Midnight Spells Murder Read online

  Zo shook her head. Roberto seemed to care for Marianne. Could he really hurt her? Maybe not, but his son Alex could. Alex had words with Marianne at the book signing, he laughed at her. He wasn’t afraid to confront her—or burn her book.

  Furthermore, Brady said Marianne’s purse was missing. Could her death really be a robbery gone awry? Zo doubted it but needed to pursue any idea that might clear the store before Friday’s broadcast. If she could entertain the notion of a séance, surely she could entertain the notion of a robbery.

  “Hold the door, Harley,” said Cunningham. “I’m headed in that direction.”

  Zo bid Cunningham goodbye. She was glad to see Harley, even if she was dressed in all black. “How was the test?”

  “Terrible,” said Harley. “I hate geography. How was the séance?”

  “Terrible,” Zo repeated. “You can see a recap of it on Justin Castle’s evening broadcast.”

  Harley unwrapped her scarf. It was black like her outfit. “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Harley.

  “Now that you’re here, I’m leaving for Canyon Views.” She shrugged on her leather jacket. “Harriet might be able to help.”

  Harley wished her luck, and Zo headed toward the small 1970s building two blocks from Main Street. Harriet Hobbs was Zo’s newspaper editor and friend. They’d met several years ago when Zo was working at the Black Hills Star. She was the one who’d suggested the Happy Camper column when Zo opened the store. She knew it would be a perfect fit. “It’ll keep you sane” were her exact words. Going cold turkey would be too much for a ten-year veteran in the business. A column that supported her interests was just what Zo needed, and Harriet gave it to her.

  That was her last and only favor. Zo grinned as she opened the door to the newspaper office. Even though Zo’s column was for entertainment purposes, Harriet still had exacting standards. Canyon Views was her baby. It relayed the flavor of the Black Hills and was everybody’s favorite local read. If something was happening in the area, Harriet knew about it—or wanted to know about it. Hers was a revolving door of information.

  Harriet sat at her oversized desk, chewing Big Red gum. Zo knew the brand because it’s what Harriet chewed since she quit smoking several years ago. Zo thought of her every time she smelled cinnamon.

  Harriet spotted Zo the moment she entered the office. Little went unnoticed by her hawk-like eyes. “I hear you’re in the witchcraft business now,” she said as Zo approached her desk. The creases from her smile were the only wrinkles on her smooth brown skin. Despite being fifty, she didn’t have a deep line on her face. “I’ve been thinking of changing your column to the Creepy Camper—just for Halloween.”

  Zo fell into the chair across from her. “It was bad, wasn’t it?” She desperately wanted to hear that it wasn’t.

  “Yes, but not as bad as Friday’s report will be.”

  Zo moaned. Harriet wasn’t the person to go to for warm fuzzies. “I need to figure out what happened before my reputation goes up in a puff of spiritual smoke.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Brady Merrigan thinks Marianne might have been killed during a robbery,” said Zo. “Her purse is missing. Were any other robberies reported that night?”

  Harriet turned her oversized computer monitor toward Zo. “It’s easy enough for your number one editor to find out.” Her red nails clicked on the keys. A page of police calls populated the screen. “A few domestic disputes, neighbor complaints, pumpkin smashers. I don’t see any thefts.” She scrolled through a few more pages. “What else do you have?”

  “Even if it wasn’t a robbery, money was somehow involved.” Zo told her about finding a ripped check in Marianne’s hand.

  “Who was she paying in the middle of the night? And for what?” Harriet rotated her monitor, ready to do some more searching.

  “Possibly her ex-husband, Jake,” said Zo. “Nikki says Marianne supported him during their marriage, and he doesn’t have a job.”

  “If anyone had dirt on her, it would be her ex.” Harriet tapped her fingertips. “It’s possible she didn’t want it surfacing before her national book tour.”

  It was an interesting notion, one Zo hadn’t considered. It made her think of another. “The other possibility is Tiffany Snow.”

