Midnight Spells Murder

by Mary Angela

  “Sorry, Cunningham,” Zo apologized. “Were you sleeping?”

  “No, no.” He cleared his throat. “I was grading papers.”

  “Must have been interesting reading.” Tiffany and Beth were still chatting, so Zo gestured toward the envelope. “I’ll show him the options.”

  Unfortunately, Tiffany handed her the order form, not the envelope. Zo cursed her bad luck. She should have just grabbed the envelope in the first place. Tiffany was so busy planning the party, she wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Zo showed Cunningham the pictures of the different wreaths.

  He was considering his options carefully. “This one’s a little too rustic, don’t you think?”

  “We live in the middle of a forest,” said Zo. “Rustic is kind of our thing.”

  “But I like a little color…”

  Zo rolled her eyes. “Then get this one.”

  “Hmm,” mumbled Cunningham. “I just wish the bow was maroon instead of red.”

  Zo had no idea he was so fastidious about home décor. “It’s nice. It will look great with your tree.” Under her breath, she added, “Did you bring your checkbook?”

  “Of course I did.” Cunningham pulled it from his jacket pocket. Unlike Zo’s, the leather cover looked worn and well used.

  “Write your name and information on the back of the form,” Zo instructed. “I’ll get you a pen.” She grabbed a daisy pen from the cash register, and Cunningham wrote out his information painfully slow. He had beautiful penmanship, though.

  “Do I make the check out to the school?” Cunningham asked when he was finished with the order form.

  Tiffany’s ears perked up at the word check. She paused her conversation with Beth, pointing to the words on the bottom of the form. “You can make it out to Great American Wreaths. Our school gets proceeds from the orders. If we get enough of them, the kids might win a Kindle!”

  “That’s wonderful.” Zo reached for the envelope. It was now or never, and she needed to get a look at those checks.

  “I got it, thanks.” Tiffany gave her a smile. “Next year I’m going to have to recruit you for sales. You’ve made four today.”

  Zo smiled back through gritted teeth. Nothing ever went as planned, and she was running out of time—and people to buy wreaths. She wracked her brain for ideas, but came up empty. Tiffany was about to leave.

  Just then, the door blew open, and a gust of wind took the envelope, scattering checks everywhere. It was raining money. Tiffany shrieked in dismay, but Zo couldn’t have been happier. She had a feeling Marianne had something to do with the turn of events. Maybe a customer left the door open, but the day was calm. A force of nature was to thank for Zo’s good luck.

  “No worries.” Zo grabbed the envelope. “I’ll get these picked up in no time. Harley, give me a hand.” Everyone got busy gathering the spilled contents.

  Having the envelope gave Zo the advantage of glancing at the checks as she tucked them inside. It was easy to look for rips as she sorted them carefully. Halfway through a stack, she noticed Marianne’s check. It was in perfect condition. It also matched the one in Marianne’s hand the night of her murder, which meant the check belonged to her.

  Marianne paid someone in the middle of the night. But who and for what? Did she change her mind? Is that why a piece of the check was still in her hand? Was it the reason she was killed? Zo sat back on her heels. It was another dead end, yes, but also another possibility crossed off the list. Tiffany hadn’t killed Marianne. Who had?

  It was the question she was still pondering later that night while writing her Happy Camper column. For Zo, writing had always been relaxing. She wasn’t easily distracted from the clicking of the keys. But tonight was different. She was restless and had a hard time focusing on the words.

  George let out a troubled meow, and Zo gave him a glance. Maybe he was having a hard time relaxing, too. He stopped bathing, a lengthy ritual that involved a lot of licking. Since he was a Maine Coon, it was a process. But a low moan told her something was wrong. He kept reaching for a spot behind his neck. Falling short, he lay back down, squinting at her with two distressed eyes. Something was very wrong.

  Zo went to him, glancing through his fur, starting with the spot on his back that was causing him trouble. He opened his mouth to bite her. She dodged the attempt. The area was obviously tender. Had he hurt himself during his overnight escapade? She slowly ran her fingers through his fur. She stopped, noticing a small white bump. George growled, but she didn’t let his deep rumble deter her. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was a tick. At least that’s what she thought it was. She couldn’t see the bug itself because it was burrowed into George’s fur, quite deep into the skin.

  George decided he’d had enough of her examination. He squirmed on his side, out of her reach. Zo checked the clock on the wall. It was after eight, and the vet wasn’t open. She’d never get the tick removed by herself, and leaving it there was dangerous. It might be the reason he hadn’t been eating or gone outside. She’d chalked up his behaviors to missing home but realized now it was probably the tick. A knot tightened in her stomach. The tick needed to go ASAP.

  She pressed Max’s number on her cell. When he answered, she explained the situation. “I don’t know how it happened. I use once-a-month flea and tick prevention. I should have seen it sooner. He hasn’t been eating well.”

  “It’s okay.” Max’s voice was calm. “I’ll be right over.”

  By the time Max arrived, she was fighting back fear and not doing a very good job. She was kicking herself for not seeing the warning signs earlier.

  “Hey, are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. She was now. “He’s in my office.”

