by Mary Angela
Hattie stomped over to her desk wearing a shirt that read, The Past, the Present, and the Future Walked Into a Bar. It Was Tense. She stowed her red glasses on top of her spiky hair. “Zo. What a relief to see you.”
“Trouble in book paradise?”
“New employee,” said Hattie. “I assumed by her age she’d know a few things. Boy was I wrong.”
Zo gave the woman a glance. Like Hattie, she had gray hair, but hers was pulled into a severe bun. Also like Hattie, she wore glasses, but hers were round and sat primly on the end of her nose. She wore an A-line skirt and pink cardigan.
“Hired by the city,” continued Hattie. “Her name is Agnes. I think she’s about a hundred and three.”
“Hattie.” Zo stifled a laugh. “That’s terrible of you.”
“Why? I have my senior discount card.” She tossed her hands in the air. “I can say stuff like that. Anyway, you didn’t come here to read Time. What’s up?”
Zo pulled out the auction clipping from her vest pocket. “First editions. I thought you might want to come with me.”
“Yes, I do.” Taking a seat at her desk, Hattie found a black Sharpie and wrote the time on her desk calendar.
“There’s one other thing.”
She put the cap on the marker. “You have my full attention.”
“My name, Zoelle.” She scratched her head. “Do you think it means anything? Anything that might give me a clue about my birth parents?”
Hattie slid her glasses to her eyes and started typing. “It means something.” She clicked a few times, then rotated her screen. “Every name does. Let’s look. It’s not popular, according to this chart, and was even less so in the eighties.”
Zo squinted at the screen. The chart showed an uptick in its use in the last few years.
Hattie clicked another link. “Elle is the French word for she, and you are a girl.”
“Thank you for clarifying that,” said Zo with a smirk. “I’ve always wondered.”
Hattie ignored the joke, clicking more links. “And Zoë is a very French name.”
“Uh-huh,” said Zo. Put them together, and they didn’t mean a thing.
Hattie leaned back in her chair, plopping her glasses on her forehead. Her eyes twinkled with an idea. “You know what I think?”
“I’ve seen that look before,” said Zo. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“I think your mom might be French.”
Zo liked the idea. After living in South Dakota all this time, she’d laugh if she found out she was French. Not that South Dakota’s history books weren’t filled with French explorers. The state capital is Pierre, named after Pierre Chouteau Jr., but instead of pronouncing it like the French, South Dakotans pronounce it like pier. A shrugging off, of sorts, of the fancy name. “I suppose she could be French. If it’s true, it might help me track her down.”
“Is that what you want?” asked Hattie, with the knowledge of a friend who’d shared many experiences. “To track her down?”
“I have to follow this new lead,” said Zo. “I can’t ignore it.”
“Sometimes you get caught up chasing a story, even when it’s your own—”
“—and the chase can be more exciting than the catch,” Zo finished. “You don’t have to remind me. Believe me, nobody gets that better than I do.” Hattie had her best interest at heart; she knew that. But part of Zo was missing, like a page ripped out of a book. She could flip to other pages, but those pages couldn’t replace the missing words.
“I’m not trying to discourage you,” Hattie assured her. “It’s just that you went through a phase like this a few years ago. It let you down.”
“I’m older now. I don’t have the same expectations as I did then.” Zo straightened the magazines on Hattie’s desk. “I don’t want a relationship. It’d just be nice to know.”
She pushed back her chair. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I will. You know that.”
“I do,” said Zo. “And I appreciate it.”
Hattie helped out a patron with a renewal. When she was finished, Zo asked her about the library’s seasonal charity drive. “Do you know what you’re doing? My column is due Friday.”
“Diapers for dues,” said Hattie, sticking a returned book on a cart. “For every diaper donated, the library will forgive a dollar’s worth of library fees. According to my calculations, you owe me sixteen diapers. I think they come in packs of twenty-four.”
Zo caught her drift and loved the extra push. “I’ll bring the entire package.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Hattie.
The new hire joined them at the reference desk. She had a magazine clutched to her pink cardigan sweater.
“What is it, Agnes?” Hattie asked.
Agnes gave her a quick peek of the woman’s magazine. An article about sexual health was on the front cover. “Do you have a slip for this? I don’t believe it should be displayed in public, for everyone to see.”
“It’s a public library.” Hattie said, her hands on her hips. “The point is for everyone to see it.”
Agnes stiffened, her bony shoulders like two pebbles under her thin cardigan. “To think my tax dollars fund such vulgarity.” She turned on her square heel and marched away.
Hattie shook her head. “See what I mean?”
Yes, Zo could see. First Jules and now Hattie had employee troubles. She was going to walk—no, run—back to Happy Camper and give Harley a raise.
Chapter Twenty
Later that night, Zo and George were in the back room of the store, sorting through the holiday décor, when the six o’clock news came on the television. Harley had a date, and Zo was using the TV for background noise. Mostly, she and George were playing with the silver garland in the Christmas box. Until Justin appeared on the screen. Then she put down the tinsel and turned up the volume. He had an update about a special report, airing Friday night.
