Love Can Be Murder

while?"
    "For as long as I've lived here."
    "And the museum was a client of your husband's?"
    "That's right."
    Penny could see the wheels turning in his head—no doubt slowly because of the cholesterol poisoning, but turning nonetheless.
    He folded the flyer and stuffed it inside his jacket. "What do you say let's go check out this infamous voodoo museum?"

Chapter Twenty

    Sniff around to make sure all is well...

    "SOMETHING SMELLS GOOD," B.J. said with his nose in the air.
    Penny sniffed her sleeve to make sure it wasn't her permanent doughnut cologne.
    "Would you mind if we got a bite to eat before we hit the museum?"
    "I don't mind," Penny said, buttoning her coat to ward off the chill that the encounter with Mona had left in her blood.
    "The diner's close—is that okay?"
    "Sure." She wasn't that hungry anyway.
    "Hey," he said, his gaze turning solemn. "Are you okay?"
    She nodded. As they walked toward the square, she tried to lose herself in the crowd, her head pivoting, on the lookout for reporters and cameras.
    "The vultures already got their daily scoop," he said. "Hopefully they're gone for a while."
    "Marie said it wasn't safe to go back to the store. Half the population thinks I'm a murderer and the other half thinks I'm some kind of witch doctor." She gazed toward the shelter, where several women in colorful costumes were dancing in sync, twirling flaming batons. Today a gray-bearded man wielded the ason, walking and stomping around the peristil with a live snake around his neck, touching the foreheads of those who sought him out and occasionally pausing in mid-motion to have his picture taken by tourists.
    "You'd tell me, wouldn't you?" he said as they walked into the diner.
    "Tell you what?"
    He gestured to the bar. "Okay to sit here? We'll get faster service."
    She slid onto the stool and swiveled to face the white Formica bar.
    "If you were a witch doctor," he said, lowering himself to the neighboring stool.
    She gave him a wry smile. "I'd tell you."
    "Good." His leg brushed against hers as he passed her a greasy menu. "Because I'd want to know if I was in for some kind of supernatural experience."
    A laugh erupted from her throat even as the side of her body nearest him burned. It was a game her mind was playing on her body called distraction. Feel lust and arousal instead of pain and fear.
    "So did anything new come to light when you talked to the police?" he asked.
    "Marie's friend Melissa has an alibi, so we can strike her off the list."
    "Okay."
    "And I was legally drunk last night," she said dryly. "They think Deke might have been, too." She frowned. "The odd thing is, Deke told me he'd stopped drinking the last time I saw him at the courthouse."
    A waitress came by and took their orders—chicken noodle soup and water with lemon for her, a double bacon cheeseburger with curly fries and a bottle of Dr Pepper for him.
    "So he fell off the wagon," B.J. said with a shrug.
    "There's more. The police did find a handgun in my apartment—it was hidden in the pot of my ficus tree."
    A wary look came into his eyes. "You must have hidden it pretty well if you forgot about it."
    "I didn't know it was there. The tree was in the foyer of the Victorian. When I left, I decided at the last minute to take it with me."
    "That's ironic."
    "So I'm wondering if the gun was what Deke was looking for—if that's why he left me those frantic messages last night."
    B.J. raked his hand over the dark whiskers on his jaw. "It would explain why he wouldn't just come out and say what he was looking for."
    "I'm starting to wonder if maybe Deke was involved in something illegal, like drugs."
    "What makes you think that?"
    "It would explain the change in his personality. When I met Deke, he was so laid back. But after his father died, he became moody and edgy. He was hard to live with sometimes."
    "Don't you think that probably had something to do with him losing his father?"
    "Probably," she agreed. "But I remember him saying something after his father died—that he felt lost, that for most of his life he had resisted bad things because he was afraid of disappointing his father. When his father died... I don't know, but I got the feeling Deke was afraid he would succumb to something."
    "He did succumb to infidelity," B.J. pointed out.
    "I know," she said wryly, "but that doesn't explain how he could afford a new sports car and European suits when his practice was supposedly struggling."
    "You never asked him?"
    "Sure I