In Deep Voodoo

by Stephanie Bond

  What was he going to say? Still, she believed him. Yet the urge to tell this man everything scared her a little. “Do you have some sort of ID or something that says you’re what you say you are?”

  He withdrew his wallet and showed her a card-sized registration for his agency. Beaumont Investigative Agency. “I started the business with my brother about five years ago.”

  Then he showed her his Louisiana driver’s license—on top of everything else, he was photogenic. She nodded, satisfied.

  “Are you still interested?” he asked, then smiled. “In my help, I mean?”

  The idea of relying on him was unnerving simply because she was so physically attracted to him, which was a bit insane considering her situation. Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone with his expertise on her side until things settled down. “Are you expensive?”

  He winked. “Don’t worry—you can afford me.”

  “Okay, you’re hired.”

  He nodded, as if it had been a foregone conclusion. “Now, tell me more about this voodoo doll.”

  14

  Keep stirring to prevent anything

  from sticking …

  Penny took a deep breath, then told B.J. about the gag gifts and how everyone had goaded her to stab the voodoo doll. “It was just a joke, of course.”

  A half-smile curved his mouth. “But it probably felt good.”

  She nodded sheepishly. “Of course now I feel terrible.”

  “Was it a bad breakup?”

  She shrugged, loathe to share all the sordid details. “I caught him with Sheena, I moved out, I filed for divorce.”

  “Rather recently, I assume?”

  “It all started about ten months ago, and it was final this week.”

  He grunted. “So, his girlfriend tells you he wants something, you call and the line is busy, then you go to his house and find him dead.”

  “Right. In his office.”

  “You still have a key to the house?”

  She pursed her mouth. “Probably a couple.” One on the extra key ring in her purse that the police had, dammit. She told him about the door being open.

  “And what was he stabbed with?”

  “A garden stake.”

  “Come again?”

  “A wire garden stake with a flag on the end. I, um, used them this week to stake off a garden next to my business.”

  He looked at her as he drank from his cup, as if he was wondering whether or not to believe her innocence. “I guess the police put you through the wringer,” he said carefully.

  “Yes.”

  “So why didn’t they arrest you?”

  “A detective from New Orleans was there—I think he believed me. It seemed to me that he didn’t want to make an arrest until the crime scene was processed.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Maynard.”

  B.J. nodded. “I know of him. He has a reputation for being fair. Did you have an attorney present?”

  “Gloria Dalton. She’s my divorce attorney.”

  He looked alarmed. “Divorce attorney?”

  “She told me I’d have to find someone else if I’m … charged.”

  “The police must have set a record for obtaining a search warrant.”

  “Did I mention that Deke’s mother is the mayor?”

  “Ah.”

  Ted returned with a platter of sausages and bacon swimming in brown grease, three fried eggs, and four pieces of toast drenched in butter.

  Penny stared. “You’re not going to eat all of that?”

  He proceeded to cover everything with a layer of salt. “Want some?”

  She made a face. “No. You’re clogging your arteries.”

  “Probably.” He shoveled in a huge amount of food and chewed heartily. “So, does your ex-husband have any enemies?”

  “I don’t know—maybe. He’s an attorney, so I’m sure he’s pissed off a few people along the way.”

  “Did he have any girlfriends other than Sheena?”

  She flushed. “I don’t know … wait. When Sheena first arrived at the house, she accused me of sneaking around with Deke behind her back. She said she suspected that something was going on.”

  “Was there?” he asked pointedly.

  “No. But maybe he was seeing someone else.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Yesterday morning. I ran into him at the museum.”

  “Museum?”

  “The Instruments of Death and Voodoo Museum. It’s Mojo’s claim to fame. And it’s located next to my business. I walked over there yesterday morning to drop off some misdelivered mail, and I ran into Deke coming out of the museum.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “No, he takes care of the museum’s legal affairs.”

  “Did he seem upset or preoccupied?”

  “Stressed, maybe, but that’s been the norm lately when we’re together.”

  “Did you two have an argument?”

  “Not really. I was irritated that he’d painted the house pink.”

  He winced. “Yeah, that’s bad. So … maybe he has another honey on the side who was tired of being ignored.”

  Penny nodded, then another thought struck her. “Sheena and Deke just got engaged, so if he had another woman on the side, maybe that sent her over the edge.”

  B.J. studied Penny, and she knew what he was thinking—that the engagement could just as easily have sent her over the edge. But he simply nodded. “You think that whoever did it might have been trying to frame you by using a stake from your property and simulating the voodoo doll stabbing?”

  When he said it, it sounded utterly ridiculous. “I don’t know what to think. I’m a little numb.”

  He shoveled, chewed, and swallowed. “Who gave you the doll?”

  “I don’t know—the gifts were anonymous. But there were only a few people at the party, so it shouldn’t be hard to find out.”

  He shoved a napkin in her direction, then fished a pen out of his coat pocket. “Write down the names.”

  She took the pen and wrote down everyone she could remember, pausing when she got to Liz and Wendy—she needed to call them, to break the news about Deke.

