In Deep Voodoo Read online

  She stood up, grabbed her aching head, and got to the phone on the fourth ring, wondering what time it was. Daylight was just beginning to filter through the lead glass windows. “Hello?” she croaked.

  “Is this Penny Black?” a man asked.

  “Penny Francisco,” she corrected.

  “You’re on live with Kenner on WYNO news radio—will you give us a statement on the murder of your ex-husband?”

  Her mouth opened and closed as her mind spun. Of course the media had gotten wind of Deke’s bizarre death. In a small town like Mojo, murder was big honking news.

  “Ms. Francisco, did you put a hex on your ex?” the man demanded. “Do you have some kind of mystical power?”

  She squinted. “What?”

  “Did the voodoo ceremony that you performed on your husband have something to do with the festival that’s taking place?”

  “Ex-husband,” she muttered on an exhale. “And no!” She hung up the phone in a panic, but it rang again a few seconds later. She yanked the phone cord from the base unit, her chest heaving.

  Rubbing her gritty eyes, she went to the kitchen for a drink of water. It was just after 7:00 A.M. She leaned into the sink, welcoming the cool of the stainless steel against her flesh, fighting nausea as the previous day’s events came back with jarring clarity. Fending off the remnants of a hangover and dealing with the most shocking news of her life was not a good combination. She felt as if she’d been dragged by her heels over some very rough terrain; the last thing she wanted to do was go out for her morning run, but she knew it would help clear her head. For energy, she downed a tall glass of orange juice, then she went into the bedroom, trying to ignore the mess while she rifled for running gear. She dressed in record time.

  When she opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, the scene was dank and depressing. Everywhere people lay sleeping, unwashed clumps covered with dew. Food containers littered the ground. From the shelter rose a sickening smell of chicken flesh and smoke. Penny swallowed and took off on her usual route, toward Charm Street. B.J. had said to act normal.

  As her feet hit the pavement, her thoughts went to the man who so quickly and so willingly had come to her aid. She pondered her strong attraction to B.J. Beaumont and told herself it was because she was still stinging from Deke’s rejection … and death.

  As she bounded onto Charm Street toward the Victorian, she stayed on the side of the street of her business. Her store was quiet, and probably would be until Marie opened at 9:00. Business should be good … unless people decided to avoid her store because of the rumors that were bound to have spread about Deke’s murder. The residents of Mojo were a suspicious, unforgiving lot—take Diane Davidson, for instance. In the same situation, Penny wasn’t so sure she’d have the guts to stay … and she hoped she wouldn’t have to find out.

  She tried, but she couldn’t resist a glance at the pink house as she jogged by. The yard was flattened and marred with muddy tire tracks from the many police vehicles that had parked wherever they could the night before. She wondered if Deke’s office had been cordoned off with police tape, if Sheena had spent the night in the house. When the memory of Deke’s staring eyes rose in her mind, she dug her heels deeper into the pavement. When the vision of the wire stake imbedded in his chest haunted her, she pumped her arms and picked up speed. Her brain couldn’t dwell on those horrific details if it was occupied with processing pain signals from her straining calves.

  She ran to the corner and turned right to jog past the Instruments of Death and Voodoo Museum. The museum loomed ominously in the predawn light, separated from the sidewalk by the shoulder-high iron fence and the padlocked gate. As she ran by, a flicker of light in one of the stained-glass windows on the top floor caught her eye—a strobe of some kind? A fire? When she slowed, however, the light disappeared. She resumed running, deciding that the rising sun was playing tricks on her eyes. She shook her head, reminding herself that she had plenty of intrigue in her own life without imagining more.

  She crossed a quiet street and inhaled deeply to prepare her body for Hairpin Hill, which led up into the new suburbs that surrounded Mojo. The curvy road was quiet and deserted, hemmed with thick hawthorne trees and white camellias at the peak of their perfume. With its three hairpin curves traversing the side of the small manmade mountain before looping back to the road on the other side, Hairpin Hill was the most challenging leg of her run, but also her favorite … usually.