“We know her as Zo Jones, the Happy Camper,” said Justin, in a voice-over. Several items of Zo’s merchandise came into view.
She smiled. Her stuff was so dang cute. Just look at those Daydreamer coasters.
“She’s the shop owner who wants to make sure you have a good day.” A shot of Zo and Duncan, arm and arm, splashed on the screen. They were smiling.
Zo’s hands flew to her mouth. What the heck? Justin must have taken the picture at Spirits & Spirits.
“But when asked about the death of Marianne Morgan, Ms. Jones wasn’t so happy.” Zo appeared on the screen, hands on her hips. “No comment.” Justin’s voice returned. “What happened that fateful day after Marianne’s book signing at Happy Camper? And was Zo’s friend Julia Parker involved?” The screen panned Spirits & Spirits, where Jules disappeared behind a curtain. Her voice, however, was loud and clear. “Did I love Roberto Salvo?” A chuckle. “Do vampires love garlic? I despised the man.” Justin’s powdered face appeared on the screen. “Tune in Friday night, for my special broadcast: Murder in Spirit Canyon.”
The weather came on, but Zo was too stunned to watch. Justin Castle was a cad, but this was lower than low. He hadn’t said she and Jules were involved with Marianne’s death, directly, but he might as well have. The insinuation had gone too far. If she weren’t at the store all alone, she’d march down to the station right now and tell him what she thought of his “special” report.
Her phone rang. It was Jules.
“Did you just see that?”
“Do vampires drink blood?” said Zo. “Of course I saw it. Why did you tell Justin you despised Roberto?”
“He kept saying I was in love with him, that I wanted to steal him back from Marianne.” Jules huffed a breath. “It was driving me crazy. You didn’t fare much better.”
“A little better.” Zo tucked away a stray ornament. George had batted it from the box to the m
iddle of the floor. “No comment is better than saying I despised someone.”
“The insinuation is the same,” argued Jules. “What are we going to do?”
Zo shut the holiday box. “I’m going to go to the station and tell them what I think of Justin’s special report. It’s slanderous.”
“You can’t hire a lawyer. They cost too much.”
It was true. She didn’t have the money or the time to fight a legal battle right now. But they had to do something. Jules was brainstorming as they spoke. Zo could hear a pencil tapping on the other end of the line.
The tapping stopped. “I got it,” said Jules. “I’ll summon Marianne’s ghost at a séance. She’ll help us solve her murder before the show airs on Friday. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll employ a curse.”
Okay maybe it wasn’t a pencil. Maybe it was a wand.
“We’ll do it tomorrow night, at the Zodiac Club,” Jules continued. “We’re meeting at Happy Camper. It’s perfect.”
Holding a séance in the middle of a gift shop? It didn’t sound like an ideal setting to Zo. “Really?”
“Marianne spent time there the night she died,” Jules said. “We’ll have better luck communicating with her.”
That might be true. Zo had experienced a few strange incidents at the store, and Marianne was murdered nearby. Still, the idea was a stretch, and Zo wasn’t sure summoning a ghost, even if possible, would help. With her store’s reputation on the line, however, she was willing to try anything. “Fine,” Zo agreed. The bell signaled a customer’s arrival. “You send the email to the group. I have to go.”
When she got to the front of the store, she realized it was Max. Dressed in forest ranger green, he looked as if he’d had a day. Several speckles of mud covered his pants, and his boots revealed similar distress.
“Are you okay?” asked Zo. “It looks like you were attacked by a mud puddle.”
“A ranger’s four-wheeler was stuck,” Max explained. “We had a time getting it out.” He gestured toward Main Street. “I was at Buffalo Bill’s having a beer when the news came on. I decided to stop by.”
Zo was glad he’d seen it. He would understand how frustrated she was right now. “Can you believe it? If we don’t get this thing figured out before Friday, I don’t know what I’ll do. Who knows how far Justin will go to get a scoop.”
“You seemed okay to me.”
Okay? She was pretty much the opposite of okay.
“With Duncan.”
She recalled the flash of them on the news. “Oh that. He wants to do a charity concert at Spirits & Spirits. He wants me to convince Jules it will work.”
“Ah,” said Max. “That explains why he had his arm around you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m not an idiot,” said Max. “The only person Duncan’s trying to convince is you. He knows your type.”
She laughed. “Do tell. What’s my type?”
“The leather-jacket-wearing type.”
“You have a good memory,” said Zo. Her ex-boyfriend Hunter wore a leather jacket. Max hadn’t forgotten. “But Duncan’s serious about the charity concert. He wants my help.”
“That’s not all he wants,” he muttered, bending down to pet George, who had come out of the backroom to greet him. “Hey big guy. How’s he doing?”
“Good.” Zo was glad for the break in conversation. For once in his life, George had done something charitable. “He’s been inside all day.”
“What are you going to do about Justin Castle?” Max scratched George’s chin.
“Jules is putting a curse on him,” said Zo. “I’m not sure I’ll need to do much after that.”
“Tell me you’re joking.” Max looked up, his eyes shaded by his thick lashes.
“I’m kind of joking” said Zo. “She’s going to perform a séance at Happy Camper tomorrow night. She thinks Marianne will reveal the killer, and we will be cleared from suspicion.”
