Love Can Be Murder

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 feel ing... 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