  This morning the darkness of the tree canopy seemed menacing instead of shady, the air stifling instead of aromatic. She blamed her unease on B.J.’s warning that a murderer was still on the loose, and on her own fatigue. Without proper sleep and nourishment, her energy was flagging, her muscles tightening, her lungs constricting. Halfway through the last hairpin turn, she stopped, gasping for air, and leaned over to grasp her knees.

  A loud crack exploded in the air, startling her. From the echo, the noise sounded amazingly like a gunshot. She pivoted, thinking a car had backfired, only to find herself alone on the road as far as she could see in both directions. Another loud crack split the air. This time, whatever it was, was close enough for her to hear the whizzing noise as it sped by, and it caused wood to splinter on a tree next to her. In the fraction of a second that it took for her to register the fact that someone was shooting at her, her feet, thank goodness, had already figured it out.

  An enormous surge of adrenaline sent her sprinting back down the hill faster than she’d ever run in her life. A couple of times the momentum alone nearly took her down, but terror kept her upright and moving, her arms and legs pumping. The stretch of road had never seemed so long. A frightened, keening sound erupted close by, then she realized the noise was coming from her throat. Someone was shooting at her, trying to pick her off like a duck in a carnival game. Her back burned with the overwhelming sensation that someone was bearing down on her.

  At the bottom of the hill, she flung herself across the road blindly, her only thought getting to the other side and into town. A car horn blasted the air. She turned her head to see the blur of a white car and braced for impact. The driver locked the brakes, but the car still grazed her hip, knocking her to the ground. The tang of burned rubber filled the air. The driver’s side door sprang open, and Steve Chasen jumped out. “Penny?”

  Shaken, she picked herself up off the road. She was so relieved to see a familiar face, though, that she practically fell into him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “My God, I almost didn’t see you in time to stop.”

  “Someone … was … shooting … at me,” she said, her teeth chattering.

  “What?”

  “On the hill,” she said pointing.

  He frowned, his expression wary. “It was probably someone playing with fireworks.”

  “No,” she said stubbornly. “It was gunshots.”

  Steve was quiet for a few seconds. “Penny,” he said gently, “I heard about Deke, that the police questioned you.”

  She read his expression. He thought she was guilty … and perhaps had snapped. “I didn’t kill Deke, Steve. And I wasn’t imagining things just now.”

  He nodded and led her to the passenger side of the car, as if she were a small child. “But you’re understandably upset. You might have heard something and thought it was a gunshot.”

  Penny opened her mouth to object but recognized the futility of arguing. “Will you please just take me to my apartment?”

  “Of course,” he said, opening the car door and helping her inside. While he walked around the front of the car, she glanced back toward Hairpin Hill. Nothing seemed amiss. Had she mistaken the wild shots of a woodsman or a car backfiring for someone trying to kill her? She sank deeper into her seat, her mind racing.

  Steve was quiet as he drove her back toward town, although she felt his gaze upon her. He slowed at the pink house and stared before driving on.

  “I can’t believe he’s dead,” he murmured.

  “Neither can
I,” she said.

  “Did he really die like everyone is saying?”

  “If everyone is saying that he was stabbed, then yes.”

  “With a garden stake?”

  His eyes glittered with excitement, and a finger of unease tickled the back of her neck. Steve had seen her stab the voodoo doll and might have had his own reasons for wanting his boss dead.

  “That’s right,” she murmured.

  “It’s kind of spooky that you stabbed the voodoo doll at the party, and then Deke winds up dead the same way.”

  “Uh-huh. By the way, did you bring the doll as a gag gift?”

  “No,” he said quickly, then looked sheepish. “I didn’t have time to buy a gift.” Then his eyes widened. “Do the police think it was someone at the party?”

  “They don’t know,” she said carefully. “The doll might be some kind of bizarre coincidence. Was Deke having trouble with any of his clients?”