  Max followed her into the room, kneeling beside George. He moved with calmness and concern. George didn’t flinch from his touch. He trusted him.

  Zo realized she did, too. That’s what the feeling was: trust. A lightening of the heart. A single tear slid down her cheek. It felt good to let it go.

  Max looked at her quizzically. “I’m pretty sure I can save the cat, but I don’t know about the cat mom.”

  She waved away the comment. “I’m sorry. I’m just so worried.” But it was more than that. Max had opened a door in her heart that had been closed a very long time. A floodgate better described it.

  “Don’t worry.” Max took gloves and tweezers out of his red first-aid kit. He looked like a doctor getting ready for surgery. “I can remove a tick. Would you grab a container with alcohol? I’d like to save it for the vet’s office. If George does have an infection, it’ll help identify it.”

  A new fear twisted her stomach as she hurried to grab the supplies. She hoped George didn’t have an infection. He looked healthy. Until tonight, she hadn’t noticed anything bothering him. That had to be a good sign. Focusing on the task at hand, she found a small Tupperware container in the kitchen. Next she grabbed the alcohol from the bathroom cabinet. She set them down next to Max.

  “Shut the door, will you?” Max said. “I don’t want George going anywhere.”

  Slowly, she closed the door. Basking in Max’s attention, George didn’t notice. She inched toward the pair, kneeling beside Max. One hurdle had been traversed. She hoped she could make it two.

  George sat up. He must have been able to detect her anxiety. She was sweating buckets of it. Luckily Max was as cool as the hardwood floor. He poured the alcohol in the container and grabbed the tweezers without arousing suspicion.

  “Do you think you could hold him?” asked Max.

  “I can try.” His fur was already parted where Max had examined the tick. All she had to do was keep it there for the next minute. It would be no easy task.

  “Here we go,” said Max. “Keep him steady.”

  George was not only a furry cat, he was also a strong cat. She could feel the muscles beneath
his coat as she put her hands on him. Max moved in with the tweezers, and she turned her head. She couldn’t watch what was about to happen.

  Seconds later, Max said, “You can let him go.”

  She blinked, relaxing her grip. “You’re finished?”

  George bounded off the chair.

  Max snapped the container lid shut. “Yep. All done.” He took off his gloves.

  “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “All forest rangers have to take Ticks 101.” Seeing her gullible reaction, he grinned. The whiskers on his face were darker, handsomely outlining his jawline. “I’m kidding. The first time I did this, I nearly threw up. I was so nervous. You wouldn’t believe how many dogs get ticks in the forest. I got better with practice.”

  She released the breath she’d been holding. The tick was gone, and George seemed fine. The pounding of her heart was growing quieter. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

  “I think so. Take him to the vet, just to make sure. Don’t forget this.” He pointed toward the container with the bug in it.

  They stood.

  “I don’t know how to thank you.” Zo returned his smile. “I seem to be saying that a lot lately.”

  Max tilted his head, the lamplight catching the playfulness in his eyes. “It does have a familiar ring.”

  “It means a lot to me,” said Zo. “More than you know.”

  He took a step closer, his hands brushing her upper arms. “I’m happy to help, seriously. No thanks necessary.”

  “It’s not just the cat,” Zo continued. “I mean, it is the cat, but it’s more than the cat.” She was at a loss for words or perhaps didn’t want to say them out loud. She couldn’t bring herself to admit her new feelings. She feared he wouldn’t understand.

  “I know.” Something flickered across his face, and she recognized it as desire and felt it, too. Her lips parted, and it was all the indication he needed to kiss her, softly at first, then more deeply. His passion surprised her, and she reached for his broad shoulders. He slipped his hands around her waist, pulling her closer, and the world fell away.

  She wasn’t inexperienced; she’d felt passion before. But this was something else. He was telling her he understood without saying a word. The way he held her said everything. In his arms, she felt safe and warm. She told herself to hold back, not to give herself away, but dismissed the warning. The lightness in her heart was addicting, and her cares disappeared. She wanted to feel this way forever.

  George, not so much. The swerve of his heavy body between them forced her to pull back. She glanced down to make sure nothing was wrong, but one look into his tiger eyes told her he was jealous of the attention she was receiving. Now that he had their notice, he jumped on her desk, half his rump covering her laptop keyboard. She rolled her eyes at Max. George was doing just fine.

  “That was a heck of a thank you,” said Max. “I wonder if I should check for more ticks.”

  Zo smiled. “It’s been a long night.” She nodded toward her computer. “I should finish my column. I have a feeling fur face just deleted half of it.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I understand.”

  She believed he really did.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  That night, Zo didn’t sleep, and it wasn’t just the kiss with Max that kept her up. Okay, a lot of it was the kiss, but it was also George. With the tick gone and his energy back, he wanted outside. He meowed at the deck door, then jumped on her bed to underscore the complaint. At one point, she heard another noise, and went to see what the commotion was. She found George sitting on her oversized kitchen windowsill, fluffed to twice his size. Something had him spooked. She peered over his shoulder to see what was the matter.

