In Deep Voodoo Page 17

  “So you’re saying it’s Deke’s gun?”

  “I never saw a gun in our house while I was married to Deke.”

  “Did Mr. Black own a gun?”

  “Not that he ever told me.”

  “Who is the handgun registered to?” Gloria asked.

  “It’s unregistered,” Maynard said.

  Penny covered her mouth with her hand. “Maybe the gun is what Deke was looking for. Maybe that’s why he kept calling me. Maybe he realized I’d taken the tree.”

  Maynard looked at Allyson, and Penny felt the first glimmer of hope that they might be thinking there could be more to Deke’s murder than a simple crime of passion.

  “Maybe Mr. Black was afraid for his life,” Gloria said, obviously warming up to the argument. “And he suddenly needed the gun.”

  Allyson pursed her mouth. “Maybe it was Penny he was afraid of, especially since she’d stolen his gun.”

  Penny swallowed. “I didn’t steal his gun—I told you, I didn’t even know it was there.”

  “But you did steal the tree?”

  Penny sighed. “It was a lousy tree.”

  “Ms. Francisco,” Maynard said, “your employees told us some interesting things this morning.”

  Penny bit down on the inside of her cheek.

  “They both said that you were quite upset over the divorce.”

  “As anyone would be,” Gloria said. “What’s your point?”

  “Marie Gaston told me that you spent a great deal of time spying on your husband’s house across the street.”

  Penny’s stomach lurched. “Th-that’s not true.” She managed a little shrug. “I glance out the window occasionally, just to see what’s going on along Charm Street. Marie was thinking of yesterday, when I realized that Deke was having the house painted pink. I was … offended. Did Marie happen to mention that her friend Melissa boasted of having an affair with Deke?”

  He nodded. “We talked to the woman, and she has an alibi.”

  Penny closed her eyes briefly—so much for that theory.

  “Ms. Gaston also informed me that she told you at the divorce party that Mr. Black’s paralegal had told her that Mr. Black had hidden assets during your property settlement.”

  Penny’s knee bounced erratically. “That’s right.”

  “And you were understandably angry,” he pressed.

  She wet her lips. “Yes … at first. And then I decided I would give the information to my attorney and let her handle it.”

  Maynard opened the brown paper bag and removed the voodoo doll sealed in a plastic bag. Penny’s stomach pitched and rolled. The pin that she’d driven into the doll’s chest strained against the clear plastic. Maynard carefully removed the stabbed doll and laid it on the table in front of Penny. Details that had escaped her at the party now leaped out at her. The doll had been fashioned out of plain burlap fabric, and the little raveled edges in the head seam were a remarkably good imitation of Deke’s recent hair plugs. The eyes were hand-stitched black X’s, spookily prophetic of Deke’s blank stare when she had found him in his office. The miniature pin-striped suit was made from strips of dark fabric tucked and folded. Someone had put a lot of time into crafting the likeness.

  “Ms. Francisco, did you make this doll?” Maynard asked.

  Penny frowned. “What? No—I told you that I got it as a gag gift.”

  “And so far, no one we’ve talked to admits to bringing the doll.”

  “Maybe they’re frightened,” she said. “After all, it was supposed to be a joke.”

  “Maybe not.” Maynard used the tips of his fingers to pull back the front of the tiny jacket on the doll. Inside was a stamp-sized, gold-embroidered monogram: D.A.B. Penny inhaled sharply. Part of Deke’s new image had been having his monogram added to the inside pocket of his suits when he’d bought them. “Th-that was made from …”

  “From one of Mr. Black’s suits,” Maynard said, nodding. “So it seems to me that this doll was intended to be more than just a joke. It seems like a threat.”

  “And it had to be made by someone close to Deke,” Allyson added. “Someone who had access to his closet.”

  “You, Ms. Francisco,” Maynard added.

  She shook her head. “No … I didn’t make that doll … and for the hundredth time, I didn’t kill Deke.”

