by Mary Angela
“Zo Jones? Is that you?” Brady’s dark hair blended into his hat, but his green eyes stood out like emeralds in a diamond mine. His concern was clear, and not all for the victim of the crime.
“Yes,” answered Zo. “I was walking home from Spirits & Spirits when I found Marianne Morgan. I assumed it was a new decoration, but then I recognized her shoes. I think she’s dead.”
“It’s okay, we’ll take it from here,” said Brady. “Don’t go far.”
She did as she was told, watching the scene unfold like a horror film. The ambulance arrived at the same time as Max. She would recognize his mint-and-white pickup anywhere. It was at least fifty years old.
He jumped out to help, but seeing the EMTs surrounding the body and her at the curb, he veered in her direction.
“Are you okay?” asked Max. “What happened?”
“I…it’s…Marianne Morgan.” Zo felt a little dizzy. “I’m sorry. I think I need to sit down.”
Max took her hand and helped her to the bench near her doorway. “Just a second.” He ran into the sea of blinking lights and came back with a blanket. He placed it over her shoulders and sat down beside her. “Better?”
“Much.” Zo pulled the material closer. “Thank you.” She tried telling her story again. “I was walking home from Jules’s place when I saw Marianne. I thought she was a decoration. Recently, I’d found a box of forgotten Halloween décor, and I figured Harley had put it out to surprise me for Spirit Spooktacular. Then I recognized the shoes—and everything else.” She took a deep breath. “Marianne’s dead, and I think somebody killed her.”
Max tilted his head to one side. “What makes you say that?”
“She had scratches on her arm and a mark on her head,” Zo explained, tucking a lock behind her ear. “I think someone hit her.”
“Maybe she fell,” Max said.
“I thought so, too, but…” Zo let her sentence trail off. She didn’t know if she should tell him about hearing Marianne’s voice. Instead, she tried appealing to his logical side. “It doesn’t make sense. If she fell, she wouldn’t be propped up like a Halloween decoration. Somebody disguised her to look like a witch. Isn’t that cruel?”
“Cruel and ironic,” agreed Max. “Wasn’t she a witch?”
Zo shook her head. “Not the type you’re thinking of. Her book is about empowerment. There are no spells or witchcraft in it. My customers loved her talk.”
“I bet she had her enemies, though,” said Max. “Some people can be pretty close-minded.”
Zo recalled Tiffany Snow. She was one of those people. “Tiffany told Marianne she should have an adult rating on the book. She implied if it got into the wrong hands, it could warp children’s minds. Obviously, she hadn’t read the book. If she had, she would have realized it wasn’t what she believed it was.”
“Tiffany has opinions about everything and everyone.” Max put a warm hand over hers. “Even people not buying Christmas wreaths.”
She gave him a rueful smile. It was comforting having him close. He was an excellent listener, and not just because he was an officer, though she admired his work, too.
“Anything else you remember?” asked Max.
Zo wondered if she should tell him about the paper in Marianne’s hand. She didn’t want him to think she was tampering with evidence, but she wasn’t certain Brady would share the information with him. Brady thought of Max as a forest ranger, and not much else. Because Spirit Canyon was small and didn’t have a lot of crime, Max spent most of his time in the Black Hills National Forest, which suited both him and Brady. Still, the relationship was fraught with tension, and Zo sympathized with Max’s situation. She decided to tell him about it. “Marianne had a tiny scrap of paper in her hand, part of a check I think. It might have something to do with her death. I took a picture.” She started to pull out her phone, but Max stopped her.
“Later,” said Max. “If Brady thinks you tampered with his crime scene, the next few hours will be miserable for you.”
Zo felt a new appreciation for Max. She’d trusted him with the information, and he returned the trust. It was nice.
Max glanced toward the crime scene. “Will you be okay alone?”
“Of course.” Zo nodded. “You go ahead. I’ll be right here.”