  Harriet stopped snapping her gum. “The PTA mom who sells those wreaths for Christmas?”

  Zo put her elbows on the desk. “Hear me out. Tiffany had a fistful of checks at the book signing, and she claimed Marianne’s book was demonic, a bad influence on children. She said her daughter mistakenly picked it up because of its cute cover.”

  Harriet leveled a look at her.

  “Plus she was very chummy with Marianne’s boyfriend, Roberto, at the Halloween parade. Her husband was nowhere to be seen.” Zo paused for emphasis. “He doesn’t like social events, despite being married to the queen of community service.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Harriet returned to her computer. “Why was Roberto at the parade in the first place? His girlfriend just died.”

  “His son graduates in the spring,” explained Zo. “It’s his last Spirit Spooktacular before he goes off to college.”

  Harriet acknowledged the statement with a mumble. She was too busy reading to respond properly. Whatever she found must have been interesting because she kept nodding at the screen as if having a conversation with it. Zo wished Harriet would have kept the monitor pointed in her direction. Finally, Harriet turned the monitor. A young girl wearing a sleeveless shirt, ripped jeans, and heavy black lipstick populated the screen. Several teens stood behind her. The blog caption read, “The Sisters of the Undead.”

  “Interesting, Harriet, but hardly the time for a look back at Goth subculture.”

  Harriet pointed to the girl in the center. “That’s Tiffany Turner, or as we know her, Tiffany Snow. Turner was her maiden name, according to the blog.”

  “Get out of here.” Zo moved closer to the screen. She didn’t recognize the peppy mom from the book signing, probably because a black veil covered most of her face. With a second look, however, Zo could make out Tiffany’s features, but just barely. Tiffany was not only young but thin, too thin. All of the girls looked pale, gaunt, and unhealthy. “What is this?”

  “It’s a mommy blog.” Harriet scrolled down. Other pictures of teens appeared. “It has a history of dangerous ‘cult cultures.’ It looks as if Tiffany was part of one when she was a teen in Arizona. It made the news when one of the girls took her own life.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Zo. Maybe Tiffany was passionate for a good reason. It made sense why she attacked Marianne’s book, at least partially. Zo still believed she should have read it first, but maybe it reminded her of her own time in the “Sisters of the Undead.” She wouldn’t want to read what was inside if the cult had scarred her. Losing a friend to suicide would be unbearable.

  “It is terrible, but this mom’s doing her best to help other moms recognize the warning signs. Her own daughter is in recovery.” Harriet clicked a tab devoted to healing. “Pretty comprehensive, really.”

  Zo digested the new information, running the scenario out loud. “If Tiffany saw Marianne as a threat, she might have struck her in a moment of passion or defense.”

  “It might have also been preemptive.” A journalist slid a piece of paper in Harriet’s bin, and Harriet said, “Wait.” She scanned the paragraph and handed it back to the writer. “John belonged to the Elks Club, not the Elk Club. The man is dead. Get it right.” The journalist slunk back to his desk with his obituary.

  Zo reminded herself to reread her Happy Camper column twice before printing it. “What do you mean by preemptive?”

  “It’s like we were saying earlier.” Harriet crossed a leg over a knee. “Only different. Maybe Marianne wasn’t paying anyone.
Maybe someone was paying her for her silence. I can’t imagine Tiffany wanting this information spread around Spirit Canyon, especially with her hoity-toity reputation.”

  Zo could count on Harriet for a different perspective of a story. She had at least two ways of looking at things, and sometimes five or six. “Marianne wouldn’t take a bribe, would she?”

  Harriet shrugged. “How would we know? We weren’t her best friend.”

  “True.” Yet Zo had read her book and been inspired by it. Maybe it was the reader in her, but it was hard to see the author as anyone but a decent human being. She brought other women up, not tore them down. Passing judgment wasn’t her style, let alone taking bribes. “Maybe Tiffany tried a bribe, and Marianne wouldn’t take it. Maybe that’s the reason the check was torn.”