  Steve shrugged. “He was having trouble collecting fees from a couple of people, but otherwise … Wait—Diane Davidson threatened Deke.”

  Penny frowned. “Threatened him how?”

  “She said he’d be sorry that he didn’t take on her case.”

  “That’s hardly a death threat.”

  “It was the way she said it,” Steve said. “She was giving him the evil eye … and she was at the party. Maybe she brought the voodoo doll.”

  Penny didn’t want to think the quiet woman had anything to do with Deke’s death, but Diane, too, had seen Penny stab the voodoo doll, and Penny really didn’t know her very well. “Are you going to open Deke’s office today?”

  “Yeah, even though I’m out of a job unless someone takes over the practice.” He flushed. “I know that sounds selfish, considering what’s happened.”

  “No,” Penny said charitably as he pulled up in front of the beignet shop. “You have to take care of yourself.” She opened the door, eager to get out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, Steve. I … maybe I was overreacting about the sound I heard. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  Steve nodded sympathetically, and she climbed out of the car. “Penny, do you know anything about a funeral service for Deke?”

  She swallowed hard and shook her head. The only tie she had to Deke now was as a murder suspect. “I’m assuming Mona will handle everything … or maybe Sheena. Bye, Steve.” She closed the door before he could ask more questions. For some reason, she still didn’t trust him. When she picked up the morning Post that had been delivered while she’d been out running, she realized her hands were trembling. Even if those gunshots hadn’t been meant for her, they had come too close for comfort.

  When she entered her apartment, the clutter only further reminded her of the chaos in her life. She took a few minutes to clear the dining room table of the gag gifts, shaking her head at the condoms and the vibrator, thinking she’d be using one before the other … if her life ever returned to normal.

  She unrolled the newspaper and stared in horror at Deke’s photo under the headline “Voodoo Festival Incites Murder.” The story cited “official sources” as reporting that Deke Black, noted attorney in Mojo, had been stabbed in the chest with a long sharp object after his ex-wife, Penny Francisco, had purportedly stabbed a voodoo doll in a “divorce voodoo ceremony.” The article went on to say that Penny owned a charm and spell shop in Mojo, and was, coincidentally, the person who had found the body.

  She crunched the paper closed. From the newspaper account, she could almost be convinced that she’d killed Deke. She stood and paced, gnawing on her nails. This couldn’t be good.

  Hoping that food would help calm her jitters, she ate a bran muffin and plain yogurt. Unbidden, her thoughts went to B.J. Beaumont and what garbage he was consuming for breakfast. She tried to shake her thoughts of him, but they dogged her into the shower, where, as she ran soapy hands over her body, she kept remembering the interest in his dark eyes, replaying the evening they might have had if …

  Penny sighed as guilt descended. How could she be thinking about being with another man when Deke wasn’t even in the ground—especially when a lot of people thought she had put him there.

  She showered and dressed quickly, then picked up the damaged phone cord to discover that her yank had disabled the base unit. The phone calls she needed to make—to Gloria, to B.J., to Liz—would have to wait until she could make them from her office. She glanced at her watch. Marie would already have the shop open, but she and Guy were probably worried sick about her. Penny frowned at the burned-out bulb on the landing as she left, then hurried down the stairs. When she opened the door leading to the sidewalk, she blinked at the woman standing there with a microphone that read WTNL. Behind her, a man held a camera on his shoulder, and it appeared to be rolling.

  “Ms. Francisco,” the woman said, “what can you tell us about the voodoo ritual that resulted in your ex-husband’s grisly death?”

  “Nothing,” Penny said, attempting to sidestep the woman.

  “Ms. Francisco, how long have you practiced voodoo?”

  “I don’t,” she replied.

  “Are you some kind of priestess?” the woman asked, stepping on Penny’s heels. “I understand that you sell charms and spells at your place of business.”

  “You misunderstood,” Penny said, pushing past her and breaking into a jog. Hopefully the police would have some answers soon and would be able to clear her name. In the end, she was sure that science would win out over voodoo.

