by Mary Angela
The water swirled in the glass, and the glass tumbled over. As the water streamed toward him, Duncan jerked back, breaking the circle. “Sorry about that,” Duncan apologized. “I was just a little surprised, that’s all.”
Everyone joined hands again, but the energy was gone. It was as if the last fifteen minutes hadn’t happened. Jules thanked Marianne for coming, but Zo knew she was gone already. Nothing moved or flickered or indicated that she was still with them.
They released hands but stayed at the table.
“Well, Marianne was definitely murdered,” said Hattie.
“By someone she knew,” Zo added. “Which doesn’t exactly narrow it down…”
“It does,” surmised Duncan. “We know she wasn’t murdered by a random serial killer.”
“We knew that already,” said Hunter.
“Maybe if you wouldn’t have opened up your big trap, we’d know even more,” Duncan argued.
Zo bit back a smile. Hunter did have a big trap. It was one of the reasons they’d broken up. He loved talking about himself and not much else.
“Maybe if you had worn less cologne, she would have stayed longer,” retorted Hunter. “Zo has to be ready to pass out.”
Actually, she was enjoying Duncan’s cologne, albeit a little strong for her taste. The musky scent was nice.
“Boys, please act like adults,” Hattie instructed. “I’m just glad she showed up at all. Truth be known, I was a little skeptical when we first started. I’ve never been to one of these things.” She slid her red glasses to the top of her head. Her hair stood up like gray spikes. “I’ve read about them, though.”
Zo stood to grab a towel. She needed to wipe up the water before it stained her tablecloth. What she saw in the store window froze her in place. It was Justin Castle and his cameraman, Mark. Justin pointed to the camera and smiled. They had recorded the entire session.
If Zo could have disappeared into the netherworld with Marianne, she would have, for she knew exactly what this meant for her and the store. Part of her, a very small part, believed Justin wouldn’t air it, that it was against his ethics. The other part of her, the ninety-nine percent, knew he didn’t have a moral fiber in his being. He made news; he didn’t just report it. If there was a way to get tonight’s séance into his broadcast, he would make it happen.
“We have company,” Zo muttered.
“You should have let Max stay,” said Duncan. “He could have arrested him or something.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Zo’s eyes didn’t leave the window. She marched up to the door and flung it open. “What do you want?”
“Well, well,” said Justin. “The most interesting things happen at this store.”
“What are you doing here?” Zo asked.
“A friend told me the Zodiac Club was meeting here tonight,” explained Justin. “I’m thinking about joining.”
Zo checked her camper wall clock. “It’s over, and you weren’t invited.”
He gave her a fake frown. “I’m crushed.” He crossed his arms and leaned closer. “Tell me. Did Marianne say anything?”
“I’m not telling you a thing,” said Zo. “You’ll have to make something up for the ten o’clock newscast.”
He tilted his head. “If you insist. Come on, Mark. Pack it up.”
She slammed the door in his face.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” said Jules, blowing out the remaining candle. “It’s going to come back to haunt you.”
“He’ll have to get in line,” said Zo. “I have enough spirits chasing me.”
Duncan laughed.
“Don’t encourage her,” said Jules. “It’s bad business to make enemies. That’s what got you into trouble this year.”
Duncan’s look soured.
Hattie stood. “Jules is right. Justin knows he can get to you, Zo. That’s why he does it. He’s been gunning for you since Memorial Day. Everybody loved that story.”
Hunter took Zo’s hand and kissed it. “Patience has never been one of your attributes, love.”
“And humility has never been one of yours.” Zo yanked her hand back and wiped the water off the tablecloth, folding it into a square for laundering. She tucked it under her arm. “When I was a journalist and someone said ‘no comment,’ I took it to mean ‘no comment.’ It was the safest response. With Justin, it’s just the opposite.”
“Spirit Canyon is a small town.” Hattie helped Zo put back the chairs. “Ninety-nine percent of the time nothing happens here. Reporting the news is an uphill climb.” Seeing Zo’s glare, she added, “I’m not defending him. I think his actions are unconscionable. But you have it easier with your Happy Camper column.”
Zo didn’t disagree. It was probably why her column was so popular. People came to Spirit Canyon to get away from the news. It was a vacation destination, but it didn’t give Justin the right to slander someone’s good name or store. She glanced around. Happy Camper was her home, and while that might not mean a lot to Justin Castle, it meant a heck of a lot to her. Houses were just buildings. A home was somewhere you felt safe, secure, and loved. Happy Camper had become that for her. And no one would take it away.
After Hunter folded the table and returned it to the storage room, Hattie left. So did Hunter and the doorkeeper. When Zo realized she was alone with Jules and Duncan, she knew it was the perfect time to pitch Duncan’s musical concert. She nonchalantly picked up the fallen Halloween mask. “My column is due this Friday. Duncan had a neat idea for your store. Has he told you?”
Duncan mouthed the words, “thank you.”
Jules scanned Zo with tawny eyes. It felt as if she were reading Zo’s mind. “What idea?”
Zo gestured to Duncan to continue.
“I’d like to do a holiday concert,” said Duncan. “The money raised could go toward charity.”
