Midnight Spells Murder Page 2

  Marianne didn’t give the full history lesson from her book, though. Instead she told participants how to recall their inner witch: the powerful, passionate, magical person they’d been told was unattractive and unladylike. It might feel like waking or a memory, something dismissed or buried. All that they needed was within them. They just needed to find and trust it. Approval came from within, not from others. Zo liked that idea.

  “I invite you to invoke your power now,” said Marianne. “Say it with me. ‘I take back my power’. Feel it returning from all the places you’ve left it: jobs, boyfriends, family members. Let’s try it together.”

  “I take back my power,” the group murmured, Zo along with them. As a child, she’d survived foster care by adhering to the belief that she had power over her own destiny. She might not have been able to choose what house she lived in or what clothes she wore, but she could plan for her future. And with a lot of determination, here she was.

  “Again.” Marianne closed her eyes.

  The group repeated the words louder, liking the idea of becoming stronger and more whole.

  From the back of the room, Roberto’s son snickered. The moment was broken.

  Marianne’s eyes flew open. “Seek from within, friends. Pay no attention to small-minded people who thrive on greed and lies. They have no idea about real power or happiness. You can’t buy it. It’s not for sale.”

  The words were meant as an assault on Roberto’s son. Clearly, Roberto could tell, and so could Zo. Short and stocky, the boy walked away, fists clenched at his sides. Zo was glad Roberto didn’t go after him. She had a feeling his son would make a bigger scene if given the opportunity. Instead, Roberto stared straight ahead, listening to the rest of Marianne’s talk with respect and perhaps even reverence. He obviously admired her a great deal.

  When she finished speaking, Marianne asked if readers had questions. A few hands went up, and Zo joined her at the podium to moderate the remainder of the event.

  “Nikki Ainsworth.” Marianne smiled at a woman clad in red. “For those of you who don’t know her, this woman is responsible for single-handedly renovating Spirit Canyon’s opera house.”

  The audience members turned their heads and clapped.

  Standing, Nikki took a little bow. Tall and slender, she was the managing theater director but could have been a model or an actress. She had the bones for it—and the clothes. Her red blouse looked expensive, and her posture was picture perfect. “Thank you, Marianne, but you’re the one who deserves the applause. I really enjoyed the book and recommend it to everyone here. It has practical advice for obtaining goals, which I appreciate.”

  Marianne beamed. “Thank you, Nikki. That means a lot. You’ve never been afraid to go after what you want, and I admire that.” She pointed to another participant. “Yes, in the blue shirt?”

  The woman in blue opened up her well-thumbed copy of the text. “In the book, you say readers need to identify the negative energy and negative people weighing them down. Are the examples based on personal experiences?”

  “They are.” Marianne paused thoughtfully. Maybe she was deciding how much personal information to divulge. “My ex-husband, for one. He told me I wasn’t good enough, and after being told it enough times, I believed it.” She glanced at Emily, who was staring into her lap. “But I don’t want to get into that here. The point is to recognize the negative people in your life. They will drain your power if you let them. Don’t let them. Don’t try to change them. Let them go.”

  The woman in the blue shirt nodded, and the room fell quiet.

  “Any other questions for Marianne?” Zo asked.

  Tiffany Snow, a town volunteer and do-gooder, stepped forward. She must have come in late because Zo hadn’t seen her. With her fall sweater, skinny jeans, and ankle boots, she looked as if she was ready to lead a PTA meeting or school cheer. Her loose ringlets were tied into a girlish ponytail. Zo didn’t think she went anywhere without curling her hair.

  “First, I just want to let you all know that I’m taking orders for holiday wreaths.” She smiled at the group, showing off ultra-white teeth. “You know how beautiful they are, and they’re for a good cause.”

  Zo sighed. Tiffany was here to hawk her kids’ holiday wreaths.

  “Second, to the author, your book needs an adult rating so that it doesn’t get into the wrong hands,” continued Tiffany. “My daughter picked it up at the bookstore, probably because of the witch on the cover. Before I could stop her, she was reading a spell—out loud!”

  “There are no ‘spells’ in the book,” explained Marianne. “Even if there were, I don’t believe in censorship. This book is for everyone, especially young girls.”

  Tiffany crossed her arms. “I’m going to assert my power and say that I heartily disagree.”

  “That’s your right,” said Marianne. “Good for you.”

  With no other questions, Zo decided this was a good time to mention the snacks. Her customers expected an upbeat atmosphere, and Marianne had turned Tiffany’s complaint into a positive. It was a nice place to conclude. “If there are no other questions, help yourself to a treat while Marianne signs books. Thanks so much for coming out, and don’t forget. I’ll be giving away apple cider to trick-or-treaters and their parents on Halloween. Stop by and warm up.”

