Love Can Be Murder

of her buzz and the hum of noise around her, womblike and comforting. On the far side of the shelter, she spotted Jules Lamborne performing some kind of dance in slow motion, her eyes closed and her movements fluid. She seemed to be stepping and waving to a song in her head.
    Penny smiled, thinking she'd have something to tease Jules about in the morning—that she'd decided to put in an appearance at the festival after all. A sharp, whacking sound close by startled Penny. She turned and winced to see a chicken's head fall to the ground mere inches from her foot, its body spirited away to be offered to whatever lwa was being celebrated. A robed priestess was leading the ceremony, wearing an eerie mask that resembled the front of a human skull, minus the lower jaw, and topped with a spray of feathers. She held the headless chicken in one hand and a bead-covered rattle in the other hand.
    Fascinated, Penny watched as the priestess began to spin, slowly at first, then faster and faster, more times than what seemed humanly tolerable. When she finally stopped, she was facing Penny. Suddenly the woman lifted the rattle in Penny's direction with an arm so rigid that it shook from sheer effort. Penny stood rooted to the ground, mesmerized by the rattling noise and the jingle of the bell attached to the handle, unable to move. Cold fear trickled down her back, like ice water. Was the priestess singling her out, casting a spell to rid her of—or to infuse her with—evil?
    The moment was broken when the priestess abandoned her rattle to snatch another squirming chicken from its cage and relieve it of its head, this time with a savage twist of her bare hands, leaving a long white neck bone exposed. Penny winced—the sacrifice was even more bloody than the first, and in violation of an agreement with animal control. But the crowd seemed energized, cheering when the priestess set the headless chicken on its feet and the carcass ran around, flapping its wings, exhausting adrenaline in its muscle tissue.
    Penny shuddered and backed away, eager now to finish her errand. The dark side of voodoo did not amuse her.
    The streetlights were bright, illuminating the sidewalk during the three-block trek back to the Victorian on Charm Street. Away from the main crowd, though, the temperature had dropped into the low fifties, she guessed as she pulled the yellow shawl tighter around her shoulders. And something else warmed her—the anticipation of spending the night with the sexy, mysterious B.J.
    The Victorian fairly glowed with its new pink paint job—if possible, the color was even more ghastly at night, and it emitted a damp, fusty odor. The porch light was on, as were the light in front of the garage and a few strategic landscape lights she had installed herself. From the street she could see lights on inside the house—the kitchen, Deke's office, and the master bedroom. She climbed the steps to the porch and glanced at the metal glider before ringing the doorbell. After a couple of minutes passed, she cupped her hands around her eyes and peered into the small square window on the door. The pressure made the door swing inward. Deke still hadn't adjusted the plate on the frame so that the door would catch without leaning a shoulder into it.
    She stuck her head inside. "Deke?" She stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind her. "Deke, it's Penny!"
    She took a few seconds to enjoy the stunning entry-way that she had been so proud of, trying not to notice the things that were out of place or the cobwebs hanging from far corners illuminated by the rose-colored, recessed lighting. She inhaled the comforting scent of old plaster and Bri-Wax, and her heart squeezed with homesickness. She knelt to straighten a rug whose corner had been upturned, then frowned at a stack of unread newspapers by the door and brightly colored high-heeled shoes casually lying about, blazing a trail to the kitchen doorway on the left. Mail was piled up and falling off the Duncan Phyfe side table. A zebra-print jacket had been tossed carelessly over the bronze sculpture on the table.
    She hated to think what she might see in the daylight.
    Seeing Sheena's things strewn about the house she loved made bile rise in Penny's throat, but she tried to push the thoughts out of her mind. Deke had made his choice and Sheena was his problem now. Apparently, the woman was still at Caskey's, dressed to kill.
    Penny swallowed hard, antsy to leave. "Deke! It's