  “Does anyone stick out in your mind as someone who would have done this?”

  Penny turned her head to glance at the two girls from the Hair Affair, who had their heads together. One of them was biting her nails. Penny looked back and sighed. “No. But Deke hid a lot of things from me.”

  “There’s always the possibility that it was a random killing—a stranger passing through for the festival.”

  She nodded, strangely buoyed by the fact that it could be someone who didn’t know Deke … who hadn’t killed him because they hated him. “What happens now?”

  He finished the last bit of food and washed it down with a swallow of coffee. She stared at his empty plate as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Now I do the legwork that the police might not do.”

  She pursed her mouth. “If I lose my business over this, I might have to pay you in vitamins.”

  He winked. “We might have to think of something else.”

  She tried to laugh but found suddenly that she didn’t have the energy. “I need to get to bed.”

  “Okay,” he said, withdrawing his wallet. He threw cash on the table.

  “Alone,” she added, then instantly felt like an idiot.

  His smile was sardonic. “You’re in luck—I don’t sleep with clients.” He stood and picked up his jacket. “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

  Penny clamped her mouth shut lest she say something else brainless.

  On the way out of the diner, he stopped at the public bulletin board. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a white flyer and used a pushpin to attach it to the corkboard.

  MISSING:

  Jodi Reynolds, age 17,

  last seen in New Orleans, September 12.

  Penny bit her lip. “So you’re the one wh
o posted the flyer.”

  He nodded. “I’m hoping someone in town for the festival might have seen her.”

  “Who hired you to look for her?”

  “Her grandmother.” He held open the door, and she walked under his arm.

  She shivered when the cool, dewy air hit her face. “How many of them do you find?”

  He opened his leather jacket and settled it onto her shoulders. She started to object, but honestly, it felt good. “About half. But even then, like you said earlier, some of them don’t want to be found. I’m working on about a dozen missing person cases at the moment, some of them a couple of years old.”

  “Do you have a feeling about this girl?”

  He nodded. “My feeling is that she ran away, then ran into trouble. And from what I know about her, she wouldn’t last long on the streets.”

  A chill ran down Penny’s back. Evil people were out there, just looking for an innocent to prey upon. “Do you have any leads?”

  “The bartender at Caskey’s said he thinks this is the girl who tried to pass him a fake ID a couple of weeks ago, but he wasn’t sure. Truthfully, she could be anywhere.”

  “Or dead?”

  “Yeah,” he said in a voice that told her that if he were a betting man (and he probably was), he’d bet that the girl was never coming home.

  The campers were more subdued when she and B.J. walked back through the square, with a few diehards kicking around a hackey sack. The fire in the peristil had petered out. Penny averted her gaze from the empty chicken cages.

  “This festival seems to bring out an interesting crowd,” B.J. observed.

  “Interesting? I had a woman come in my store and ask for bat brains.”

  He laughed, a warm, throaty sound. “It takes all kinds.”

  When they reached the outside door leading to her apartment, her dread at seeing what the police had done to her place mounted. “Wonder how they got in,” she murmured.

  “Some guy let them in—short, stocky, smelly.”

  “Elton,” she said. “My landlord. I hope he installed some lightbulbs while he was here.” She opened the door and flipped the light switch—nothing. “Guess not.”

  “I take it your apartment is at the top of these stairs?”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll follow you up.”

  She didn’t argue, glad to have company as she felt her way up. And she got felt up once when he reached forward and found her rear end.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  She was sorry too—that such an accidental graze could leave her tingling all over. The sleep deprivation had left her vulnerable, she rationalized. Oh, and the looming murder rap.

  At the top of the stairs, B.J. pulled out a penlight to help her find the keyhole. She pushed open the door, turned on the light over the dining table, and gasped. Everything was upturned, on end, or inside out. The gag gifts were strewn across the dining room table—the toilet paper unfurled, the condoms strung out accordion-style, the vibrator dismantled, batteries and springs hanging out.

  She fisted her hands, on the verge of laughing maniacally … and gobbling down the Happy Divorce chocolate bars.

  B.J.’s intent gaze didn’t miss a thing, lingering on the erotic items a little longer than necessary. Then he walked over to remove a piece of paper taped to her refrigerator.

  “What’s that?” she asked, hugging herself.

  “A list of what was removed during the search.” He scanned the paper. “The voodoo doll you mentioned … a photograph album … an inflatable life-size male doll …” He looked up, eyebrows raised.

  She squirmed. “Another gag gift.”

  His expression was dubious. “Whatever you say.” He glanced back to the paper. “And a handgun.”

  Penny’s eyes went wide. “What? That’s impossible. I don’t own a gun.”

  “It says here that you had a .45.” He gave her a piercing look. “That’s a pretty big handgun to forget about owning.”

  She frowned. “I’m telling you, I don’t own a gun! There must be some mistake.”

  He pursed his mouth. “I suppose the police could have planted it, but that doesn’t compute, since your ex-husband was stabbed.”