  “I wouldn’t rule anything out,” said Harriet. “It’s another possibility. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Another possibility was the last thing Zo needed. She needed answers, like two days ago. “Thanks, Harriet. It always helps to talk to you. I’ll be in Friday with my column.”

  “Or earlier,” Harriet called after her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was two o’clock, and school was in session. Zo could take a trip to the elementary school to find out more about Tiffany. If anyone could get the insider scoop on Tiffany, it was Beth, who was picking up Molly. She sent her a quick text. Could they meet at the school? Her response was short and sweet: “Yes. Bring chocolate.”

  Thirty minutes later, Zo was meandering through a line of cars with two chocolate eclairs from Honey Buns. Though school wasn’t out for another thirty minutes, parents waited in cars, reading magazines or updates on their cell phones.

  Zo opened the door of Beth’s SUV. “It’s like the paparazzi out here.” She hopped inside. The warmth of the car was welcome, for the wind had picked up. It had an extra snap to it that said November.

  “You do not want to be at the end of that line when the kids come out,” proclaimed Beth. “You’ll be stuck for twenty minutes.” She took the bag Zo handed her. “Tell me about Ms. Perfect. You mentioned her in your text.”

  Zo relayed Tiffany’s involvement with the “Sisters of the Undead” while Beth munched on her éclair. “It was a cult, then?” Beth took a tissue from a floral package in her middle console and wiped her hands.

  Zo had just taken her first bite, so she nodded.

  “I’m shocked,” said Beth. “I wouldn’t have guessed she was involved in anything like that.”

  “It can happen to anyone,” Zo explained. “That’s what this blogger wants other parents to know. She made it her mission to warn them.”

  “You can’t just go up and ask Tiffany about it, though.” Beth waved to a parent walking by. “What are you going to say?”

  “I’m going to buy a Christmas wreath.”

  Beth lifted her eyebrows.

  “And I want you to come with me.” Zo dusted off her hands. “I need a look inside that big manila envelope she always carries. A ripped check might tell me if she was with Marianne the night she was killed. Is she here?”

  “Of course she’s here.” Beth handed her a tissue. “She volunteers every afternoon.”

  Zo wiped her hands and threw the tissue in the empty sack. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

  Beth gave her a look that said she didn’t understand what she was asking. “I’ll have to park—in the lot. It will take me a half hour to get out of here.”

  “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “I want one of those Happy Camper mugs, the ones with the fall leaves. Two, actually.” Beth smiled. “I need one for Jack.”

  “Done,” agreed Zo.

  Beth flipped on her blinker and swung her SUV into the lot. Heads turned as she and Zo walked up the path to the elementary school. The other parents must have been wondering what forced Beth to leave a perfectly good spot in the line. Beth pushed a button, and the school buzzed them in. The secretary waved, forgoing visitor passes. She recognized Beth, and only a few minutes remained of the day. Molly and the rest of the kids would be out soon.

  “Molly’s in the same class as Tiffany’s daughter,” explained Beth, leading her down the first hallway. “That’s how I know her.”

  The younger kids already had on their coats. Molly’s class was shoving folders into backpacks and zipping them up. When Molly saw them, she came running. She gave Zo a big hug. “What are you doing here Zo?”

  “Hello to you, too,” muttered Beth. “I’m your mother, remember?”

  “Hi, Mom,” Molly added.

  “I need to buy one of those wreaths from Tiffany.” Zo checked the hallway, crowded with kids. “Have you seen her?”

  “Mrs. Snow?” Molly pointed to her classroom. “She’s inside.”

  The bell rang, and a wave of kids flooded the hallway. Beth grabbed Molly’s backpack and coat from her hook, stopping to say hello to the teacher at the door. Tiffany was inside the classroom, just as Molly had said. She was cleaning off a table with a sanitizing wipe, her daughter waiting next to her—impatiently. It looked as if the kids had done a craft that required a lot of glue.

  “Hi Tiffany,” greeted Zo. “I never got a chance to order my wreaths. Beth needed to stop in the school, so I figured I’d tag along and see if you were busy.”