  The night was jet black, the pine trees imperceptible from the dark sky. She craned her neck, a single street light visible in the corner of her window. A large man with a baseball cap shuffled down the street. Was he what had George blown up like a balloon? That must have been it. Although it was hard to see, Zo didn’t see any forest animals. A deer or stray raccoon hadn’t wandered onto her deck. She grabbed George and walked him to his cat bed in her room. He immediately jumped out.

  “Fine, but you need to be quiet,” Zo insisted. “No more meowing.”

  He sauntered out of the room, and Zo listened. No protests at the deck door. The man in the cap must have been the problem. She closed her eyes, and her mind wandered back to the kiss with Max. How had they been close enough to kiss? Had she made the first move, or had he? They were usually on the opposite sides of everything. Not tonight. Tonight they were closer than they’d ever been, and it felt nice. Better than nice.

  She shook off the memory, trying not to place too much emphasis on it. She’d been distressed, worried about George. She’d feel differently in the morning. But right now, it felt good to recall the safe feeling of his arms wrapped around her. She gravitated toward guys who were the opposite of Max: reckless, feckless, hopeless—any of the less words. Dating them was thrilling but not much else. The feeling Max gave her was exciting in a different way. Maybe it was dangerous also, because it meant more. The last thing she remembered before dozing off was his warm skin and solid heart drumming against hers. At least, that was the fantasy until she awoke to real pounding—at her door.

  She squinted at the clock. It was four in the morning. What was going on? She stumbled out of bed, grabbing her robe. “I’m coming,” she hollered. “Just a minute.” It felt as if she’d just gone to sleep, but she knew she must have been sleeping a couple hours or more.

  Red and blue lights illuminated her living room curtain. What the heck? Were the police outside? A deep voice confirmed her suspicions.

  “It’s Officer Merrigan, Ms. Jones.”

  She opened the door. “What’s happened? Is something wrong?”

  Brady looked over her shoulder. “We got a call about suspicious activity near Happy Camper. Are you okay?”

  Zo blinked. “I’m fine…I think.” The deck door was locked. She flipped on a light. Nobody had been inside. It was the same kitchen she saw before going to bed.

  “What about the store?” said Brady.

  She groaned. “Oh no. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  He took a step forward. “Let me come with you. Someone might have broken in.”

  She walked to the indoor staircase that led to the store, happy the door was still locked. Even if someone was inside Happy Camper, they hadn’t been in her upstairs living space.

  “I’ll take it from here,” said Brady, pulling out a weapon. “Stay behind me.”

  “Is that a gun?” Zo didn’t know how she felt about a firearm in her house, burglar or not. Happy Camper was a peaceful place, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  He didn’t answer. He crept down the stairs in stealthy silence, Zo a few steps behind him. Seeing him in action gave her a new appreciation for his work. He had no idea what he would find downstairs yet met it with determination and courage. It was a different side to him she didn’t often see.

  “Wait.”

  Pausing in the stairwell, she obeyed his order. She listened for evidence of a break-in—footsteps, voices, glass—but heard only the click of Brady’s boots on the floor. The silence was paralyzing and went on forever. She imagined someone lurking in the darkness, lunging at Brady when he least expected it. She wished he’d turn on the lights or call “all clear” over his radio. He did neither. He crept through the store for what seemed like hours. When he finally switched on the lights, she sucked in a surprised breath.

  He returned to the stairwell. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You can come out now.”

  “Did you see anything?” Zo rubbed her eyes.

  “No.”

  She tied her fuzzy robe tighter, feeling a little silly to be standing there watching while Brady checked out the store. She should be helping or
offering him coffee or something. Truth be told, she was in a daze. It was as if she were watching a scary movie, and she was a woman in distress, frozen and unable to move. She shook off the drowsy feeling. She hated that cliché and wanted to help. She walked to the windows. “The locks are intact.”

  “The door is secure also.” Brady glanced her way. “It may have been a false alarm.”

  “Who called it in?”

  “It came in over the anonymous tip line,” said Brady. “A woman. She didn’t leave a name.”

  Zo checked the cash register. It hadn’t been tampered with. She closed the drawer. “Earlier, a man was outside my house. I noticed him when I got up with my cat. Could that be him?”

  “What did he look like?” asked Brady.

  “He was large, heavy. He had on a red baseball cap.”

  “Was he near the store?”

  Zo nodded. “He might have been. He was passing under a streetlight.”

  Brady’s radio buzzed. A voice came over the line. “I got something out here, Chief. You’d better come see.”

  Zo and Brady shared a look.

  Brady told the officer he’d be right there and unlocked the front door. Zo followed. An officer was holding something silver in his gloved hand. A tire iron? A crowbar? Some sort of tool for a car. It was also a tool that could be used to break into a store. Had Brady scared away the crook just in time?

  “I found this near the garbage bins, behind the store,” the officer informed them.

  That didn’t make sense. A criminal wouldn’t bother to throw away his tool, especially if he was in a hurry. But why else would the officer be putting it in a plastic bag marked Evidence? Zo scratched her head, willing away the fog that enveloped her mind.

  Brady examined the tool. After inspection, he and the officer locked eyes.

  “What is it?” asked Zo. Something had been communicated between the two men, but she didn’t know what was said.