In Deep Voodoo Read online

  She frowned. And on his philandering.

  “It’s just a suggestion,” B.J. said mildly. “I’ve had almost every model on the market.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take it.”

  While she filled out paperwork to activate the phone, B.J. withdrew the flyer of the missing Reynolds girl and asked the young man if he’d seen her. The clerk squinted at the picture, then scratched his head. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” B.J. pressed. “Where?”

  “I can’t be sure, but I think she was in the sub shop one day.”

  “When?”

  The young man shrugged. “Maybe a month ago.” He flushed. “I remember a girl with long blond hair. It was almost white.”

  “Did you get a look at her face?”

  More blushing ensued. “I wasn’t looking at her face.”

  B.J.’s mouth quirked. “Did she have a good figure?”

  “Yeah, she was stacked.”

  Penny smothered a smirk and kept her eyes on the form she was filling out. Missing persons flyers might be more effective if they showed the subject from the neck down.

  B.J. grunted. “Did you notice her clothes? Did she have a backpack?”

  The boy shook his head. “I don’t remember, man.”

  “Was she with anyone?”

  He shrugged again. “It might not even have been her, you know?” He handed the flyer back to B.J.

  B.J. nodded. “Do you mind if I put this on your bulletin board?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “There’s a number to call if you remember anything else,” B.J. said. “It could be very important.”

  Penny’s heart squeezed at the intensity in B.J.’s voice. He desperately wanted to find Jodi Reynolds alive. He tacked the flyer and two others with much older dates—both women, both missing from the New Orleans area—to the bulletin board. Their families, she knew, were suspended in a nagging limbo. Most of her life she’d endured the ache of waiting for someone to come back. Was it worse, she wondered, when the missing person was suspected dead, or, as in her case, when she knew the person was still alive?

  “Ready?” B.J. asked.

  Jarred from her disturbing musings, Penny nodded, handed over the paperwork, and exited the shop. “I should call Gloria and give her this number,” she said.

  B.J. hooked his thumb to the left, in the direction opposite from Deke’s office. “I’m going to step into the sandwich shop and ask a few questions.”

  “I’ll wait for you here,” she said, not keen on entering Deke’s office alone.

  He nodded as if he understood, then strode away. Her gaze lingered on his broad shoulders, and she wondered how long he would stay in town, how long she would need his help. Would he be able to find something to exonerate her before the police lowered the boom? She still held out hope that the crime scene evidence would lead the police in another direction, but if the killer truly had gone to such lengths to frame her, he or she probably would have taken pains not to leave anything behind.

  So she was back to hoping that Deke’s murder was a random event by some unstable person whipped into a frenzy by the activities of the Voodoo Festival.

  Praying that Gloria Dalton would have good news, Penny punched in the number using the tiny buttons. She must have done everything right, because the phone rang on the other end, although it rolled over to Gloria’s voice mail. Penny left a message with her new cell phone number and disconnected the call with a sigh.

  Standing in the cool breeze enveloping the lovely fall day, she closed her eyes and wished for the relative peace of her life twenty-four hours ago. She wasn’t sure when the finality of Deke’s death would sink in, but she dreaded the moment. She felt like the headless chicken she’d seen flapping around the voodoo shelter in the square—eventually the adrenaline was going to run out, and she’d be …

  Well, hopefully not dead.

  She looked all around, remembering her close call this morning. Her pulse spiked, but all seemed quiet and normal in Mojo. Pedestrians strolled on the sidewalk of the strip mall, and cars rolled down this section of Charm Street as if everything were perfectly normal. Then suddenly the cool breeze turned cold, sending dried, curled leaves scuttling across the ground, the sound conjuring up images of rattling bones.

  Penny shivered. Everything wasn’t perfectly normal. A murderer was in their midst, who, according to Jules, had not yet exhausted his or her evil.

  “Ms. Francisco?”

  Penny turned to see the young man who’d sold her the phone standing in the open door to the electronics shop looking … uncomfortable.

