Love Can Be Murder

voodoo museum. (Close scrutiny of the label revealed the contents as "rock bones," or in layman's terms, crushed limestone.) Jars of "spider legs," "poison frog skin," and "fish eyes" were equally bogus but were being snapped up anyway.
    The booth selling voodoo dolls was the busiest by far. Factory-stamped "stick it to your boss" fabric dolls were prevalent, as were cartoonish "love" and "revenge" dolls of ambiguous sex and miniature novelty dolls in bright hues. High in the rafters of the tent, however, she spied more authentic versions of the dolls, some of them grotesque, made from black cloth or wax, wrapped in scraps of fabric. The woman running the booth saw her studying the dolls and made a move to get one down for her, but Penny waved her off.
    She made her way toward Caskey's, marveling over the intensity of the atmosphere. She had experienced the festival every year she'd lived in Mojo, but she'd never seen so many people, so much energy. It had the feeling of Mardi Gras, without the beads and the nudity. The strong aroma of incense and cloves cleared her sinuses and stung her eyes. The air throbbed with the beat of the three drummers of the batri playing for the ceremony, and the ground vibrated with the force of pounding feet.
    As she walked past the shelter, she noticed wooden cages of white chickens lined up. Their frantic squawking added to the din, as if they knew their fate. The priests and priestesses had met animal control halfway by agreeing to kill the birds humanely in their sacrificial ritual, and only at a time when children most likely would be home in bed.
    Penny shivered and pulled her shawl higher on her bare shoulders as she wound through the crowd waiting at Caskey's. Marie was smart to have reserved a room for the party. Penny only hoped that enough people showed up. When she finally made it to the hostess stand, she shouted to be heard above the noise, and the young girl directed her to the party room. On the way past the bar, Penny did a double take; the mystery man sat alone, nursing a long-neck beer.
    Still dressed in the brown leather coat and clothes she'd seen him in this morning, he was as long-limbed as he had appeared from a distance, and broad-shouldered, but slouching in a "screw everyone" posture. His black gaze latched onto her in puzzled recognition, then darted to her cleavage. Penny realized with a flush that she looked radically different than when he'd stopped to ask for directions. She quickly averted her gaze and hurried toward her destination.
    But poor Deke—even with the hair transplant, he didn't stand a chance against the guy.
    She grinned and was pretty sure she was showing gum.
    Suddenly she felt like celebrating. She found the room and smiled at the sign reading Congratulations on Your Divorce, Penny! She rapped on the door that was ajar before sticking her head inside the nearly empty room. Rollicking zydeco music blared from a MP3 player in the corner. "Is this the divorce party?"
    Marie turned, and her eyes widened. "Wow, Penny, you look..." She squinted. "Your skin is all glittery."
    Penny smirked. "You said festive."
    "You look awesome, boss, really."
    Penny thanked her, then laughed as she walked into the room festooned in streamers and balloons. "The decorations are awesome, too," she said, picking up a noisemaker and giving it a spin. "But it looks like this is going to be one dead divorce party."
    "Gee, then maybe we should go," said a voice behind her.
    Penny turned, and at the sight of the two women standing in the doorway, she let out a happy cry and broke into a run.

Chapter Seven

    Toss in some unexpected spice...

    "LIZ, WENDY...what are you doing here?"
    "We came to liven up this dead party," Liz said with a laugh.
    Penny embraced the women one at a time, then angled her head at Marie. "You set this up."
    Marie looked pleased with herself. "So I snooped in your address book."
    "Marie called me," Liz said, "then I called Wendy."
    Penny pulled her two friends forward, glad that her employee had made the call that she herself had been too embarrassed to make. "Marie, meet my two best friends from college—Liz Brockwell and Wendy Metzger."
    Still tingling with shock and pleasure, Penny observed the sleek women as they shook hands with Marie and said hello. They were just as attractive as when they'd all met at Louisiana State University—maybe more so. Liz was a vivacious blond, twice divorced, who lived in New Orleans and ran a chain of