  Tiffany quit wiping the table. “I’m never too busy to sell wreaths.”

  Molly and Tiffany’s daughter chatted while Tiffany grabbed her designer purse from under the teacher’s desk. She pulled out the glossy order form. “There are several different options this year: holly, no holly, ribbon, or pinecone.”

  Zo unfolded the brochure. The options as well as the prices had gone up. She swallowed her reservations. It was for a good cause. “I’ll take two with pinecones.”

  “A classic,” said Tiffany. “You can’t go wrong with that one. Would you write your name on the back? There’s a form.” She handed Zo a pen.

  Zo was thrilled to find a list of names and addresses of all the people who’d ordered wreaths. All seventy-five lines were nearly filled, so Zo took her time writing out her information. Discreetly, she was scanning the names for Marianne’s. Her pen stopped when she found it near the middle of the list. Marianne had ordered a wreath with ribbons. The purchase was listed along with her name and address.

  Finished with the teacher, Beth joined them in the classroom, greeting Tiffany with an overly sweet hello. Beth was laying it on thick. Their talk gave Zo a little more time to study the information.

  Marianne purchased a wreath the day of the book signing. That had to be important. If Zo could take a peek inside the envelope, it would confirm what she needed to know. The problem was Zo didn’t see the envelope. “Do you take checks?”

  Tiffany paused her conversation with Beth. “Yes.”

  Zo took her checkbook out of her backpack, waiting for Tiffany to grab the envelope. Instead she kept talking to Beth. Tiffany needed help with the class holiday party next month and wondered if Beth would be around to help.

  “Of course,” said Beth. “I’d love to.”

  Beth’s December was scheduled to the hilt. It would be one of Spirit Canyon Lodge’s busiest months. Lots of tourists came to the Black Hills to ski, snowmobile, and snowshoe. The last thing Beth needed was to plan a classroom party. Zo gave her a look that conveyed her gratitude as she tore the check from the book. “Do you need me to put it in something, an envelope?”

  Tiffany took the check, folded it, and put it into the back pocket of her super skinny jeans. “I have it at home.”

  Shoot. Zo wouldn’t be able to get a look in the envelope after all. Still, she had found Marianne’s name, which was something. If only she could get her eyes on the other checks. “My neighbor Cunningham—Russell Cunningham—might want a wreath if you’re looking for more donations. Do you mind stopping
by the store some time? He’s right next door.”

  “No problem,” agreed Tiffany. “What about you, Beth? How many wreaths do you need for the lodge? I don’t think you’ve ordered.” She blinked her curled lashes.

  “I don’t believe I have.” Beth took the form from Zo, not bothering to conceal a glare.

  A classroom party and wreaths? Oh, boy. This was going to cost Zo more than mugs.

  They were on their way to the middle school to pick up Meg when Zo offered to repay the favor. She promised to contribute prizes to the classroom shindig: miniature writing sets. They contained candy cane pencils and red-and-white paper. With a handful of candy, they would make the perfect party favors.

  “Wrapped in cellophane bags.” Beth turned down a side street near the middle school. It, too, was busy and lined with cars.

  “Done.”

  “With curly ribbon.”

  “Of course,” said Zo. “What’s Christmas without curly ribbon?”

  Beth let out a breath, pulling up closer to the school. “I can do this. It’s one little party, and I’m great at parties.”

  That was an understatement. With her years of experience organizing parties at the Waldorf, Beth could throw together a child’s party with the wave of her magic hand. The lodge must be really busy for her to second-guess it.

  “Uh-oh,” said Molly’s little voice from the backseat.

  “What is it?” Beth asked.

  “Meg is in a car—with a boy.”

  “Where?”

  Molly’s finger punched the window. “There.”

  Zo followed the direction of her finger. Molly was right. Meg was sitting next to a boy in a four-door sedan that had seen better days. It didn’t look as if anyone else was in the car.

  “Megan Elizabeth!” Beth exclaimed. “What are you doing?”