Love Can Be Murder

were whistling. She was struck anew by the athletic way he moved, the informal command he had over his body and his surroundings. Despite his relaxed bearing, she knew he was taking in everything, scanning, memorizing details.
    She was torn—grateful that he seemed to be going to such lengths to find answers, but afraid she was relying on him too much, too quickly. With quiet resolve, she reminded herself she was ultra-vulnerable at the moment, fresh from losing Deke and desperate to prove her innocence. It was only natural to be attracted to B.J. In fact, her desperation was the only thing that explained the attraction—under normal circumstances, she'd never be attracted to a junk-food junkie whose wardrobe seemed to consist of jeans and concert T-shirts and whose car was cluttered enough to conceal a grab bag of weapons.
    She remembered the green stiletto, and her thoughts ran rampant as B.J. approached the car. For all she knew about him, the woman who belonged to the shoe could be in the trunk. Maybe he kidnapped and murdered women, then approached their families and offered to look for them. Maybe he—
    The door opened and he swung inside. "Diane Davidson's neighbors have reason to be nervous, but not because she's a witch."
    "Why then? Did you find something?"
    "A gun rack in her living room sporting some pretty impressive weapons."
    Penny gasped. "Do you think she was the one shooting at me? But why?"
    "Maybe the shooting is somehow connected to your ex. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it wasn't even Diane Davidson doing the shooting, but it's worth looking into."
    The ring of her cell phone startled Penny. She fumbled for a few seconds before locating the Call key. "Hello?"
    "Penny? It's Gloria."
    And the woman seemed to be hyperventilating.
    "What's wrong?"
    "The police want you to come back to the station."
    Penny's heart stuttered in her chest, and her gaze flew to B.J.'s. "Has there been a new development?"
    "Chief Davis says they have you on video yesterday morning threatening Deke."

Chapter Nineteen

    Remember to clean up the mess...

    "WELL, MS. FRANCISCO," Detective Maynard said with a smile, "here we are again." Penny felt the gaze of everyone in the interview room—Maynard, Gloria Dalton, and Allyson Davis—upon her. Allyson stood, leaning against a wall, arms crossed over her chest. The smug look on the woman's angular face, combined with the greenish cast to her attorney's face, made the vise around Penny's chest tighten. Ridiculously, she wished that B.J. were in the room with her. A television on a roll-around stand sat in the corner of the room. On the table sat a brown paper bag marked Evidence: D. Black Homicide. Beneath the table, her knee began to bounce up and down.
    "I'll tell you what you want to know," she said, her voice thready.
    Allyson leaned forward. "Is that a confession?"
    Penny frowned. "No, of course not."
    Gloria put her hand on Penny's arm. "My client means that she's here voluntarily to answer your questions. She doesn't have anything to hide."
    Maynard's mouth pressed into a flat line. "You weren't completely honest with us before, Ms. Francisco."
    Penny balked. "I don't know what you mean."
    "We found your fingerprints in the bedroom of Mr. Black's home."
    "Considering that Penny used to live there," Gloria said, "it's only logical that her fingerprints are all over the house."
    "But these fingerprints were on a photograph of Mr. Black and his girlfriend, and they contain the same type of glittery material that was on your hands last night."
    Penny's lips parted in panic—she'd forgotten about the photograph. Damn that metallic makeup. How damaging (and pathetic) would it be to admit that she'd broken the photograph on purpose? "I...yes, I was in the bedroom." Moisture gathered on the nape of her neck. "When I walked by, I saw the picture frame had fallen off the dresser. I, um, picked it up and saw the glass was broken."
    Maynard squinted. "So you didn't break the glass in a fit of rage?"
    A fit of rage? In hindsight, it had been more like petty spite—which was even more humiliating. "No, I didn't break the photo in a fit of rage," she said, her voice stronger.
    "So if you picked it up, why was it still on the floor when we found it?"
    "I don't know," she said, getting the hang of lying.
    "So you weren't upset with your ex-husband last night when you entered his house?"
    "No," Penny replied.
    Maynard picked up a remote control and aimed it at the television. The