Love Can Be Murder

found the body and decided to make it look as if you'd done it."
    "But what could be Steve's motive?"
    B.J. shrugged. "Maybe he thought Mona would help him get a job if she felt as if she owed him."
    "But why wouldn't Mona want her son's real murderer captured?"
    "Maybe she knew Deke was up to something and is afraid that if the real murderer is caught, all of his activities will come to light."
    Penny put her hands to her temples. "I think my head is going to explode. Can we talk about something else for a while?"
    "Sure," he said, then gestured toward his empty plate. "How long have you been obsessed with health food?"
    She bristled. "I'm not obsessed. Just a little...compulsive."
    He pursed his mouth. "It's my experience that when people are 'compulsive' about something, it's to mask something else."
    Irritation spiked in her chest, and she had the unsettling feeling that he could see into her private places. "That's not true in my case."
    "Whatever you say." Although he didn't look convinced.
    Penny stood to clear their dishes, her nerves jangling. All the St. John's wort she'd taken over the past few months to calm her nerves didn't seem to be working. Maybe she was past the threshold of over-the-counter assistance. Maybe she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Maybe that explained why her emotions and urges were all over the place.
    To her surprise, he joined her at the sink and helped clean the kitchen. But he must have sensed her extreme anxiety, because he kept the conversation light, asking about her business and about living in a small town. Penny remembered a bottle of merlot that someone had given her. B.J. opened it, and they drank while she leisurely washed dishes and he dried. She asked him about some of his favorite cases, and when he talked, his eyes came alive—the man loved what he was doing despite the fact that he couldn't be making much money. They chatted like old friends, and when Penny felt a warm rush of connection coming on, she had to remind herself that B.J. made a living out of drawing people out, of getting them to talk.
    She drank the last mouthful of her second glass of wine, then folded the dishtowels, her body throbbing in awareness of him. "I think I'm going to turn in."
    He drank from the wine remaining in his glass. "Okay."
    Penny wet her lips, then walked past him. "Let me get you some linens."
    Feeling like a teenager at a coed sleepover, she went into her bedroom to get the extra pillow from her bed and put on a fresh pillowcase. When she returned to the living room, she stopped. B.J. had removed his T-shirt.
    "You don't have anything to get out wine, do you?" he asked, holding up the stained shirt.
    She shook her head carefully, riveted by the sight of his muscular chest, covered with a layer of black, black hair that whorled down his flat stomach to disappear into the waistband of his jeans.
    "Darn, this was one of my favorite shirts." He made a rueful noise. "That's what I get for being distracted."
    Penny could only nod.
    He walked toward her and took the linens. "Are you sure you're okay with me staying here?"
    She managed a little smile. "Why not? It's safe. After all, you don't sleep with clients."
    Suddenly the mood in the room changed. His eyes grew hooded and he stepped closer, lowering his mouth to within an inch of hers. She could sense the aroma of the wine on his tongue. Her breasts grew heavy. Her knees threatened to buckle.
    "No, I don't," he said. "But for that reason alone, I'm determined to solve this case." He kissed her, just a whisper of a kiss—anyone watching would have missed the brief touch of his lips across hers. By the time she opened her mouth, it was over...and she was left aching for more. He uttered a little moan like he wanted more, too, but now wasn't the time or place.
    "Goodnight, Red."
    "Goodnight," she whispered, then turned and fled to her bedroom. She undressed in the bathroom, pulled a long gown over her head, and crawled under the covers, wondering which man would wind up causing her the most heartache—the man she would see buried tomorrow, or the man currently snoring on her couch.

Chapter Twenty-four

    Don't keep things buried...

    PENNY GINGERLY SLID into the front seat of Guy's car, hoping she wasn't going to be sick.
    "You don't look well," Guy said, his expression worried, as if he knew he'd never get the smell of vomit out of his car. "Are you sure you're up to attending the funeral?"
    She nodded but swallowed hard,