Love Can Be Murder

celebrated her divorce. Shaken, she abruptly turned and strode toward her apartment over the odorous doughnut store. She scanned the faces of the pedestrians trickling toward the downtown square, hoping no one who knew her had seen her gaffe.
    Penny frowned—she had done a lot of things today she hoped no one had seen. And the day wasn't even over yet.

Chapter Six

    A cup of celebration...

    THE THREE-BLOCK WALK to Penny's apartment was typically a quiet, meditative time of the day. But as she neared downtown, the murmur of drumming and chanting rode on the still air. The voodoo rituals were about to begin and would continue on the town square all evening and well into the night. The sharp scent of burning wood stung her nostrils, leading her gaze to the plume of lavender-colored smoke rising in the air, marking the site of a makeshift temple. Her bedroom window would give her a bird's-eye view of the activity and, for once, a good reason to miss sleep.
    She threaded her way through the crowds, which became more dense the closer she got to her apartment. Dusk was falling, and as the daylight faded, she could feel a spike in the energy. She was jostled by enthusiastic visitors who danced as they walked, flinging their arms and swaying their hips. Perfume, spices, and perspiration mingled for an erotic aroma. Yet as she rounded the corner, the sickening sugary smell of doughnuts managed to cut through every other odor.
    Ugh —she was home.
    Benny's Beignet shop was overflowing with bodies, and across the square, Caskey's bar was also enjoying a brisk business, as were the food and drink vendors set up around the perimeter of the square, selling sausage kabobs, crawfish etouffee, spicy pickles, hot peppers, and Creole coffee. In another area, booths draped in multicolored lights offered jewelry and vibrant clothing, voodoo dolls, and thousands of trinkets. Since she had left for work this morning, a covered shelter had been erected to house the voodoo rituals and readings, with a hole in the roof to allow smoke from the ceremonial fire to escape. The structure itself could barely be seen for the crush of bodies vying for a good viewing spot. The energy was contagious, and Penny's pulse synched to the rhythm of the drums, her muscles jumping to the jingle of tambourines, flutes, and rattles.
    The door leading to her apartment was next to the door of the beignet shop. She excused and pardoned herself through the crowd, working up a claustrophobic sweat by the time she unlocked the door and closed it behind her. A dim light overhead provided just enough illumination for her to get her bearings. The narrow, steep stairway in front of her disappeared into darkness. She felt for the light switch and flipped it, but the bulb on the landing above popped and fizzled futilely.
    Penny groaned in frustration—it was the fifth lightbulb to burn out in a matter of weeks. When she'd complained to Elton, the landlord, he'd said something about a high-voltage pull running through the building, that she needed 130-volt bulbs instead of the standard 120-volt. Which wouldn't be a problem if the local hardware store actually carried 130-volt bulbs.
    The fine hair on the back of Penny's neck prickled in dread as she slowly climbed the worn steps, which listed slightly to the left. She was being ridiculous, she knew, but since she had moved out of the house that she and Deke had shared, her childhood fear of the dark had returned. It was understandable, she assumed, since she was living alone for the first time in her life, but justification didn't make her phobia any easier to deal with. The drone of the noisy crowd at her back didn't help—in fact, it made her feel more isolated. If something happened, no one would hear her screams.
    She gripped the handrail all the way up, stumbling once on the landing before catching herself. The stink of burnt bulb hung in the musty air. She turned left and felt for the door to her apartment, fumbling for what seemed like an eternity to find the keyhole with her key. The landing was large enough and the air black enough that someone could be standing behind her and she wouldn't even know it. Her skin crawled as perspiration gathered at the small of her back. At last, she turned the dead bolt and practically fell into her apartment, lunging for a light switch as she pushed the door closed behind her.
    The light flickered but caught, illuminating her tiny dining room to the right and part of the