  “Yes?”

  “I was wondering … do you know how to cast a … a … l-love spell on someone?”

  She frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “You know,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Can you do or say something to make someone fall in love against their will?”

  “I certainly hope not,” B.J. said, striding up with a wink. He clasped Penny’s elbow and steered her away from the inquisitive youth. “Can you?” he murmured.

  “No,” she said, her breath coming faster at his teasing grin and his warm proximity. Then she felt silly for even answering and straightened. “Did you find out anything?”

  He shook his head. “Another dead end. This town seems to be full of them—no pun intended. Did you talk to your attorney?”

  “I had to leave her a message.”

  B.J. stopped before a door bearing a black-and-gold sign that read Deke A. Black, Attorney at Law. A black mourning bow had been attached to the sign. Penny’s lungs constricted painfully.

  “Are you okay with this?” B.J. asked.

  Her distress must have been written on her face. “I … I remember when Deke hung that sign. This was his father’s practice, and Deke joined it when we moved to Mojo. Then his father died suddenly, and Deke said he felt as if he was betraying him by changing the sign.”

  “That’s understandable,” B.J. said. “Sounds as if they were close.”

  “You would think so,” Penny said. “But actually there was always something between them.”

  “What?”

  Penny frowned. “Deke’s mother, Mona.”

  “That would be the mayor.”

  “Right. She ruled the roost, and both men accommodated her. And she wasn’t above playing them against each other if it meant getting her way.”

  B.J. grimaced. “She sounds like a real piece of work.”

  “She is, but Deke is—was—devoted to her.”

  “I’m guessing you and Mona didn’t get along.”

  “We tolerated each other while Deke and I were married.”

  “And since the divorce?”

  Penny sighed. “Mona is dead set against me expanding the garden next to my business—she’s trying to turn Mojo into a bona fide city, and she thinks a garden in the town limits is too provincial. When I saw Deke yesterday morning at the museum, he told me she was going to get the city council to invoke a zoning restriction, and she stopped by the party to tell me as much herself.”

  “Did you argue?”

  “Yeah.” She winced. “I’d had a lot to drink.”

  “I remember,” he said with a little smile. “Does your ex-mother-in-law own a gun?”

  Penny frowned. “What?”

  “The woman doesn’t like you, and she probably thinks that you killed her baby boy. Maybe she was trying to exact her own revenge.”

  Penny’s eyes flew wide. “You think she was the person who fired those shots?”

  He shrugged. “I’m just tossing out a theory. Does she know that you run in the mornings?”

  “Sure … and anyone else in town who cares to notice.”

  “Is shooting at you something she would do?”

  Penny’s blood ran cold. “I … I don’t know.”

  “But it’s possible?”

  She puffed out her cheeks in an exhale. “Yesterday, I would have said no, but today … anything is possible.”<
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  The door opened, and Penny blinked at the tall, robust man coming out. “Ziggy?”

  Ziggy seemed surprised to see her, too. “Chère, Penny.” Then he looked forlorn. “I am so sorry about Deke.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t worry—I don’t believe the newspapers and all the talk about voodoo. I know you couldn’t have killed him.” But as he talked, he eyed B.J. up and down. “Sir, have we met?”

  “I don’t think so,” B.J. said, extending his hand. “B.J. Beaumont.”

  “Hm,” Ziggy said, as if he was still trying to place him.

  “And you are?” B.J. prompted.

  Ziggy pulled himself up. “I am Ziggy Hines.”

  B.J. seemed unfazed. “Nice to meet you, Zig.”

  Ziggy frowned, and Penny hurried to cover the awkward moment. “Ziggy is the chef of his own restaurant in the city.”

  “Ah,” B.J. said. “I’m more of a fast-food kind of guy myself.”

  Ziggy scowled at B.J.’s disheveled appearance. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  “Ziggy is a customer of mine,” Penny cut in. “By the way, how did the, um, you know work out?”

