Love Can Be Murder

over her skin, and she unconsciously moved closer to B.J. He seemed to sense her unease, because his hand hovered at her waist as they made their way back to the lobby.
    Hazel was talking to a tall, slender man with sharp cheekbones and thinning hair, but she turned to smile at them when they approached. "All done?" she asked.
    "Yes," Penny said, still shaken.
    "Penny, have you met Dr. Troy Archambault?"
    Penny extended her hand. "No, but I've heard a lot about you. I'm Penny Francisco. I live nearby."
    A wary look came into the owner's eyes as he shook her hand. "I've also heard a lot about you, Ms. Francisco."
    Penny swallowed. From the newspapers, no doubt.
    "Penny didn't kill her ex-husband," Hazel piped up matter-of-factly. "It's all a big misunderstanding. This voodoo festival has everyone churned up."
    Troy Archambault nodded amicably. "But the festival is good for the museum."
    Penny turned to B.J. "This is a friend of mine., B.J. Beaumont. B.J., Dr. Archambault's family used to live in this house."
    "Call me Troy," the man said and shook B.J.'s hand.
    "These two are looking for a missing woman," Hazel said.
    Troy's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? What makes you think she's here?"
    "Someone remembered giving her directions to the museum during last year's festival," B.J. said, his voice casual.
    "Last year?" Troy said, then gave a little laugh. "If she was here, she's probably long gone by now."
    B.J. nodded slowly. "Probably. I was hoping Hazel might recall having seen her."
    Penny cleared her throat. "Hazel...I saw a strand of hair tangled in one of the spiked whips downstairs—it kind of creeped me out."
    Hazel sighed. "Tourists, what can I say? I find that and worse all the time when I clean—they're not supposed to take things down from the walls or mess with the exhibits, but they do anyway. No matter how much we try to keep an eye on them, someone will snag their clothes or hair." She reached beneath the counter and came up with a bag of adhesive bandages. "Sometimes they even hurt themselves."
    "That's why the insurance on this place is so astronomical," Troy muttered. "We're going to have to raise the price of admission again after the first of the year."
    "Interesting place, though," B.J. said. "Did you grow up here?"
    Troy shook his head. "No, my father did. I was raised in New Orleans, where my dermatology practice is." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, I have to get back." He nodded to them both. "It was nice to meet you. I hope you find your friend."
    Penny and B.J. murmured pleasantries to him and to Hazel. On the way out, they passed the souvenir shop, a cubbyhole off to the side of the entry way that Penny imagined might once have been an enormous coat closet for guests. It was crowded with tourists, many of them dressed in their festival garb. B.J. wandered inside, and Penny followed him, glancing over the array of novelty items, including plastic handcuffs, spongy spiked balls, and generic voodoo dolls stamped with various "target zones," much like a butcher would mark an animal for certain cuts of meat. The woman straightening shelves turned, and Penny blinked. "Diane...hello. I didn't realize you worked here."
    Diane Davidson seemed surprised to see her too... and a little embarrassed. "It's only temporary."
    "Of course," Penny murmured.
    Diane fidgeted, reminding Penny of a small bird. "I heard about Deke...and... everything." She stopped and wet her lips. "You've always been nice to me...I know you couldn't do what people are saying. And I know how people in this town like to gossip."
    "Thank you," Penny said warily, trying to picture the woman wielding one of the guns that B.J. said he'd seen in her house. "Diane, did you happen to bring the gag gift voodoo doll to my party?"
    She shook her head. "I wouldn't have brought something like that anyway, but especially not considering the rumors going around about me."
    Penny noticed white specks on the woman's wrists—paint?—and felt a surge of sympathy. "I actually came by to talk to you this morning."
    Diane swallowed nervously. "To my house?"
    Penny nodded. "I saw the graffiti. Did you report it to the police?"
    Diane tucked a lock of drab brown hair behind her ear and shook her head. "No use. And it would only stir up more trouble." She looked past Penny and murmured, "Excuse me," then walked over to B.J., who was studying the labels of tiny brown jars on the counter that seemed to be so popular with the customers. "May I help