Love Can Be Murder

been punished for her transgression. "Was Deke alone when you were there?"
    Liz bit her lip. "Wendy said that Deke insisted he was alone, but she had a feeling he wasn't."
    "Maybe it was the client who was supposed to come by," Gloria said, then removed a prescription bottle from her purse and tossed back two pills.
    "Yeah, except Wendy said she smelled a woman's perfume."
    "Could have been Sheena's," Guy pointed out.
    Or the faceless "other woman" that Sheena was concerned about, Penny thought to herself.
    "Isn't that your phone?" Guy asked.
    Penny jumped. "Mine?"
    "It's coming from your bag," he said, pointing.
    Penny pulled out the cell phone, and her heart did a little jig at the incoming number: B.J. She flipped open the mouthpiece. "Hello?"
    "Hey, Red, it's me. How was the service?"
    She frowned at his assumption that she'd know who "me" was. "Fine," she lied.
    "Did you get the locks changed on your doors like I told you?"
    "My landlord was changing them when I left. Why?"
    "Because I'm on Hairpin Hill."
    "And?"
    "And I just pulled a .38 slug out of a tree where you told me you were running. If this is what you dodged, babe, it's no blank."

Chapter Twenty-five

    Be careful—the potion has a bite to it...

    THE NEXT DAY AT THE SHOP, Penny was still antsy from B.J.'s call, but she wasn't sure what bothered her the most—that she'd truly been shot at, or that B J. had called her "babe." Or maybe the fact that he hadn't offered to sleep on the couch last night?
    The chime on the door sounded, announcing a customer. Business was still booming, and she'd decided the most constructive use of her time was to work in the store.
    Besides, here she was less likely to get shot at.
    Jules Lamborne strode in, leaning on her walking stick.
    "Hello, Jules," Penny said, glancing around for Marie, hoping to get out of waiting on the spooky old woman. She wasn't in the mood for more bad mojo.
    "Bonjour," Jules offered, although her voice wasn't its usual strong warble. She climbed up on a stool but seemed to be moving more slowly than normal. "I came for my morning elixir."
    Penny spotted Marie handling another customer and groaned inwardly. "Coming right up." She filled a glass with Vigor Juice, managing to spill some on the floor in her nervousness. She set the glass in front of the old woman and reached for a paper towel. "I saw you at Deke's funeral yesterday, Jules."
    "Saw you, too," the woman said after a hearty drink. "Saw what you did to the cercueil. "
    Without Marie translating, Penny was confused, but she took a guess. "You mean the casket?"
    Jules nodded.
    Penny frowned. "I didn't do anything to it. I barely touched it, and it fell. It was just an accident."
    Jules wagged her finger. "Nothing is an accident. The cercueil fell because you wished it to, or because it had to."
    "Okay," Penny said, still skeptical. She certainly hadn't "wished" it to fall, and why would a coffin have to fall?
    Jules drank the rest of the juice in one gulp, then set down the empty glass and abruptly stood to leave.
    Penny observed the woman's agitated body language. "What's your hurry, Jules?"
    "There is a serpent underfoot," Jules murmured, glancing from side to side, her eyes wide, her tongue darting in and out as if she was unwittingly mimicking a snake. "I must go—I'm weak from using my Cajun and will be susceptible to the serpent's evil." The little old woman scrambled toward the door unsteadily.
    Penny strode ahead to get the door for her. "Watch your step, Jules. See you tomorrow."
    But when the woman didn't respond with her normal "Bon Dieu willing," as she walked away, Penny bit her lip. Was Jules's age finally catching up to her? Had the woman slipped into senility? Were the voodoo festival and all the bizarre events making her more agitated, more neurotic?
    Just as Penny was closing the door, it was shoved open, catching Penny on the heel. While pain shot up her leg, she looked around to see Sheena Linder standing there in snakeskin jeans, a gold shirt, and four-inch stilettos. Her orange skin was slick with some kind of oil, her white hair as poufy and dry-looking as straw. Didn't the woman realize that when she fried her skin, she was also frying her hair? One of these days, she was going to burst into flames. "Hi, Sheena."
    Sheena planted her hands on her generous hips and glared at Penny. "I'm going to sue you."
    Penny sighed. "What for now?"
    Sheena's eyes narrowed. "Don't get smart with me, Granola Girl. Do you know