Midnight Spells Murder Read online

  Praise for Open for Murder

  “When you add up a fun setting, characters who would make excellent friends, and an engaging mystery you get Angela’s Open for Murder!”

  —Lynn Cahoon, New York Times bestselling author of the Kitchen Witch series

  “Open for Murder is an absolute delight! You’ll adore your visit to the charming Spirit Canyon, where nothing is quite as it seems. The very talented Mary Angela has created a gorgeous setting, a lively cast of characters, and a tremendously satisfying mystery that will keep readers happily guessing.”

  —Cynthia Kuhn, author of the Agatha-award-winning Lila Maclean Academic Mysteries

  “A great start to the Happy Camper series. Open for Murder features a strong protagonist, likable secondary characters and a compelling mystery with the gorgeous backdrop of the Black Hills.”

  —Catherine Bruns, USA Today bestselling author and Daphne du Maurier award winner

  Also by Mary Angela

  Happy Camper Mysteries

  Open for Murder

  Professor Prather Mysteries

  An Act of Murder

  Passport to Murder

  A Very Merry Murder

  Coming Up Murder

  Table of Contents

  Praise for Open for Murder

  Also by Mary Angela

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Zo Jones’s Cackle Cakes

  Midnight Spells Murder

  Mary Angela

  LYRICAL UNDERGROUND

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  LYRICAL UNDERGROUND BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2021 by Mary Honerman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: July 2021

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-1070-4 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-1070-6 (ebook)

  First Print Edition: July 2021

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-1073-5

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-1073-0

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my sisters Tammy, Sandy, and Penny, the good witches in my life.

  Chapter One

  “Of course I believe in witches.” Jules squared her shoulders. “I am one.”

  Harley paused decorating mid-cobweb, but Zo continued tacking up the orange and white twinkle lights at Happy Camper gift store. Marianne Morgan’s book talk was in an hour, and she needed to finish getting ready. Besides, she knew what was coming next. She and Julia Parker had been friends since grade school.

  “Seriously? You’re a witch?” asked Harley, Zo’s employee. A dedicated accounting student, she was puzzled by Jules’s revelation. If Harley couldn’t add, subtract, or multiply it, it didn’t make sense.

  Jules placed the cauldron on the table, her sleeve brushing the gossamer webs surrounding the pot. “I come from a long line of witches. My great-aunt was a witch, her daughter was a witch, and I have several cousins who practice. If you need a spell, I can hook you up. Just let me know before the end of October. I’m running a sale.”

  At Spirits & Spirits, there was always a sale. Jules not only communicated with spirits, she sold spirits of the alcohol variety. Zo admired her entrepreneurial spirit. Since they were kids, Jules had been making money off the town’s name, Spirit Canyon. She was glad Jules had volunteered to help with the book event.

  Zo stepped down from the ladder. “Marianne’s talk is ‘Embracing Your Inner Witch.’ It isn’t about spells or magic. It’s about reclaiming your power as a woman. Her book is really good.” Zo had ordered twenty copies for today’s talk. She hoped it was enough. With Halloween on the way, she had a feeling it would be popular.

  “I dig all this witch stuff, though.” Jules motioned to the table of food set up in front of the folding chairs.

  Zo smiled. It was a witchy smorgasbord. The cupcakes, or Cackle Cakes, as she liked to call them, resembled witches’ hats with green frosting, a chocolate cookie, and a candy kiss. The cauldron was filled with lime punch, and the snack mix was arranged in individual green and purple paper cones. The scene screamed Halloween.

  “It fits this weekend’s festivities, that’s for sure,” said Zo. Spirit Spooktacular was one of Spirit Canyon’s busiest weekends. The town had several events that led up to Halloween, including a pumpkin-carving contest, a parade, and a costume party, which Zo was hosting. Tourists flocked to Spirit Canyon not only for the events but also for the fall foliage in Black Hills National Forest. Right now the canyon was a menagerie of yellow, red, and russet trees, and the crisp autumn air made the weather perfect for sightseeing. Zo inhaled. Her store smelled like pumpkin spice. Yum!

  “Do you think we have enough chairs?” asked Harley. The dark purple streaks in her black pixie cut flickered as her head bobbed, counting the seats.

  “I hope so,” said Zo. “Those are all the chairs I have.” Happy Camper was a gift store, not a bookshop, but Zo Jones sold books and hosted events that fit her store’s positive vibe. For October, she’d ordered merchandise that said Eat, Drink, and Be Scary and shirts with the phrase Trust Your Magic on them.