“Great,” Max said. “If Brady hears, he’ll be more convinced than ever that Jules had something to do with Marianne’s death. He thinks she’s a witch.”
“She is a witch.”
“I wish you guys would stop throwing around that word.” Max stood. “I don’t like it.”
“I know,” said Zo, smiling.
Max wasn’t smiling. He was crossing his arms.
Zo quit teasing him. She cleared her throat. “Don’t worry about Brady. He was in the store today, and he was all right. He needed confirmation about something. Jake was yelling at Nikki at the theater, and I saw it. It was pretty intense. She filed for a restraining order against him.”
“Smart move on her part,” said Max. “It sounds as if Jake is dangerous. Do you know anything about him or his relationship with Nikki?”
“No, but there seems to be some long-standing animosity between them.” George meowed from the counter, complaining loudly about the time. It was past his dinner hour. She took out a can of tuna fish. “Nikki resented the way he treated Marianne.”
“He stood to gain the most by Marianne’s death, and we know he’s violent.”
“Brady wouldn’t tell me if he had an alibi,” said Zo. “Will you?”
Max shrugged. “If I could. I’m on a need-to-know basis with Chief Merrigan. There are a lot of things I don’t need to know, it would seem. I’ll talk to Jake and see what I can find out.”
“Let me come with,” said Zo. “I won’t get in the way, I promise.”
“You know I can’t do that.” Max watched George eat his food, avoiding her pleading gaze. “You have no reason for being there.”
Zo had an idea. “I do have a reason, though. I’ll be right back.” She scurried to the storage room and opened the back door. Jake’s hubcap was still sitting next to the garbage bin. Grabbing it, she hustled into the store. She held up the dented automobile part. “See? His hubcap. It fell off the day of the book signing. I need to bring it back to him.”
Max examined the part.
“I think it’s vintage.”
“It’s something,” Max muttered. “What about the store?”
“Harley’s working tomorrow,” said Zo. “After I open, I’m free all day.”
“Fine,” Max agreed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Zo smiled a goodbye.
After he was gone, she put on The Perry Como Christmas Album. Sure, it was early, but she had more holiday boxes to sort. And she needed inspiration for her charity drive. Sorting through last year’s merchandise, she considered her options. Her customers were generous and always willing to give back to the community, but Zo wanted to give them something for their thoughtfulness.
Unhappy with his dinner, George peered into the box, his long orange paws dangling over the side. She scratched his ears. “What do you think? Do you see anything good in here?”
His answer was yes, a holiday pillow. He tried to make a bed of it before she grabbed him and placed him on her lap. Under the pillow was a box of red-and-white mugs that had been incredibly popular last year. In curly font it read, “A hug in every mug.” That gave her an idea.
“Mugs for hugs!” she said aloud.
George meowed and jumped off her lap.
Zo donated to an organization that helped foster children with supplies such as skateboards and duffel bags. They were small items but made a big difference to kids who were used to dragging their clothes from place to place in garbage bags. For every twenty dollars customers donated to the organization, Zo would give them a holiday hug mug. If she ordered them in bulk, she would receive a discount on the price.
She darted upstairs to grab her laptop, returning seconds later. With an hour before the store closed and no customers, she had plenty of time to start her “Spirit of the Season” column. In an inspired burst, she wrote quickly, sk
etching out the idea for the holiday drive. She moved on to the theater and library, not stopping until she hit the police station, a blank in her Word doc. She would need to talk to Brady before finishing. With nothing more to do tonight, she shut her laptop, locked the door, and turned the sign to Closed.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tuesday morning, when Zo came down to open Happy Camper, Melissa Morris was waiting for her. Wearing a long-sleeved shirt, puffy vest, and curly ponytail, she looked like the busy but efficient mom she was. The Visitor Center across the street was lucky to count her as an employee, for she knew everything about Spirit Canyon. If a visitor needed information, Melissa was the gal to give it—and receive it. She was always fun to talk to, if a little bit of a gossip.
“The girls and I saw Justin’s broadcast last night,” Melissa sympathized. “We couldn’t believe what he said about Happy Camper.”
Zo unlocked the door, and Melissa followed. The “girls” were Melissa’s three daughters. Zo always thought of them as a singular unit because that’s how Melissa talked about them. “I know. I can’t imagine what he’ll say during Friday’s special report.”
“Can’t you do something to prevent it from airing?” Melissa asked.
Zo switched on the lights. “I don’t know what I could do. Besides, what can he say? Marianne had her book signing here, yes, and her body was found near the store. But what do those two things really have to do with her death? There’s no connection.”
Melissa’s eyebrows disappeared under her bangs. “Still, it doesn’t sound good.”
Zo flipped on her computer and sighed. “I know.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You could tie him up in the basement of the Visitor Center,” Zo said with a smile. “Just until Friday night.”
“As fun as that sounds, I don’t think my husband would go for that—or my eldest daughter. She watches the news every night and has a terrible crush on him.” Melissa shook her head. “Unbelievable, right?”
“Not really,” said Zo. “He’s good-looking guy and popular with the girls.”