  “It’s a mistake, that’s all,” she said, taking the paper. “Everyone who knows me knows how I feel about guns.”

  He gave her a little half smile. “Then you’d better stay out of my pants.”

  Surprise and arousal blazed across her skin. “Excuse me?”

  He patted a bulge at his waistband, and her discomfort level ratcheted higher. Could she trust this man? Could she trust her own instincts anymore?

  “Anyway,” he said, drawing the word out into fourteen syllables, “you should have your attorney check out the gun report first thing in the morning.”

  She nodded and hid a yawn behind her hand.

  “Is there someone you can stay with for a while? I’ll drive you.”

  Faces of friends and acquaintances filed through her head—Marie, Guy, Hazel, Liz—but she discarded them one by one. She didn’t want to get them involved, to implicate them in the ugly gossip that was already making the rounds. “Not really.”

  “Boyfriend?” he asked lightly.

  Heat rushed her neck. “No.”

  He nodded curtly, as if filing that tidbit of information. “How about getting a hotel room?”

  “The few places in town are probably full from the festival.”

  “There’s my room—”

  “I’d feel better here,” she cut in. “Especially since the night is almost over.”

  He worked his mouth from side to side. “I could sleep on the couch.”

  She swallowed. “Th-that’s not necessary.”

  He nodded. “Okay, then I’ll take off so you can get some rest.” He glanced around. “Is this door the only way in and out?” He opened the door they had just entered and checked the dead bolt with a frown.

  “There’s a Juliet balcony off the bedroom, but there’s no access to it from the street.”

  “Will you show me?”

  She nodded and padded through the mess. When they entered her bedroom, her stomach pitched—her bed linens were torn from the bed, her underwear was hanging out of drawers.

  He opened the doors leading to the tiny balcony, then stepped outside and looked down before stepping back inside and closing the doors. “You should have new locks installed on both doors.”

  “Are you kidding? I can’t even get lightbulbs installed.”

  He turned. “I’m serious.”

  She swallowed. “Okay. It’s just that Mojo is so … safe.”

  “Except for the occasional murder?”

  She winced.

  “Whoever killed your ex-husband is still out there. Do you have something to protect yourself with?”

  Her thoughts strayed to the box of condoms on the dining room table, but she forced herself to focus. “Um … no?”

  He walked back through the apartment to her kitchen. She followed and watched as he pulled out drawers. At length he withdrew a butcher knife and walked back toward her. At the sight of the large knife in his hand, panic sliced through her chest as she once again questioned how much she should trust this man. She took a step backward.

  He stopped, then extended the knife to her, handle first. “Sleep with this … and your cell phone.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Get one. Do you still have my number?”

  She looked around at the mess. “It’s here somewhere.”

  He wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “Call me if … something comes up. Will you be here tomorrow?”

  She shook her head. “I think I need to be at work. I want to reassure my employees—and my customers—that everything is okay.”

  He nodded. “It’s best that you stick to your normal schedule as much as possible … if you feel up to it.”

  At the concern in his eyes, her senses stirred … until she r
ealized it was the same look he’d had when he’d talked about the missing girl from the flyer. It was B.J. Beaumont’s job to rescue people, and she just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time.

  She followed him to the door, her heart clicking in her chest as she reluctantly handed him his leather jacket. “Um … thank you … B.J. I barely know you, but …” She looked into his dark eyes and felt an entirely inappropriate urge to press her face into his chest. “Thank you for agreeing to help me,” she finished lamely.

  He donned his leather coat slowly. “I have to be honest,” he said in his cottony drawl, “a business relationship isn’t what I had in mind when I first saw you.” Then one side of his mouth lifted. “But I’ll take it … for now. Sleep tight, Red.”

  When the door closed behind him, Penny wanted to run after him. It was, she realized, desperation in the face of turmoil, the compulsion to cling to the most stable thing in sight. Her head buzzed from exhaustion and a host of emotions pulling on her, draining her. She couldn’t bear climbing into the bed that the police had torn apart, so she grabbed her pillow and a blanket and curled up on the couch with her butcher knife and cordless phone, then stared at the shadows on the ceilings. Her mind would not be quieted.

  Deke was dead. The finality of it simply wouldn’t sink in. He was too young, too arrogant, too special to die. In truth, her own death would have come as less of a surprise to her, especially considering the environment in which she’d been raised.

  A dark, niggling thought slid to the forefront of her mind: What if the police looked into her background, found out what kind of stock she came from?

  She burrowed further into the couch, making herself as small as possible, closing her eyes tight. If that sordid bit of information came to light, it would virtually notarize her arrest warrant.

  15

  Make a generous portion, because

  everyone will want some …

  Penny was jarred awake by a loud clanging noise. She sat straight up, sending the butcher knife and the cordless phone crashing to the floor, her heart in her throat. For a few disoriented seconds, she couldn’t remember why she was so afraid … then it all came flooding back … Deke … dead. The phone rang, and she realized with relief that it was the noise that had awakened her.