Watching him walk away, she pulled the blanket around her shoulders, thankful for its warmth. The night was growing colder, and despite the activity, she felt alone. A wispy cloud flickered across the moon, darkening the bright circle for a moment. A shadow fell over Spirit Canyon, distorting the Halloween decorations into hideous shapes. Zo blinked, and the cloud was gone. Her town looked normal again.
Her eyes were playing tricks on her. It was hard not to see Marianne’s dead eyes staring back at her, a desperate plea for help. Not help. She was beyond help. Justice. Marianne had written a new chapter of her life, a book that described her journey back to self-sufficiency after hardship and divorce. According to her story, the confidence she displayed now was hard won. She’d been vulnerable most of her life and had only recently discovered her power. Now someone had taken it again, permanently. Zo was determined to find out whom.
Another shadow fell, but this time, it was Brady Merrigan’s. He was standing beside her, the outline of his hat clear in the street light. Looking over her shoulder, she confirmed her guess. It was Officer Merrigan all right, his look a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. He didn’t like trouble in his town; he took any violence as a personal jab. While she didn’t always agree with his methods, she had to admire his commitment. She, too, felt a deep loyalty to Spirit Canyon. It was her home, and she’d do anything to protect it.
“There you are, Ms. Jones,” said Brady. “I see someone found you a blanket.”
Zo stood. “Max Harrington brought it to me. I had a chill.”
“Finding a dead body will do that to a person,” said Brady. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
She relayed the last hour in detail. Brady drilled down on her answers, prodding for more information. When she explained that Marianne did an author talk at Happy Camper earlier in the day, he wanted a play-by-play of the event. By the time she was finished, she was exhausted from talking.
“Let me get this straight.” Brady tapped his notebook. “She wanted to be called a witch?” Obviously, he was still sorting out the last fifteen minutes in his head.
“If you look at the history of the word, it’s not a bad thing,” said Zo. “Witches were powerful sources of healing and knowledge. She wanted women to embrace that power.”
“It sounds like a lot of hocus-pocus to me.”
“I imagine it does,” Zo agreed. “You were born into power and privilege. The Merrigans are one of the wealthiest families in town. Some of us weren’t that lucky.”
He raised his dark eyebrows. They, like his hair, matched his black hat. “You seem to be doing all right to me. Your store is always busy.”
“I am,” said Zo. “That’s not the point. The point is Marianne’s message was very empowering, especially to women who feel marginalized.”
“Ah, I get it.” Brady clicked his pen and tucked it in his shirt pocket. “Feminist stuff.”
Zo let out a breath. She could tell how he felt about the topic—and Marianne Morgan.
“Don’t get huffy with me, young lady,” warned Brady. “You’re the one who found her. Pretty convenient if you ask me, right by your store.”
Zo crossed her arms. She was done talking to this cowboy. She admired Marianne. That’s why she invited her to speak at Happy Camper. Why would he insinuate she’d hurt her? Maybe he was searching for more information, but there were kinder ways of asking.
Brady hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “The silent treatment might work on Max, but it won’t work on me. You can cooperate, and we can finish our discussion here. Or I can haul you down to the
station, and we can finish our conversation there.”
The downtown clock tower struck twelve, each chime an answer to the real question on his mind—and hers. Who killed Marianne? Darkness cloaked the despicable deed, but it couldn’t hide the truth. It was the eve of Spirit Spooktacular in Spirit Canyon, and someone seized the opportunity to commit a deplorable act of violence. In this town, on this night, midnight spelled murder.
Chapter Five
The next morning, Zo opened Happy Camper. She tried not to stare at the crime scene tape as she unlocked the door, but it was hard not to imagine Marianne’s dead body lying where it had been hours before. With a final look, she opened the door and turned on the lights. It was a busy weekend, and she had a lot of work to do. The sooner she got to it, the sooner she could quit replaying last evening’s tragedy.