  “If you need more folding chairs, I can run back to Spirits & Spirits,” Jule
s offered. “I have at least five. I’d like to check on Duncan anyway. Do you know I caught him handing out punch cards? Buy five music lessons get one free? I told him to peddle his music on his dime, not mine.”

  “Who cares what he does?” Harley arranged the orange napkins emblazoned with Drink Up, Witches next to the punch. “Duncan Hall is hot.”

  “Evil Woman” filled the void left by the pause in conversation. The song hummed from the antique record player in the corner. Nobody could argue with Harley’s declaration. Duncan was definitely hot. He was also a musician who gave guitar lessons. Zo guessed the classes didn’t pay the bills because he was working at Spirits & Spirits part-time now.

  “Being good looking doesn’t give him a free pass,” said Jules. “Though, I have noticed an uptick in my female customers.”

  When the door opened, Zo assumed it was the author, but it was Max Harrington, a local forest ranger. “Hey, Max. We were just talking about your roommate.”

  “What’d he do now?” Max stopped in front of the book display. “This is nice.”

  “Thank you.” Zo smiled.

  “He’s handing out punch cards for guitar lessons to my customers,” Jules explained, joining Max. She was almost as tall as him, and Harley was close behind. In their company, Zo’s five-feet-five felt short.

  “I found some in my jacket pocket the other day,” said Max. “He’s not getting much business lately. The college didn’t hand out his flyer this year.”

  “Change in curriculum?” asked Harley.

  “Change in dating status.” Max’s sky-blue eyes sparkled. “Duncan dumped the president’s daughter.”

  “Bad career move.” Zo chuckled. When Max picked up one of Marianne’s books, she added, “Are you here to embrace your inner witch?”

  “No, I’m on good terms with her. I want to sign up for the Harvest Hike on Sunday.”

  Harley flinched. Jules gave Zo a sideways glance.

  Zo counted to five and silently recited the mantra on her witch t-shirt: Keep Calm and Fly On. Max had opinions about her guided tours, opinions she didn’t share. He claimed they were unsafe. She knew they were a good source of revenue, especially for tourists who didn’t want the rugged outdoor experience. In the Black Hills, visitors could climb, raft, or bungee jump. They could see Mount Rushmore by helicopter and Crazy Horse by paraglide. But many didn’t want to. Lots of people wanted a brief walking tour of the area and a little history of the canyon. That’s what Zo provided.

  “I’ll see if there’s room.” Zo walked to the counter, where she kept her event log.

  He followed her. “I’m sure you could make room for one extra person.”

  A six-foot ranger with the subtleness of a mountain lion? She wasn’t so sure. She opened the planner, smoothing the pages. She ran her finger down the list of names.

  Max leaned over the counter and pointed to the number ten. It had an empty space behind it. “Lucky me. One spot left.”

  “Jules, didn’t you mention coming?” Zo hoped her friend would catch the hint.

  “Nature’s your thing, not mine,” said Jules. “I hate bugs.”

  “I thought witches were in tune with Mother Earth,” said Harley.

  Jules picked her fingernail. “I use herbs all the time.”

  Max pulled his wallet out of his green uniform pants. “Great. That means I can come. How much do I owe you?”

  “So you can spy on me?” asked Zo.

  “Why do I need a reason?”

  “Because you hike this area all the time.” Zo tapped her pen. “Why would you want to go with a bunch of tourists?”

  “You’ll be there, too,” said Max.

  “Exactly.” Zo nodded.

  “Exactly.”

  Jules looked up from her nail.

  Zo scribbled his name in the book. “Fine, thirty-five dollars. But not one word of ranger talk. This is a fun, casual event.”

  He handed her the money. “That’s kind of expensive for a one-hour hike.”

  She put the bills in the register and smiled her sweetest smile. “Don’t worry. It includes the nature scrapbook we’ll be using.”

  “What do you mean, ‘scrapbook?’” Max’s eyes widened.

  “The things we find on the hike?” said Zo. “We’ll be putting them into a scrapbook. You know how to use a glue gun, don’t you?”

  Max’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “On second thought, maybe I’ll sit this one out.”

  “Sorry,” Zo apologized, still smiling. “No refunds.”

  Chapter Two

  After Max left, customers began to file in for the book event. Zo checked the time. The talk was twenty minutes away, but the moment she put out the sidewalk sign, people took notice. Though it was Thursday, plenty of tourists were already in town for Spirit Spooktacular. They didn’t want to miss any of the festivities, and the fun started early tomorrow. Customers mingled in the store, commenting on the fun quotes and cute space. Zo was helping a woman select a bison postcard when Marianne Morgan breezed in the door, wearing a long dress, blue headscarf, and black shoes with gold buckles. A young woman, maybe her daughter, was close behind.

