for murdering his fat-ass hussy.
    Folding the letters into her hand, she forced a smile. "I understand congratulations are in order."
    His eyebrows shot up. "Congratulations?"
    "I, um, ran into Sheena. She told me that the two of you are going to be married."
    "She did, did she?" He gave her a pitying look. "You're going to have to get used to the idea of me being with another woman, Penny."
    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