  Zo pointed to the table near the podium, and Marianne and her daughter situated themselves near the stack of books. A line formed quickly, and shoppers munched on snacks while talking or waiting to purchase books. Zo stayed with Marianne and Emily to help with pictures while Harley rang up sales and Jules managed the food table. Zo noticed Roberto sneaking out the front door, perhaps to retrieve his son. When he came back alone, she realized the attempt was unsuccessful. His son must have been put out by Marianne’s comments, and Zo wondered what she’d meant by them.

  Jules touched Zo’s elbow. “Miss Priss is peddling her wreath order form near the snack table. What do you want me to do about it?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” said Zo. “Would you mind staying with Marianne?”

  “No problem.”

  Zo handed Jules the camera and walked toward Tiffany, smiling at customers who were enjoying the food. She had to say something to Tiffany. She didn’t want her wreath campaign cannibalizing Marianne’s book sales. Despite Happy Camper being a small local gift shop, Marianne agreed to come, speak, and sign books. Zo knew she had bigger signings she could have attended, and Zo wanted to show her appreciation with decent book sales. Tiffany was jeopardizing that.

  With a leg propped up like a table, Tiffany was writing out a receipt for a wreath. She exchanged the paper for a customer’s check and tucked it in with the many others in her accordion folder. She clicked her pen as Zo approached. “Last year you bought a wreath, so you know how wonderful they look and smell. What about two this year? One for the store and one for your home?”

  “You’re right,” Zo agreed. “They are beautiful, and I’d be happy to make a purchase. But I need to ask you to sell the wreaths on your own time. This event is part of Marianne’s book launch, not a fund-raising event.”

  Tiffany snapped shut her folder with a huff. “Fine. I’ll come back.”

  “Perfect,” said Zo. “Thanks so much.”

  Her curly ponytail swung back and forth as she marched out. Zo joined Harley at the register. “Do you know where Roberto’s son went?”

  “His name is Alex,” said Harley.

  “How do you know him?”

  “I’m a math tutor at his high school. He claims he’s going to an Ivy League school next year.” Harley rolled her eyes, expertly outlined in black liner. Her heavy bangs, which came to a point on her forehead, emphasized her dramatic look.

  “He must be smart,” said Zo.

  “Not even close.” Harley took a purchase from a customer, scanning the bar code. “He has the attitude bu
t not the aptitude. He’d be lucky to get into Black Mountain.”

  Black Mountain was the college Harley attended in Spirit Canyon. It was a favorite of outdoorspeople, but expensive. Still, it was cheaper than most colleges in Colorado. “Did you see where he went?”

  She nodded toward the door. “I think he’s waiting in his dad’s car.”

  “Oh boy,” said Zo. “I’d better move things along.” When she returned to the book signing table, the line had dwindled to one person, Roberto. Marianne was finishing with Nikki, who handed her tickets to Phantom of the Opera. The musical opened tomorrow night, and Nikki was papering the theater. Marianne thanked her, promising to spread the word, and passed the tickets to Emily. She turned to Roberto with a frustrated look.

  “Where’s Alex?” asked Marianne, peeking around him. “If he’s going to act like a child, don’t bring him. I don’t need him making fun of me or the people at my events.”

  Roberto calmly kissed the top of her headscarf. “He is a child. Don’t expect too much of him.”

  “You need to stop making excuses for him,” Marianne insisted. “You’re not doing him any favors by protecting him.”

  “And you’re not doing him any favors by calling him out in front of two dozen women.” Roberto turned his warm brown eyes on Zo, giving her a kind smile. Obviously, he didn’t want to argue with his girlfriend in public. “I enjoyed the event. It was the best one I’ve been to. Thank you.”

  “I agree.” Emily was seated next to her mom. “I could live in this store.”

  Marianne stood. “When I get back to town, I’m coming here to do some more shopping.”

  “I’d love that,” said Zo. “Are you traveling for your book tour?”

  “Five states starting Monday.” Marianne pushed in her chair. “I’ve done the surrounding area, but I’m taking on the East Coast next week. I need to get everything packed this weekend.”

  “Don’t forget this, Mom.” Emily handed her the witch sign as they walked past the display.

  That girl doesn’t miss a thing. If Emily weren’t working for Marianne, Zo would’ve recruited her to work at the store. She needed more organization in her life.

  “Thanks, honey.” Marianne took a detour toward the register. Harley rang up the sale, and Marianne wrote a check for the purchase.

