Love Can Be Murder

could...score. Penny wet her lips and murmured, "Sometimes...sex is enough."

Chapter Eight

    Top with a few sour grapes...

    A FEW SECONDS PASSED before Penny's words registered in her own brain. Where had that inane comment come from? She groaned inwardly, blaming Marie's Hot Voodoo Sex concoction for the misfirings of her nether regions—and her mouth. Meanwhile, the mystery man was giving her the once-over with those heavy-lidded black eyes that glinted with suppressed laughter.
    "Sorry," he said in a low, smooth rumble. "I was looking for the men's room." He glanced down, then bent and retrieved the Congratulations on Your Divorce, Penny! sign that had fallen off the door. "I didn't mean to crash the party." He looked up and grinned in her direction. "Are you Penny?"
    She nodded, feeling ridiculous.
    "Thanks for the tip on the Browning Motel this morning."
    A flush climbed her neck. "No problem."
    He extended the sign. "And congratulations on being single again."
    She stood, frozen, staring at his long-fingered hand until Liz bumped her from behind. "Thanks," Penny mumbled as she took the sign.
    "My pleasure."
    She had the absurd feeling that if he'd been wearing a hat, he would have tipped it. He gave a curt nod and disappeared.
    After a few heartbeats of silence, Liz bumped her again. "Was that the best you could do— thanks ? That man was hot. And he was interested."
    Penny acknowledged with an exhale that yes, he was indeed hot, then she turned. "Don't get any ideas. I don't know his name, but he's mixed up with Sheena somehow."
    "Who's Sheena?"
    "Deke's girlfriend."
    Wendy squinted. "Deke's girlfriend has a boyfriend?"
    "I don't know—maybe they used to be involved. I saw him drive up to the house this morning. Deke wasn't home. When Sheena answered, she was wearing something slinky, and it looked like they were arguing."
    Liz's eyebrows shot up. "You were spying?"
    Penny's cheeks flamed. "No. I just happened to be looking out the window." She didn't miss the look that Liz exchanged with Wendy. "I'm over Deke," she assured them, although her voice came out strident and thin. "I...I just couldn't believe he'd paint my house pink, that's all."
    A lazy smile curved Liz's mouth. "I don't know, I think it would be kind of poetic if you hooked up with the woman's ex-boyfriend. If Deke can have a plaything, so can you. What's good for the goose, and all that jazz."
    Before Penny could respond, the door opened again and Marie walked in, all smiles, carrying a tray of jewel-toned martinis. "I got an assortment of plain, cherry, and apple, so everyone can help themselves. And I found some of our group!"
    Steve Chasen walked in behind her, followed by two young women whom Marie introduced as friends of hers—Jill and Melissa, both of whom worked at the Hair Affair, and both sporting hairdos as riotous as Marie's. Diane Davidson arrived a few minutes later, and Penny hardly recognized her because she wasn't wearing a running suit. The woman seemed hesitant, so Penny went out of her way to make her feel welcome, introducing her to Liz and Wendy. She tried not to let Steve and Marie's comments about Diane being a witch color her perception of the quiet woman, but she had to admit that she saw her through new eyes. Diane was dressed in a black skirt that swept the floor and a black tunic belted with a long sash embroidered with silver pentagrams. Perhaps coming to the party and wearing a Wiccan symbol was her way of fighting back, of standing up for herself.
    Penny felt a sudden surge of kinship with the woman and vowed to herself that she would try to get to know her better. After all, any woman who scared Deke was worth befriending. Besides, she couldn't imagine that the Wiccan religion was any more terrifying than the frenzied, snake-handling Pentecostals in the small Tennessee town where she'd grown up. Every religion, including voodoo, had its exaggerations and misinterpretations by outsiders.
    "Drink up, boss," Marie urged, handing her a brimming martini glass.
    Penny eyed the liquid warily, trying to gauge her alcohol tolerance based on how long it had been since she'd indulged and the fact that tofu didn't coat one's stomach as well as buttered toast did.
    "Oh, no, you don't," Marie said, wagging a finger. "I don't want to hear anything about free radicals spinning through your body, or how bad alcohol is for your skin."
    "It dehydrates you," Penny muttered.
    Marie sighed. "Just for tonight, let go a little."