  Maynard grunted. “I think you made that doll to act out your revenge. When you learned that Deke had lied during the property settlement you were even more upset. Stabbing the doll got you all worked up, gave you the idea to take care of him for good. You went to Mr. Black’s house last night not because you wanted to help him but because you wanted to confront him. You told him what you’d discovered, and you had a big, big fight.”

  “No. I told you he was dead”—Penny choked on the word—“when I arrived. Besides, I couldn’t have overpowered Deke even if I’d wanted to.”

  “Your blood alcohol test came back—you were legally drunk. Are you sure you remember everything?”

  “That’s even more of a reason for my client physically not to be able to do what you’re insinuating,” Gloria said.

  “Not if he was drunk, too,” Maynard said. “There was a half-empty bottle of bourbon on Mr. Black’s desk, and an empty glass.” He clasped his hands behind his head. “We should have everything back from the M.E. and the crime lab in a couple of days.”

  “Good,” Penny said, hoping she sounded strong. “Maybe you’ll realize I’ve been telling the truth about the bloodstains … and everything else.”

  “Meanwhile,” Gloria said, “what have you found out about the attempt on Penny’s life this morning?”

  Allyson’s smile was flat. “I sent an officer out to look around, knock on doors, ask a few questions. He found a guy in Garden Village Heights who shot at a pack of stray dogs this morning to run them off. He produced the handgun, and since it was loaded with blanks, the officer didn’t file charges.” She gave Penny a mocking glance. “Now are you satisfied that no one was trying to murder you?”

  Penny frowned. “Are you satisfied that I wasn’t lying when I told you I heard shots fired?”

  Allyson lifted her chin.

  “Are we finished here?” Gloria asked, and Penny silently cheered her bravado—Gloria, ever how begrudgingly, seemed to be getting the hang of interrogation.

  “One more thing,” Allyson said to Penny. “That guy you’re with.”

  Penny bristled. “His name is B.J. Beaumont. He’s a private investigator from New Orleans. He’s … helping me.”

  Allyson’s severely arched eyebrows climbed. “And what exactly do you need help with?”

  “Let’s go, Penny,” Gloria urged, standing.

  “Just how well do you know Mr. Beaumont?” Allyson pressed.

  Penny frowned. “I met him yesterday. Why?”

  Allyson shrugged. “Maybe he helped you with something else—like getting rid of Deke.”

  Penny stood on wobbly legs. “That’s ridiculous.” Although hadn’t she herself questioned B.J.’s motives for helping her?

  “My client is not involved in Mr. Black’s murder in any way,” Gloria asserted, although Penny thought the attorney looked ready to collapse under the strain. “I assume, Chief Davis, that you’re pursuing other suspects?”

  “Like who?” Allyson asked sharply.

  “Like the people who attended Penny’s party. Someone gave her that doll, and maybe that’s the person who killed Mr. Black.”

  “We haven’t finished interviewing everyone,” Maynard admitted. “But we’ll get to them.”

  “What about Deke’s business associates?” Penny asked, regaining a little courage. “Or his clients, or another woman he might have been involved with?”

  “Or any one of the thousands of eccentric individuals who are in town for the festival?” Gloria added. “People can be animals.”

  At her attorney’s odd tone, Penny again wondered about Gloria’s background.

  Maynard nodded. �
��We’re following all leads.” Then he looked at Penny. “And we’ll be in touch. Meanwhile, Ms. Francisco, you should seriously consider taking a polygraph test.”

  But would the white lies she’d told and the emotional undercurrent she was treading come to light, muddying the overlying truth? She nodded curtly and followed Gloria to the door and out into the hall of the tiny police station. When they were out of earshot of Chief Davis and Detective Maynard, Gloria exhaled noisily.

  “We’re not out of danger yet.” Then she frowned. “So tell me about this P.I. you’re working with, this Beaumont fellow.”

  “He’s in town working a missing person’s case. We struck up a conversation at Caskey’s bar last night and … planned to meet up later. When he heard what happened to Deke, he offered to poke around.”