The thought lasted about thirty seconds, until she found Marianne’s day planner lying on the counter, next to the cash register. An eerie feeling came over her, and she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. Nothing but sunshine and merchandise. The planner was another grim reminder of Marianne’s death. Was it something else? No. Marianne must have set it down when she purchased the witch sign. Still, wouldn’t Zo have noticed it before now? Like when she left for the night? The idea that Marianne wanted her to find it hit her hard. It might hold a clue to her death. Zo opened it, and two tickets to tonight’s performance of Phantom of the Opera fell out.
Zo glanced up. Twenty-four hours ago, Marianne was alive and planned to go to the musical. With the sun glinting off the store windows, Zo struggled to reconcile the death with her surroundings. Outside, the sweet smell of hickory lingered in the yellow leaves, stirred by visitors pouring in for Spirit Spooktacular. The downtown was buzzing with people—and life. Despite the tragedy, the festive feeling of fall was in the air. Buffalo Bill’s was smoking meat for barbeque sandwiches, and Honey Buns was baking fresh bread. The O.K. Coffee Corral was brewing its fall blend, and Happy Camper had its own part in the festivities. Though Zo wasn’t making food, she was making memorable experiences for her customers. She had to keep that in mind as she started her day.
With new determination, Zo checked Marianne’s planner for a phone number or address. She had her contact information in an email, but many times, planners had a return address. This one didn’t. It had all kinds of quotes and stickers, but no address.
Zo glanced through the month of October, a punch of guilt hitting her stomach. She hated invading Marianne’s privacy, but Marianne was dead, and something told her Marianne wanted her to investigate. Whether it was a feeling or a hunch or a sign didn’t matter. What did was getting her justice. Investigating the last few days of her life might help Zo figure out who would hurt her.
She stopped on today’s date. That was interesting. Marianne had an appointment with a lawyer at ten a.m. She checked the clock. If Marianne were alive, she’d be there right now. Zo wondered if she was having legal problems. Was it possible that someone killed her to keep her from the appointment?
Two customers walked in, and so did her cat. Zo tucked the planner under the counter. She would call Marianne’s daughter to retrieve it. When she came, Zo would ask her about the appointment. Maybe she knew what it was in regard to. If so, it might lend insight into her death.
“Sorry!” the customer exclaimed. “That cat just pushed right past me.”
“No worries,” said Zo. George sauntered in as if he owned the place. “He’s mine.”
“He’s beautiful,” said the other customer. Both women had orange and black Spirit Spooktacular canvas shopping bags. One of the hotels was giving them out with weekend stays. It was a cute idea.
“Thank you,” said Zo. “He’s a Maine Coon.” Swerving against the back of her legs, George came behind the counter. He knew it was where she kept the tuna fish. “Can I help you find anything?”
“Maybe a bigger bag,” laughed the customer.
Zo assured her that could be arranged while she dished up George’s breakfast. As he tore into his food, she counted out money for the drawer. When he was finished eating, George joined her at the counter, using his favorite stack of books as a bed. His paws hung off the edge like two orange popsicles as his eyes followed the customers, who were overjoyed with the selection of used books. Spirit Canyon had two fine bookshops, but when the used bookstore went out of business, Zo picked up a lot of selections. Reading made her happy, and it made her customers happy, too. It was the only purchase she knew of that came with its own personal escape. No wonder it was said that people who read lived longer.
With more customers filing in and Harley not coming until later, Zo decided to give Marianne’s daughter a call before things got too busy. Emily answered on the third ring. Her voice was ragged, and her sentences were disjointed. She started and stopped talking a few times. After telling her how sorry she was about her mother’s death, Zo mentioned the planner. Would Emily like her to drop it in the mail, or would she stop by the store? Thankfully, Emily said she would come. She was in the area anyway. Zo could ask her then about her mom’s appointment with the lawyer.