  She walked briskly, glancing over her shoulder to see if the reporter and her crew were following her. Thankfully, it appeared that they had given up. She relaxed a bit … until she noticed a commotion up ahead in front of her store. A crowd had gathered, including two more TV cameras. Marie’s blue hair shone like a beacon; she was standing under the awning, gesturing in what looked like an attempt to address the crowd. Penny picked up the pace, dread billowing in her stomach. What now?

  She was a few feet away from the crowd of about fifty when someone shouted, “There she is!”

  In one collective movement, the people turned to stare, then began to run toward her. Paralyzed, Penny stood rooted to the ground as women surrounded her, thrusting voodoo dolls in her face. “My husband needs a wake-up call—can you stick him in the hip?”

  “In the foot?”

  “In the crotch?”

  “I want mine dead! Stick him in the heart, like you stuck it to your husband!”

  16

  Monitor concoction for

  deterioration …

  Penny blinked, slack-jawed, as women pushed and pulled on her clothing, begging her to perform a ritual on their husband voodoo dolls. A doll popped her in the forehead, then fell to the ground. Suddenly she was pelted with dolls. Out of nowhere, Marie appeared and grabbed Penny’s arm.

  “Get a divorce lawyer!” Marie yelled to the crowd as she dragged Penny to the relative safety of the door. The cameras had captured everything.

  “There are more inside,” Marie warned, then she opened the door. Sure enough, Penny was rushed again by people clutching dolls and amulets, bones, and even a live chicken. Guy cowered behind the counter. “Everybody out,” Marie shouted, “unless you plan to buy something.”

  “I’ll pay for a voodoo session!” one woman yelled, holding her doll high.

  “Me too”s chorused around the shop, and Marie turned to Penny, eyebrows raised. Penny scowled, then shook her head, and Marie seemed dejected. “Sorry, folks, no voodoo sessions, but how about a nice tall glass of Hot Voodoo Sex?”

  The question distracted the crowd enough for Penny to slip away and make a beeline for her office. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, puffing her cheeks out in an exhale. How much crazier could things get?

  Then she straightened and looked heavenward, her hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean that as a challenge.”

  She sighed and dropped into her desk chair, then stared at the locked bottom drawer, tempted to
dive in. She needed the comfort, the flood of endorphins to calm her. Her mouth watered, and she was reaching for the desk key before she caught herself. She’d regret it later … she always did. The stash was there as a reminder that she could resist temptation, not as a quick fix. Recognizing the distraction as a delay tactic, she forced herself to pick up the phone and dial Gloria Dalton’s cell phone number. Gloria answered on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Gloria, it’s Penny. Is this a bad time?”

  “I just heard you on Kenner in the Morning. Please don’t talk to the press, Penny.”

  “But I didn’t!”

  “When the man asked if you’d killed your husband with a voodoo hex, you said, ‘Ex-husband.’ ”

  “So?”

  “So that sounds like you admitted to killing your ex-husband with a voodoo hex!”

  Penny winced. “It was taken out of context.”

  Gloria sighed and something rattled in the background that sounded like a pill bottle being opened. “How are you holding up?”

  “I haven’t fallen apart.” Penny glanced at the bottom desk drawer. “Yet.”

  “Good. Hang in there. I have a call in to Detective Maynard for an update. Maybe he’ll have good news.”

  “While you have him on the phone, ask him about the .45 handgun that was supposedly found in my apartment during their search.”

  “You had a gun?”

  “No! That’s the point—a gun is listed on the paperwork as being removed, but I don’t own a gun and I never have.”

  “Okay,” Gloria said, sounding nervous. “I’ll look into it. Anything else?”

  Penny hesitated, then said, “There was an incident while I was out on my regular morning run.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “I was, um, shot at.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure that two shots were fired that came very close to hitting me.”

  “Did you see where they came from?”

  “No.”

  “Have you reported it to the police?”