  Gloria lifted her eyebrows suggestively.

  Penny blushed. “I mean, he offered to … you know, ask questions where the police might not.”

  Gloria bit her lip. “Just to be safe, I’m going to make a couple of phone calls around the city to see what I can find out about him. A woman can’t be too careful.”

  Penny smiled. “I think you’re getting the hang of criminal representation.”

  “Oh, no,” Gloria said, shaking her head. “Give me the peace and quiet of two people threatening to kidnap their kids and maim each other’s pets.” Then her cosmetically altered green eyes gentled. “How are you holding up?”

  Penny sighed. “I don’t know—I guess it hasn’t really sunk in that Deke is dead.”

  “It will,” Gloria warned.

  “I know. I’m sure I’m in some kind of self-preservation mode. I keep seeing him dead on the floor of his office, the blood everywhere … but it’s like a movie or something.” Penny hesitated. “And I think I’ve been trying so hard for the last few months to distance myself from him, it just hasn’t registered that I’ll never see him … alive … again.” She set her jaw to keep the sudden tears at bay.

  Gloria made a rueful noise, then gave Penny a quick hug. “Call me if you need me.”

  “I will,” Penny said as they walked into the cramped lobby.

  B.J. was leaning on the counter, holding one of his missing persons flyers, talking to a cute blond half Penny’s age, who was blushing under his scrutiny. Suspicion barbed through her chest—was he a player? She’d silently condemned Marie for believing her boyfriend Kirk’s outlandish stories … had she done the same thing herself?

  B.J. straightened when he saw them, then nodded to Gloria as she walked out. He stepped toward Penny, his expression serious. “Is everything okay?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Everything’s dandy. You didn’t have to stay.”

  He nodded toward the young woman he’d been huddling with. “I thought I’d ask about some of my other cases while I was here.” He gave her a wry smile. “And stick around in case you needed someone to post bail.”

  “Not yet,” she said sourly.

  “So what’s up with the video?”

  She sighed. “They have a security video of me running into Deke yesterday at the museum—remember I told you about seeing him?”

  He nodded. “Was the video damaging?”

  “It’s misleading. And with no audio, it’s my word against a dead man’s.”

  The door suddenly swung open and Mona Black appeared, dressed in her standard uniform of—what else?—black. When the woman’s gaze landed on her, Penny took an unconscious step backward even as Mona descended on her.

  “You!” Mona shouted, her face contorted. “Why aren’t you behind bars?”

  “Mona,” Penny said quietly, “I know you’re upset, but I didn’t have anything to do with Deke’s death.”

  “Liar!” Mona screamed, spittle flying. “Wasn’t it enough that you ruined his life, you selfish little piece of trash? Did you have to take his life, too?”

  Penny shrank against the wall, and B.J. stepped up to grasp her arm. “Come on, Penny, time to go.”

  “You’ll pay for this, one way or another,” Mona said, her face blood red. She clutched at the silver cross around her neck. “I have more power around here than you could ever know.”

  Penny was frozen, scorched by the unbridled hatred spewing from the woman’s eyes.

  B.J. gave her arm a yank and pulled her away, ushering her outside into the cool air. “Wow, I assume that was your ex-mother-in-law.”

  Penny nodded and shivered, still shaken. A solitary black cloud had moved in front of the sun, scaring up a chilly gust of wind that sent leaves hurtling toward the square. Two blocks away, the smoke from the peristil and the incessant drum beating were still going strong. It was as if the rituals were sucking the energy out of Mojo and drawing it all toward the ceremonial shelter.

  “There’s something strange going on in this town,” she murmured, half to herself.

  “I’m starting to think the same thing,” B.J. said. Then he held up one of the flyers portraying a young brunette named Giselle Taylor, who had been missing for over a year. “The dispatcher says she thinks she remembers this woman stopping her on the street during last year’s festival and asking for directions to the voodoo museum.”

  Penny took the flyer and studied the woman’s face. “Wow, that’s some memory the dispatcher has.”