“How does it fit with the theme of the store?” asked Jules.
Jules was doing calculations in her head. Did the event jibe with her business? Would it raise lots of money for charity? Would it be smart for her bottom line?
“People like to sip drinks and listen to music,” said Duncan. “You serve the wine. I’ll play guitar. We could call it Sips and Swings.”
“I like it,” said Zo. “It’s catchy.”
“What do you think?” Duncan asked Jules.
She looked between Zo and Duncan. “I think you two could be a very dangerous combination.” She tossed her handbag over her shoulder. “But I like the idea. You can add it to the column, Zo.”
“Thanks, Jules,” said Duncan. “You won’t regret it.”
She threw a glance over her shoulder. “I’d better not.”
Duncan flashed her one of his megawatt smiles. “Wait up.”
Jules flittered a hand in the air. “I’m not walking you home.” She let the door close behind her.
Duncan grabbed his leather jacket. “That went so much better than I thought it would. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Zo said. “It’s going to be a great event.”
“So is it true what Max says?” Duncan zipped his coat. “Do you really dig guys in leather jackets?”
She wished she had somewhere to look besides his playful eyes, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of looking away. “I can’t deny it. They seem to be my type.”
“What about Max? Is he your type?”
Zo evaded the question. The last person she was going to discuss her love life with was Duncan Hall. “I don’t think he owns a leather jacket.”
He touched her chin. “Your eyes betray you, Zo. I can see how much you care.”
They stood like that for a moment, eyes locked. Zo decided Jules was right. They were a dangerous combination. Zo was attracted to Duncan like a child to a cookie jar. It was instinctual and bad for
her health.
A noise at the window broke the spell. They turned to look. It was Max, tapping on the glass.
“Speak of the devil,” said Duncan.
Max walked in. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“I was just leaving.” Duncan patted Max’s shoulder. “We’re getting you a leather coat, buddy.”
“What was that about?” said Max when Duncan left.
“Rawhide,” said Zo. “Plain and simple.” That’s what she was telling herself anyway.
“What happened at the séance?” asked Max.
“Can I tell you upstairs, over a glass of wine?” asked Zo. “It’s been a long night.” A glass of wine with Max was just what she needed to relax.
He agreed, and she shut off the lights and locked the door, happy to put the spirits to rest for the evening.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wednesday morning Officer Brady came to Happy Camper—again. This time his visit wasn’t about Nikki. It was about her and last night’s séance. Justin Castle aired it on the six a.m. news. Zo was thankful she’d missed it until Brady told her the details of the account: the black store, the burning candles, the circle of hands. It sounded like something out of a horror film. The truth was it was a request for information from the other side, nothing like what Brady described. She could imagine how Justin had twisted the scene to make it as provoking as possible.
“At least not many people are up that early,” said Zo, trying to look on the bright side. She plated George’s tuna fish, placing it on the floor behind the register. George stared at it from the pile of books on the counter. If she thought he would stoop to eating on the floor, she was dead wrong. Zo took the plate and set it on the counter.
“Oh, he said it would run again at noon and ten.” Brady checked his Timex. “It’ll be on again in about an hour.”
“It figures,” muttered Zo. She’d have to tune in this time.
“So I have to ask you, did Marianne…say anything?”
Zo could feel her jaw slacken with surprise.
Brady coughed. “For my report, of course, I have to ask.”
He didn’t have to ask. He was just as suspicious as the rest of the town. Superstition cloaked the city like a thin fog, settling into cracks and crevices too small to see. For some reason, Zo thought being a cop made him immune to it. But anyone in the canyon was susceptible. “She said she knew the person who killed her.”
He frowned, putting an elbow on the counter. “Any mention of a purse?”
“Whose purse?” Zo asked. “Marianne’s? Is it missing?”
“I guess she didn’t,” said Brady. “Never mind.”
“You brought it up.”
The curiosity left his face, and he stood taller. “Yes I did, and now I’m changing the subject.”
He’d drawn an imaginary line in their conversation, but she wasn’t afraid to cross it. Their history wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but it was genuine. In Spirit Canyon, that meant something. “Come on, Officer Merrigan. This store means everything to me. If you know something about Marianne that could clear the store, you should tell me.”
His face didn’t change, but his shoulders lowered. “Yes, her purse is missing. Her death appears to be a robbery gone wrong.”
It was an interesting idea, but it didn’t make sense. Marianne said she knew her killer. Thefts were random, at least the ones she’d followed at the newspaper. “How could that be?”
“A lot of tourists were in town for Spirit Spooktacular,” Brady continued. “It’s possible that a purse snatcher came up behind her on her way home. They struggled. It got violent. He knocked her in the head, stole the purse, and left her on the street.”
Zo understood money was involved, but a purse snatcher? She didn’t think so. The reason was more personal. “There could be another reason her purse is missing.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I don’t know.” Zo shrugged. “It’s just that we don’t have a lot of robberies in Spirit Canyon. Plus, why would the robber disguise Marianne as a witch?”
“To give himself more time to get away,” explained Brady. “It obviously worked. She’d been dead awhile when you found her.”