Zo was wrapping a bird print for a customer when Emily arrived. Zo was shocked by the change since yesterday. Her brown eyes were red and swollen, all efficiency and intelligence drained. With her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, the dark roots framed her face in a circle of grief. She looked nothing like the bright woman who accompanied her mother yesterday. It was as if the news had wrecked her instantly.
After finishing with the customer, Zo came out from behind the counter and gave Emily a hug. “I’m so sorry about your mom. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Emily sniffled. “No, thank you. The funeral director has been very kind to me. I was on my way there when you called.”
Zo motioned to the carafe of apple cider on the antique sideboard. She was offering free hot drinks to her shoppers. They loved stepping inside the store to warm up. “Can I get you some cider?”
She attempted a smile. “No thanks.”
Zo retrieved Marianne’s planner and stepped into a vacant nook filled with discounted camping accessories. Though she didn’t stock many, she had a few cute décor items for RVs and campers. “Your mom left this here yesterday. I knew you’d want it back.”
Emily took the planner, thumbing through the pages. “She took this thing everywhere. I tried to talk her into using the calendar on her phone, but she was very old school that way.”
“I understand. Paper doesn’t run out of batteries. Phones do.” The hum of the store filled the lull in conversation. Though Zo dreaded bringing up last night, she knew she had to if she was going to be any help to Marianne or Emily. “I don’t know if the police told you, but I was the one who found her.”
“They mentioned the store. I saw the crime scene tape outside.” Emily swallowed hard.
“Did they tell you how she died?” asked Zo.
Emily shook her head. “They said she might have been in a fight, which doesn’t make sense. You knew my mom. She wasn’t a fighter, not in the physical sense. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Zo agreed. Though she didn’t know Marianne well, her book was against violence.
“The police said the medical examiner will determine the cause of death.” Emily scrunched up her nose as if smelling something foul. “If she had a bump on her head, like they said, I have to think someone put it there on purpose. Unless she fell…”
“I don’t think so,” said Zo. “She was disguised when I found her. She had a hat on. It would have fallen off if she stumbled.”
“A hat?” questioned Emily. “What kind of hat?”
Zo swallowed. “A witch hat.”
Emily’s swollen eyes changed. They were no longer empty, they were angry. “Someone did this to her. Someone did this to her because she was a witch. The hat was a sign…an indictment against her.”
&
nbsp; “I agree,” said Zo. “I think someone hit her on purpose. I’m just not sure why. Maybe you can help me?”
“Anything.”
“When I was looking for a phone number in the planner, I noticed she had an appointment with a lawyer today. Do you know what that was about?”
“Her will,” said Emily. “Now that I’m eighteen, she was changing me to the sole beneficiary. We talked about it last week.”
“Who’s the current beneficiary?” Zo asked.
She responded in a rush. “My dad, but he had nothing to do with this. They didn’t get along, but he would never kill her.”
A shopper approached the counter, and Zo excused herself. “I’ll be right back.”
She rang up the sale, a used vinyl record, while the customer gushed about the selection of items in the store. Despite being preoccupied, Zo was glad for the compliment. She worked very hard at finding unique and diverse items for the store. She attended auctions and yard sales for this very reason.
“Sorry about that.” Zo returned to Emily. “It’s going to be a busy weekend.”
Emily didn’t acknowledge the disruption. Obviously, she was still thinking about her dad. “I was with him last night, so he couldn’t have done this. We went to dinner at Lotsa Pasta then a movie. He didn’t drop me off until ten.”
That didn’t help her dad’s case as far as Zo was concerned. She found Marianne just before midnight, and even though she hadn’t seen a lot of dead bodies, she didn’t think Marianne had been deceased very long. He could have killed her after dropping off Emily. But why? From what Zo knew, Marianne wasn’t wealthy. How much money would he really inherit? Zo put the question to Emily.
“I don’t have an exact amount,” said Emily. “But from our talk last week, I understood it to be a lot. Her book went to auction, and she ended up with an advance of one hundred thousand dollars. Plus she was writing a second book.”