  Ziggy’s eyebrows climbed in question, then his mouth rounded in realization that she was referring to the truffles. “Ah, the—” He cut off and glanced toward B.J. suspiciously. “They are perfection. When will you have more, chère?”

  “I’ll let you know,” she promised, not sure when she’d get back to the day-to-day running of the store.

  “Please do.” He glared at B.J. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” B.J. said cheerfully, inclining his head.

  Ziggy turned and strode toward a black Mercedes in the parking lot.

  “Why do I get the feeling that I didn’t pass muster?” B.J. asked.

  “Oh, that’s just Ziggy. His ego was bruised when you didn’t recognize him.”

  “Do you know why he’s here?”

  “He told me that he was working with Deke on a personal matter that required an out-of-town attorney. I don’t know what it concerned.” Then a memory slid into her brain. “Ziggy dropped by the party at Caskey’s.”

  “I don’t remember his name on the list.”

  “I’d forgotten,” she murmured. “He was there for only a minute or two, just stuck his head in to say hello.” She recalled the way he’d stared at Liz, then bolted.

  “So what’s the secret stash that Zig’s been buying from you?”

  She bit her lip. “I can’t say.”

  B.J. quirked one eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “It’s not illegal,” she rushed to explain. “It’s something rare that my woodsman scavenges and Ziggy buys for his menu, and they don’t want word to get out.”

  “Your woodsman?”

  “A local guy—he collects roots and bark and … other things.”

  One side of B.J.’s mouth curved up. “Sounds intriguing.”

  “It’s just business.”

  “If you say so.” He nodded toward the door. “Are you ready to go inside?”

  “Sure.”

  B.J. opened the door and held it while Penny walked through. She immediately remembered her number one complaint from when she had worked in the office: Despite the lush upholstered furnishings, the thick floor-length drapes, and the plush berber carpet, the place was as cold as a morgue. The desk that Steve Chasen normally occupied sat empty, and to the right, the door to Deke’s office stood open. Instead of the easy-listening station that usually played over the intercom, a rock station reverberated from the speakers.

  Penny walked to the doorway of Deke’s office and was startled to see Steve sitting behind Deke’s desk with his back to them, the telephone to his ear, his feet propped on the credenza running along the wall. His position struck her as irreverent, considering the fact that his boss had just been offed.

  “I’ll let you know if I hear from her,” he said. “Later.” When he turned to hang up the phone, he caught sight of them and jerked upright, dropped his feet to the floor, and sprang up. “Penny.” His voice was squeaky and thin. “I, um, was just changing all the messages on voice mail and canceling appointments. What are you doing here?”

  “We just came to ask you a couple of questions,” she said, “about this morning.” She introduced B.J.

  “We’re trying to figure out if the shooting incident this morning was deliberate,” B.J. said. “Do you remember seeing anyone or anything out of the ordinary?”

  Steve’s face went blank. “No—just Penny running out into the road. I nearly ran over her.”

  “Where do you live?” B.J. asked.

  “About a mile from Hairpin Hill, just inside the city limits.”

  “Do you own a gun?”

  Steve squinted, then crossed his arms. “I’m sorry—tell me again how you’re connected to this … situation.” He looked back and forth between them.

  “I’m an investigator,” B.J. said casually. “Just trying to eliminate the obvious scenarios.”

  Steve wet his lips. “No, I don’t own a gun.” He reached down to pick up a stack of file folders. “Now, if you don’t mind, I really need to call the courthouse and have Deke’s cases postponed.”

  Penny exchanged a glance with B.J., then looked back to Steve. “Thanks again for your help this morning. And for answering our questions. We’ll let ourselves out.”

  On the way through the lobby, Penny stopped by Steve’s desk and hit the Recall button on the phone. She pursed her mouth, then looked at B.J. and jerked her head toward the front door. Once they were outside, he said, “What?”

  “I pulled up the phone number of the person Steve was talking to when we walked in.”