The decorations, the fog, the clock striking midnight. Recalling the evening made Zo shiver. She wouldn’t easily forget the sight.
George strode across the counter, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. Brady leaned over to give him a scratch. “I saw this little guy was stranded near the waterfall. It’s surprising what makes the news in this town.”
Little guy? Did he mean the giant impasse near his face? “He was. Thank goodness for Max Harrington.”
Brady blinked. “Saving animals is part of Max’s job.”
“Not domestic animals,” said Zo, petting George. “He went out of his way to help us.”
“Out of the way describes it, all right,” grumbled Brady. “I’d rather he stayed in the forest and out of my investigations.”
Brady didn’t appreciate Max’s fifteen minutes of fame. Cops in small towns could be undervalued and rarely made the news. When they did make the news, it was because they did something wrong or didn’t do enough or didn’t do it fast enough. In Marianne’s case, for instance, Justin was doing his own investigative reporting since the case was at a standstill.
“You know what they say, ‘two heads are better than one.’” Zo gave Brady a smile.
“You have enough cute sayings in here, Ms. Jones. I don’t think you need to recite them out loud.” He touched his cowboy hat. “I’ll be in touch.”
After he left, she noticed the tuna was still on George’s food dish. It was the second time he hadn’t finished his meal in as many days. Maybe he didn’t like the new brand. For a tramp, he was incredibly finicky. “What’s the matter with you? Are you on a diet?”
His only response was a nip on her hand. He was not only done with his food but also her petting.
Zo switched on the old Magnavox in the backroom, waiting for Justin’s noonday report. Until then, she restocked her Happy Camper line, which had been depleted during Spirit Spooktacular. She was putting out fall notepads when she heard Justin’s report from the backroom. Leaving the stock, she rushed to see if it was as bad as Brady claimed. Twenty seconds later, she decided it was. It was hard to make out the participants, because the room was cloaked in darkness, but her face was as clear as a mountain morning. With her eyes closed, holding the others’ hands, Zo imagined anyone seeing the broadcast would assume she was a witch or into black magic of some kind. Never mind it was Jules’s modus operandi.
The screen changed, and Justin’s face appeared. “Did Zo Jones make contact with Marianne on the other side? Did she explain what happened that fateful day of her book signing? Find out on Friday’s special report.”
She switched off the TV. Someone had entered the store—Cunningham. He must have come directly from school because he was wearing a brown corduroy jacket with suede elbow patches. Plus he had a dusting of chalk on his sleeve.
“This is an unexpected surprise,” said Zo. “What are you doing here?” She had an idea. If there was any time a teacher needed a friend, it was November.
“I’m quitting my job,” he proclaimed. “This spring, it’s goodbye cruel words.”
She picked up her box of notepads. “I think you mean world.”
“No, I mean words.” Cunningham gave George a bow. “Good afternoon, St. George. How would you feel about performing another miracle? I need you to make something disappear.”
George squinted at him. He was looking curiously at Cunningham’s messy stack of hair. Maybe Cunningham had resorted to pulling it out.
“The papers?” asked Zo.
“Of course it’s the papers,” said Cunningham. “When isn’t it the papers? I can’t keep up. I’m only one man.�
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A man with an aversion to grading. “You said the same thing last year. Hang in there. You only have a month to go before winter break.”
“I’ll be dead in a month,” claimed Cunningham. “Buried in run-on sentences.”
“Who cares as long as they’re writing.” She refilled the pencil box next to the notepads. “You’re a literature teacher, not the grammar police. Don’t take the errors so seriously.”
“How can you say that?” asked Cunningham. “You were a journalist.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “One whose job was cut because of the decline of the written word. Keep teaching, Cunningham. We need you. They need you.” She handed him a journal. On the cover was printed You are the author of your life story. Make it a good one. “This is on the house.”
“Thank you, Zo. I know why I came in here now.” He took a breath. “I feel better already.”
“It’s the pumpkin spice,” she said with a smile. It wafted through the store in the fall. “I’m glad you stopped by anyway. I wanted to ask you about college admissions.”
He tilted his head to one side. “You’ve decided to enroll in my class this spring, haven’t you?”
She laughed. “No. I’m wondering how a student would know he’s been accepted to college before the acceptance letters have gone out. He’s already talking to a coach about next summer.”
Cunningham let out a huff. “Athletic departments. A student should be allowed in on academic merit only. Period.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t think this student has merit or talent.” She leaned in. “The coach is from a water polo team, and we don’t have any leagues in the area.”
“Money is driving the deal, plain and simple.”
“How?” asked Zo.
“The parents probably donated a good deal of money, on or off the books. Are they wealthy?”
By the looks of the Salvo house they were. She nodded.
“I thought so,” said Cunningham. “It’s a sad fact of college life. It’s getting more attention than it used to, but still not enough in my opinion.”
Money, again. It kept cropping up. Marianne had a ripped check in her hand. Could it have been Roberto’s check to the university? Marianne might have confronted Roberto about his donations to the college, attempting to destroy the latest payment. In his attempts to retrieve it, he could have hit her.