Love Can Be Murder

he naked?" Sheena shouted. "Still cleaning up the scene of the crime?"
    "No," Penny said, squeezing the woman's arm harder. "Deke—"
    "Let go of me." She wrenched her arm away, then ran to the door of the office. "Deke, how could you—" She covered her face and screamed, jogging in place. "Omigod, omigod, omigod. Is he dead?"
    "Yes."
    "You killed him! You killed my Deke!"
    Penny shook her head and held out a hand to calm her. "No. I found him like this, Sheena. Just a few minutes ago."
    Suddenly the blond's eyes widened at the sight of the cane Penny held. Sheena flattened herself against the doorjamb, her mouth a gaping red hole. "And now you're going to kill me, too!"
    "Calm down," Penny said, holding up her hands. "See, I'm putting down the cane. We need to call the police."
    In a flash, Sheena whipped her cell phone out of her snakeskin purse and pushed a button. Just as quickly she whipped up a few crocodile tears. "Hello? This is Sheena Linder. My fiancé, Deke Black, was just murdered by his ex-wife in our home."
    Penny's knees buckled . "What are you doing?"
    "Yes, she's still here. Her name is Penny Francisco. We're at 110 Charm Street in Mojo. It's the pink house. Thank you." Sheena snapped the phone shut. "They're on their way." She narrowed her eyes. "You're going to fry for this, Granola Girl."

Chapter Twelve

    Let things simmer for a while...

    PENNY SAT IN A ROOM at the local jail wearing baggy gray sweats borrowed from the supply room and feeling ready to come undone. At least an hour had passed since she'd been escorted to the room, since she'd left a voice message on Gloria Dalton's cell phone, two hours since she'd found Deke's body. By now word of the grisly murder had probably spread to every household in Mojo via Sheena's megaphone mouth. Penny alternately tapped her fingers on the table, hugged herself, and pinched herself, just in case this was all a long, bad dream. Unfortunately, she was very much awake.
    And under suspicion.
    Under suspicion for murdering Deke. The idea was so ludicrous that she had burst into laughter several times while waiting for Chief Davis to return. If anyone was watching on the other side of the darkened window, they probably thought she had lost her mind.
    Her throat was parched, and her mouth tasted of stale vomit. Her head pounded from the countless vodka martinis. Her finger stung from the punch-needle the CSI tech had used to check her blood-alcohol level at the scene. Her pride hurt from having her clothing confiscated. And her heart had turned to lead over the fact that Deke was dead.
    And that someone had either unwittingly or purposely made it look as if she had done it.
    The door opened, and Penny's pulse jumped. Police Chief Allyson Davis, a tall, big-boned brunette, walked in, accompanied by a rocky-faced, suited man that Penny had never seen.
    "Sorry for the delay," Allyson said, her face pale and drawn, making her look even more severe. With the festival going on, she'd probably had a long day. "This is Detective Maynard from New Orleans—he's going to be assisting in the investigation."
    Penny nodded, although she had a feeling that the two of them were not overjoyed to be working together.
    "Can I get you some coffee?" Allyson asked, setting a tape recorder on the table.
    Penny eyed the machine warily. "Water, please. And maybe some aspirin?"
    "No can do on the aspirin, but I'll be back with the water." She looked at the detective. "I'd appreciate if you'd wait to talk to my witness."
    He nodded, but he made no promises, Penny noted.
    When the door closed, he sat in one of the chairs and withdrew a packet of chewable aspirin from his coat pocket. "I take them by the handful. Just don't let her know I gave it to you."
    "Thank you," Penny murmured, then tore open the packet and chewed the orange-flavored tablets.
    "So...Ms. Francisco, how long have you lived in Mojo?"
    "Eight years."
    "What brought you to town?"
    She shifted on the uncomfortable chair. "I moved here with my husband."
    "You mean, your ex-husband?"
    She bit her tongue. "Yes."
    "Where is your family?"
    She hesitated. "I grew up in a small town in Tennessee."
    He nodded. "What town?"
    "King...ston."
    "Kingston?"
    She coughed and nodded. "But I don't have any family left."
    "What do you do for a living, Ms. Francisco?"
    "I own a health food store."
    "Across the street from the house where the murder was committed."
    "That's correct. My husband—I mean, my ex-husband and I owned both