  “Did you recognize the number?”

  “It was city hall—to be more specific, the mayor’s office.”

  18

  Blood makes a nice colorant …

  “It could have been an innocent phone call,” Penny admitted as they climbed into B.J.’s smelly car. “It would make sense that Mona would be calling Deke’s office and keeping tabs on me … if I was the ‘her’ Steve mentioned he’d be keeping an eye out for.”

  B.J. grunted. “Steve Chasen didn’t seem to be that torn up about losing his boss … or his job.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Would he stand to gain anything from your ex’s death?”

  She lifted her shoulder in a slow shrug. “Not that I know of. He didn’t have ownership in the practice, and he’s not an attorney, so it’s not as if he can take over Deke’s clients.”

  “Is that BMW his?” he asked, pointing to the gleaming white car parked nearby.

  “Yeah.”

  “Pretty snazzy ride on a paralegal salary.” B.J. put his own not-so-snazzy car in gear. “Okay, let’s see if we can find Diane Davidson.”

  Penny called directory assistance, but the number and address were unlisted. “I think we have it at the shop,” she said, then dialed. After several rings, Marie answered breathlessly.

  “Charm Farm, this is Marie.”

  “Marie, it’s Penny.”

  “Penny! Thank goodness it’s you,” Marie whispered. “People have been coming in all morning and leaving voodoo dolls. We have trash bags full! And some detective has been tromping around in the garden, and now he’s asking questions.”

  Penny swallowed hard. “Is his name Maynard?”

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Marie said.

  “What kinds of questions?”

  “About the garden, about the party, about the voodoo doll. He’s talking to Guy now.”

  “Don’t worry,” Penny said on an exhale. “Just be truthful.”

  Marie made a fretting noise. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  Panic darted through Penny’s chest. How much had she complained to Marie about Deke? Had she said things that could be misconstrued? “Just … be honest,” she said carefully. “Marie, you know I didn’t kill Deke.”

  Marie’s silenc
e wasn’t comforting.

  “Marie? Don’t you?”

  “Well, of course … but I’d understand if … I mean, I’m not saying you would, but if I were in your shoes, I might.”

  Heat flooded Penny’s chest and face. Good grief, if even Marie thought she’d killed Deke, she was sunk. She turned toward the window, angling her body away from B.J. and lowering her voice. “I didn’t kill him, Marie, you have to know that.”

  “Okay,” Marie breathed. “Should I tell him about my friend Melissa and Deke?”

  “Yes,” Penny said. “Absolutely. As soon as we hang up.”

  “Okay. The detective is looking at me, so I’d better go.”

  “I need for you to look up a customer address first.”

  “Let me step behind the counter.” The computer keyboard clicked. “Okay, who?”

  “Diane Davidson.”

  “Okaaaay.” Marie’s curiosity was practically burning up the phone line, but to her credit, she didn’t ask questions. Marie rattled off the address, and Penny jotted it down. Then she gave Marie her new cell phone number. “Call me if … you think you need to.” She disconnected the call, then shifted uncomfortably in the seat and handed the address to B.J., directing him where to turn.

  B.J. cleared his throat. “Maynard is interrogating your employees?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “How well do you know Marie and Guy the gay man?”

  She pivoted her head. “You think Guy is gay?”

  “Isn’t he?”

  “He says he isn’t … and he has lots of girlfriends.”

  B.J’s mouth quirked. “Yeah, well, then he’s the only one who didn’t get the memo. What do you know about Guy other than the fact that he’s sexually delusional?”

  “He’s worked for me since day one—he’s completely trustworthy. Why?”

  “Well, if someone truly did try to frame you, it would have to be someone who knew about those garden stakes.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Guy’s no murderer. Besides, anyone could have walked onto my property where those garden stakes are.”

  “What about Marie? How long has she worked for you?”

  “About six months. And no way would she hurt anyone.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “From listening to your phone conversation, it sounds like you trust Marie more than she trusts you.”