Love Can Be Murder

as her mother?
    Guy was morose this morning, burrowing into the stockroom behind paperwork. Marie was artificially cheerful. She had gotten an e-mail message from Kirk, who was supposedly on a medical mission in some third-world country. Penny let her prattle on, since customers were few and far between, many of them already heading out of town on this last day of the festival. Marie was looking out the window, in the direction of the pink house. Penny wondered idly how much longer Mona would allow Sheena to live there. Since their divorce, Deke had undoubtedly willed everything to his mother, and since Sheena and Deke hadn't yet married, the woman would be entitled to nothing except gifts.
    But the Sheena Linders of the world seemed to land on their feet. The Penny Franks, on the other hand, seemed to land on their heads.
    "Hey, doesn't that P.I. guy you're sleeping with drive a green car?" Marie asked.
    Penny frowned. "Who said I was sleeping with him?"
    "Oh, please."
    Penny moved toward the window. "Do you see him?"
    "He just drove up to the Victorian and got out. He's waiting for someone to come to the door."
    Curious, Penny grabbed her mini binoculars and peeked through the blinds, a sense of déjà vu settling over her to see B.J. standing on the porch, waiting for the door to be opened. She frowned. What could he be doing at Sheena's?
    As she watched, the door opened, and Sheena appeared in a sexy, gauzy getup. Penny rolled her eyes—the woman's tailbone was broken and she still couldn't help herself. They appeared to be talking rather seriously, then suddenly B.J. removed something from beneath his coat and handed it to Sheena. If not for the color, Penny might not have recognized the lime green stiletto that she'd dug out from under her hip when she'd ridden in his car.
    Wonder how long that's been there?
    Behind the binoculars her eyes stung—it was Sheena's? He'd been her lover all along?
    Then B.J. handed Sheena another item—a black videotape.
    Penny stepped back from the blinds as if she'd been slapped. Hurt and betrayal washed over her. Had he been working for Sheena all this time? Was there something on the tape that would help Sheena in some way? More disturbing thoughts battered her. B.J. had been at Caskey's the night of the murder—it would have been easy for him to have placed the voodoo doll on the table for Sheena, especially since Penny had made such a fool out of herself falling for his charm.
    Her heart hammered. B.J. could have killed Deke for Sheena...B.J. carried a gun—he could have shot at her while she was running, then gone back and dug out the slug under the guise of warning her. B.J. could have planted the snake in her apartment—he'd certainly killed it handily enough. B.J. knew every little incriminating thing about her. Would he testify against her? And wasn't she the biggest fool ever born to think that he had actually cared about her?
    "Penny?" Marie asked. "Are you okay?"
    "I'll be in my office," she managed to get out. She closed the door and leaned against it, tingling with shame. What about her made her such an easy target for deceitful men? Did she reek of desperation? Did she emit vibes of gullibility? On her desk, her cell phone rang, and Gloria Dalton's number came up.
    Penny steeled herself, then flipped down the mouthpiece. "Hello?"
    "Penny," Gloria said, her voice breaking. "The D.A. just issued a warrant for your arrest."
    Penny closed her eyes as fear filled every cell of her body. "How long do I have?"
    "Maybe thirty minutes. Do you have the list of attorneys I gave you?"
    "Yes, thank you, Gloria, you've been wonderful during all of this."
    "I'm not going anywhere. We'll see this through, okay?"
    "Okay," Penny said, feeling guilty for dragging the woman into the mess, then disconnected the call. She locked her office door and withdrew the little gold key for the secured desk drawer.
    She slid it open and gazed upon bag after bag of malt vinegar and sea salt potato chips. She tore into one bag and placed a mouth-sized chip on her tongue, flinching when the sharp tang of vinegar hit her taste buds. She pressed the chip against the roof of her mouth, breaking it into tiny pieces to release all the pent-up taste. Then she chewed slowly and swallowed, flush with pleasure. She always ate the first bag that way.
    The second bag, she lined up the chips on her desk and ate them by size, stacked in little sandwiches of three or four. The crunch was intense, and the