Love Can Be Murder

OKAY?" Gloria asked.
    Penny tried her best to smile as she slid out of the passenger door of her attorney's car. "I 'll be fine from here—my place is just around the corner. Thanks for the ride home."
    "I'll call you tomorrow."
    Penny closed the door and shivered against the lower temperatures. The police had confiscated her purse, releasing only her keys and driver's license. Without the flashlight, she felt vulnerable on the side street. She couldn't see her watch in the dim lighting, but she estimated the time to be about 3:00 a.m . The street was nearly empty, save for the people who were camped out for the night against the building, the tips of their cigarettes glowing in the dark. Hushed talk and low laughter floated out, along with the scent of incense and clove.
    Spooked from the pictures of Deke's murder scene now burned into her brain, she walked as quickly as the borrowed flip-flops would allow, eager to be in her own bed. Her body was wracked with exhaustion, but she doubted she'd get any sleep. She just wanted to put the covers over her head for a few hours and absorb the absurd reality that Deke was dead.
    And more absurd still, that the police thought she'd done it.
    She rounded the corner and entered the square, not surprised to see the ceremonial fires still burning and a knot of people still chanting and dancing. But the crowds had dispersed and the chirp of cicadas had replaced the drums. And thank goodness, the masked priestess who had rattled Penny was nowhere to be found.
    The giant revolving beignet had never looked so good to her. She stepped up to the outer door leading to her apartment, then inhaled sharply when she realized a man was sitting on the sidewalk, his head down, his back leaned against her door. Her startled cry made him stir. He lifted his head, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the street light.
    "B.J.?" she asked, incredulous. How desperate was the man to get laid that he'd waited four hours?
    "Hey," he croaked, pushing to his feet. "I heard what happened. Are you okay?"
    She was instantly suspicious. "How did you hear what happened?"
    "I was here when the police came—I guess they searched your place? One of the cops told me that your ex-husband was murdered."
    "That's right," she said, wondering what else the cop had told him.
    "So...did you kill him?"
    Indignance puckered her mouth. "No."
    He brushed off his backside. "Good. I usually can size up people pretty well, and I pegged you for a lover, not a fighter."
    In the daylight, he might have been charming, but at this hour and considering what she'd been through, she wasn't amused. "Look, it's been a very long night. I'm not up for company."
    "What? Oh, no, I didn't expect you to..." He made a rueful noise. "I just wanted to see if you were okay."
    "I'm okay."
    "Good." He nodded. "Then...I'll be on my way."
    She watched him begin to walk away, remorse coursing through her chest. If only she had left Caskey's with him, she reasoned crazily, she wouldn't have been in the mess she was in. The next time she had the choice between fun and obligation, she would choose fun...assuming there would be a next time. "Hey," she said. "Wait."
    He turned back.
    "I guess I owe you an explanation."
    He shrugged. "Not unless you want to talk about it."
    She crossed her arms over her baggy sweatshirt. "Just who are you anyway?"
    He gave a little laugh. "That's a fair question. My name is Beaumont."
    "Why are you in Mojo?"
    "I'm in town on business."
    "What kind of business?"
    He hesitated. "I'm a private investigator from New Orleans. I specialize in missing persons. I go where the crowds are—festivals, concerts."
    Penny narrowed her eyes. "Why were you at Sheena Linder's house yesterday morning?"
    "How did you know about that?"
    "She's engaged to my ex-husband, the man who was murdered tonight. And she lives in the house I used to—only it wasn't pink when I lived there. I have a business across the street, and I saw you drive up in a green car."
    He whistled low. "Not bad. If you got my license plate number, I'd like to offer you a job."
    "Are you two involved or something?"
    "No." He held up his hands. "I'd never met the Linder woman until yesterday, and it didn't take me long to realize she's not my type."
    Okay, so he was improving in her eyes. "Then why were you there?"
    Another hesitation. "It was a dead-end lead. Wait a minute—did she kill your ex-husband?"
    "That would be too simple." Immediately, guilt descended,