  “I thought she wasn’t that type of witch,” Jules muttered.

  “I stand corrected,” whispered Zo. Though Marianne lived in Spirit Canyon, Zo had never heard of her until she read an article about her new book. The feature was in Canyon Views and described the local author making it big. The book was a USA Today bestseller, and Zo downloaded it after reading the article. She loved it and knew her customers would, too. That’s when she reached out to Marianne, who generously agreed to come to the store.

  Zo greeted Marianne with an outstretched hand. “You must be Marianne. I’m Zo Jones. It’s so good to meet you in person. I feel like I already know you from reading your book.”

  Marianne handed the young woman her tabbed book and planner. She shook Zo’s hand. “It’s good to meet you. Thanks for having me. I need that sign on the door.”

  Zo pointed to the display of signs: Not All Witches Live in Salem. “That one? I just happen to have some left.”

  “Perfect,” said Marianne. “I’m buying one when we’re finished. By the way, this is my daughter, Emily. She’s been a dear to do these events with me, even with her busy year as a freshman at Black Mountain College.”

  “Hi.” Unlike her mom, Emily wore jeans and a simple white cable-knit sweater. Her hair was as light as her mom’s was dark, but their brown eyes were the same, serious and sincere. Carrying postcards, bookmarks, and pens, she displayed the maturity of a well-organized adult, and without Marianne’s information, Zo would have taken her for a college graduate.

  “Hi, Emily,” said Zo. “This is my friend Jules. She’ll be helping me today, along with my employee, Harley. If you need anything during the event, just ask one of us.”

  Marianne paused on Jules’s face. “I think you used to date my boyfriend, Roberto Salvo.”

  Jules nodded. “It’s been awhile. How’s he doing?”

  “Good,” said Marianne. “He’ll be here today. Any minute.”

  “Cool.” Jules pulled her long fishtail braid over one shoulder. It was a dazzling mix of blond layers and pink ends. “We can catch up.”

  “If there’s time,” added Marianne. “As you know, he’s a very busy guy.”

  Jules smiled but said nothing.

  Zo needed to ask Jules about Roberto, but now wasn’t the time. She didn’t recognize the name, which didn’t mean much. They both had dating failures they didn’t bring up. A boyfriend had to become newsworthy before they exchanged details. She motioned Marianne to the area of the book talk. “In a few minutes, we’ll get started. I’ll introduce you, you’ll talk, and then sign books and enjoy treats afterward.”

  Marianne smiled at the display. “I’ve never been to an event this w
itchy. I love it.”

  “It’s the eve of Spirit Spooktacular.” Zo shrugged. “It can’t be witchy enough, in my opinion.”

  “I agree,” said Jules. “You’re bound to make a fortune on Halloween décor alone.”

  Zo chuckled. For Jules, it was all about the bottom line, but for Zo it was about getting together with friends, making food, and planning for the holidays. Her customers were like family, her store an extension of her home. Some people were born into large families; others made their own. Upstairs were her living quarters, the second story of the cabin. It sure made the commute easy. All she had to do was walk downstairs to open the doors of Happy Camper.

  Marianne followed Zo to the vintage music stand that she used as a speaker podium for events. The stand had two candleholders on each side of the music holder, and Zo had placed black candles in them for the occasion.

  Emily touched Marianne’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t we wait for Roberto?”

  “Like I said, he’ll be here any minute.” She put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “The first step in embracing your power is to set your own schedule. Don’t wait on others.”

  “Funny how my schedule is your schedule,” mumbled Emily.

  Marianne didn’t hear the remark or if she did, she ignored it. Getting ready to speak, she was busy arranging her notes on the podium.

  A single chair was available, so when the door opened and the bell rang out, Zo worried she’d need to find another guest seat, perhaps the stool behind the counter. Apparently, it was Marianne’s boyfriend and a young man Zo assumed was his son. Marianne gave them a wave, and they joined the group. Roberto took the open chair, but his son hung back near the wall. He didn’t appear excited to be there, so Zo skipped grabbing the stool.

  “Readers, friends…witches,” Marianne began her talk.

  With the candles flickering and black tendrils of hair escaping her blue headscarf, Marianne looked like a witch, the traditional kind. While reading Marianne’s book, Zo learned witches were once considered wise women and healers, and hags were nonconformists. They were called on for help, remedies, and contacting the dead. It was modern society that labeled them undesirable and ugly. Hence the green face, warts, and hunched-back people identified with witches today.