Love Can Be Murder

home. "Okay." And then she'd spend the night with Sheena's hottie boyfriend.
    "What's so funny?"
    "Nothing. See you around."
    Penny left the bar and strolled across the square to her apartment. With alcohol buzzing through her system, the climb up the stairs was precarious at best. Twice she dropped her bag of gag gifts and had to go back to retrieve items—the ex-husband toilet paper, she had to admit, was a hoot. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she was exhausted, but the flashlight helped dispel the darkness.
    Once inside, she set the bag on the dining table and picked up the phone, wondering what Deke had misplaced that was so important (other than his accurate financial records), and how she was going to get through a conversation with him without tipping him off that she was on to him.
    The machine display said she had four messages. She pushed the button.
    "Penny, it's Deke." His voice was low and angry. "I've lost something and thought you might know where it is. Call me."
    Penny frowned.
    "It's me again. Why don't you get a cell phone like the rest of the world? Call me as soon as you get in."
    "Call me." Heavy sigh. "It's important."
    "Damnit, Penny, where the hell are you?"
    His tone startled her—no matter what a bonehead he was, he never raised his voice to her. Whatever he'd misplaced, it must be important. With her heart thudding in her chest, she dialed the number to the house, but the line was busy.
    Her hand brushed against her pocket, rustling the piece of paper inside. She withdrew the scrap and studied the phone number that B.J. had scrawled there. Her thighs quickened at the memory of his dark, interested gaze raking over her, but on the heels of the excitement was apprehension. She hadn't been with a man for a long time...she couldn't even remember the scant lovers she'd had before Deke. What did men like these days—meat and potatoes sex, or whipped cream and cherries? And what was she supposed to like? Freaky positions? Flavored lube?
    She really should read a magazine once in a while.
    Deciding that she needed a boost before dealing with Deke, she dialed the number B.J. had given her and inhaled for courage. After two rings, she panicked and started to hang up.
    "B.J. here."
    His voice sent a rumble through her midsection. "Um... hi. It's Penny." She swallowed. "We met at Caskey's."
    "I remember," he said cheerfully. "The redheaded lady with the secrets. I didn't think you were going to call."
    "Well... I did." She winced—that was bright.
    He laughed. "So you did. Where do you want to meet?"
    She debated the safety and privacy of her apartment versus a hotel room and decided that her apartment was probably better on both accounts. "My place. I live over the beignet shop on the square."
    "Benny's?" He laughed. "Well, that explains your perfume."
    She flushed hot. "Where are you?"
    "Not far," he said vaguely. "What time do you want to meet?"
    "I need a few minutes to take care of something," she said, glancing at her watch. It was a little past ten o'clock. "How about eleven? It's the door to the right of the shop. Just ring my bell. I mean... the bell."
    "I'll be there," he promised, his voice thick and full of other wicked promises.
    A silly smile crept up her face. "Okay. Good-bye." She hung up the phone and squealed like a teenager. She was going to have hot voodoo sex tonight.
    Impatient and horny, she called Deke's number again, but the phone was still busy. Sighing in frustration, she worked her mouth from side to side. She could walk to the house, ring the doorbell, and be done with it faster than waiting for him to get off the phone. And maybe this was her chance to get back her lovebirds ornament under the pretense of finding whatever he was looking for. She moved toward the door a little too quickly, and a sharp pain stabbed her temples. Maybe the short walk would sober her up just a tad, too.
    If she was going to spend the night with a long, hot Cajun, she wanted to be able to remember some of it.
    She retrieved her purse, then grabbed her flashlight and headed back down the stairs, slowly. Out in the square, she blinked against the bright lights—fireworks were being set off in the fire department parking lot. The festival had grown even more frenetic, with the crowd around the peristil chanting, whirling, and twirling to the increased tempo. Lulled by the earthy rhythms, Penny relaxed and moved through the crowd at a leisurely pace, enjoying the weightlessness