  “She said she only remembers the woman because she looked like her sister.”

  Penny handed back the flyer. “Maybe Hazel would remember her, too.”

  “Has she worked at the museum for a while?”

  “For as long as I’ve lived here.”

  “And the museum was a client of your husband’s?”

  “That’s right.”

  Penny could see the wheels turning in his head—no doubt slowly because of the cholesterol poisoning, but turning nonetheless.

  He folded the flyer and stuffed it inside his jacket. “What do you say let’s go check out this infamous voodoo museum?”

  20

  Sniff around to make sure

  all is well …

  “Something smells good,” B.J. said with his nose in the air.

  Penny sniffed her sleeve to make sure it wasn’t her permanent doughnut cologne.

  “Would you mind if we got a bite to eat before we hit the museum?”

  “I don’t mind,” Penny said, buttoning her coat to ward off the chill that the encounter with Mona had left in her blood.

  “The diner’s close—is that okay?”

  “Sure.” She wasn’t that hungry anyway.

  “Hey,” he said, his gaze turning solemn. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. As they walked toward the square, she tried to lose herself in the crowd, her head pivoting, on the lookout for reporters and cameras.

  “The vultures already got their daily scoop,” he said. “Hopefully they’re gone for a while.”

  “Marie said it wasn’t safe to go back to the store. Half the population thinks I’m a murderer and the other half thinks I’m some kind of witch doctor.” She gazed toward the shelter, where several women in colorful costumes were dancing in sync, twirling flaming batons. Today a gray-bearded man wielded the ason, walking and stomping around the peristil with a live snake around his neck, touching the foreheads of those who sought him out and occasionally pausing in midmotion to have his picture taken by tourists.

  “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” he said as they walked into the diner.

  “Tell you what?”

  He gestured to the bar. “Okay to sit here? We’ll get faster service.”

  She slid onto the stool and swiveled to face the white Formica bar.

  “If you were a witch doctor,” he said, lowering himself to the neighboring stool.

  She gave him a wry smile. “I’d tell you.”

  “Good.” His leg brushed against hers as he passed her a greasy menu. “Because I’d want to know if I was in for some kind of supernatural experience.”

  A laugh erupted from her throat even as the side of her body nearest
him burned. It was a game her mind was playing on her body; it was called distraction. Feel lust and arousal instead of pain and fear.

  “So did anything new come to light when you talked to the police?” he asked.

  “Marie’s friend Melissa has an alibi, so we can strike her off the list.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I was legally drunk last night,” she said dryly. “They think Deke might have been, too.” She frowned. “The odd thing is, Deke told me he’d stopped drinking the last time I saw him at the courthouse.”

  A waitress came by and took their orders—chicken noodle soup and water with lemon for her, a double bacon cheeseburger with curly fries and a bottle of Dr Pepper for him.

  “So he fell off the wagon,” B.J. said with a shrug.

  “There’s more. The police did find a handgun in my apartment—it was hidden in my ficus tree.”

  A wary look came into his eyes. “You must have hidden it pretty well if you forgot about it.”

  “I didn’t know it was there. The tree was in the foyer of the Victorian. When I left, I decided at the last minute to take it with me.”

  “That’s ironic.”

  “So I’m wondering if the gun was what Deke was looking for—if that’s why he left me those frantic messages last night.”

  B.J. raked his hand over the dark whiskers on his jaw. “It would explain why he wouldn’t just come out and say what he was looking for.”

  “I’m starting to wonder if maybe Deke was involved in something illegal. Like drugs.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “It would explain the change in his personality. When I met Deke, he was so laid back. But after his father died, he became moody and edgy. He was hard to live with sometimes.”

  “Don’t you think that probably had something to do with him losing his father?”

  “Probably,” she agreed. “But I remember him saying something after his father died—that he felt lost, that for most of his life he had resisted bad things because he was afraid of disappointing his father. When his father died … I don’t know, but I felt like Deke was afraid he would succumb to … something.”