  When they were finished, Zo walked them to the front entrance. “Good luck with your book tour, and thanks so much for coming. I know you’ll do great.”

  Roberto stopped short of the door. “What’s Jake doing here?”

  Zo assumed he was referring to the large man in the wool flat cap. He was leaning against a sedan, smoking a cigarette. He waved at them.

  “I told Dad to pick me up,” Emily explained. “I hope that’s okay. We’re going out for dinner.”

  “Of course it’s okay.” Marianne gave Emily’s arm a squeeze. “Have a good time. Thanks again, Zo. It was a lovely day.”

  Roberto was too distracted to say goodbye. He was busy glaring at Emily’s dad, who was as sloppily dressed as Roberto was tidy. From their shirts to their shoes, they were opposites. Perhaps that had been Marianne’s intention with the new relationship.

  “You’re so welcome,” said Zo.

  With a loud noise from the muffler and a puff of smoke, Emily and her dad were gone, leaving a hubcap turning in the parking lot. Roberto and Marianne joined Alex in a Lexus, shaking their heads at Jake’s eventful departure.

  Watching them from the window, Jules muttered, “I’m not sorry to be out of that relationship.”

  “I was going to ask you about Roberto,” said Zo. “I didn’t know you dated him.”

  “I don’t know if you’d call it dating.” Jules shook off the description. “We were together a few months, but I hardly saw him. He’s a workaholic.”

  “You’re a workaholic,” Zo pointed out. “It sounds like a perfect match.”

  Jules followed her to the food table, where Zo started picking up. “That’s what I thought. He built his business from the ground up, and I admired his work ethic. But he was too intense for me. He couldn’t enjoy a glass of wine without checking his email fifteen times.”

  “Yuck.” Zo made a face.

  “Exactly.” Jules threw away scattered cupcake wrappers. “I’m surprised Marianne even knew our brief history.”

  “I suppose they discussed their recent relationships.” Zo wiped the table with a disinfectant wipe. “If her ex-husband is the guy in the book, he sounds like a real bum. She wouldn’t want to date another one.”

  “That explains it,” said Jules. “Roberto’s anything but a bum.”

  Zo wrinkled her nose. “His kid, though.”

  “I don’t know anything about him,” said Jules. “I knew Roberto had a son but we didn’t date long enough for me to meet him.”

  “You didn’t miss anything.” Harley joined them. She and Zo took down the table. “Alex is a conceited jerk. He called me a nerd for trying to help him with his algebra. All his friends chimed in.”

  “What a bully,” said Jules.

  “Agreed,” Zo added.

  Harley waved away their concern. “I’m a big girl. It’s fine.”

  “Let’s recite Marianne’s mantra,” said Zo, with a smile. “Just to make sure.”

  Chapter Three

  After putting away the table and podium, Zo zipped upstairs for a late afternoon pick-me-up. Since school was in session, Harley would close Happy Camper, as she did most nights during the school year. The bulk of her hours were put in on evenings and weekends, allowing Zo to break for tea. She had the perfect autumn blend waiting for her, a mixture of cinnamon, clove, and orange peel. It was exactly what she needed after all the sweet cupcakes.

  She opened the door to a loud meow. Her cat, George, was angry at being trapped upstairs, but with so many people coming and going for the event, Zo didn’t want him trampled. Looking at the large, orange tomcat, she admitted the possibility was slim. With his long hair and fluffy tail, he was hard to miss. George (or St. George, as her neighbor called him) was a Maine Coon she’d adopted from the humane society last year. The living arrangement had been an adjustment for both of them.

  She knelt down, and he ducked her pet. Okay, the challenge was mainly hers. He preferred to spend most of his days outdoors. But they were closer than they used to be, and she couldn’t imagine life without him, which made her kind of clingy, a wholly new feeling for her. They’d both have to get used to it.

  George darted outside, and she followed him to her large cedar deck and turned on the outdoor fireplace. Then she went back inside to make her tea. When she returned with her mug, her neighbor was crossing her small backyard.

  Russell Cunningham was an English professor at Black Mountain College, and this time of year was hard for him. He had lots of papers to grade and did what he could to avoid them. That usually meant long philosophical talks about anything but student essays. She called down to him before she sat. “Can I get you a cup of tea, Cunningham?”

  “No thank you,” answered Cunningham, coming up the deck stairs. “I wanted to see how the book event went. I’m sorry I couldn’t attend.”

  She sat down on her L-shaped sofa in front of the fireplace and motioned for him to join her. Dressed in thick corduroy pants and a button-up sweater, he settled into the chair next to her. His were the kind eyes of a teacher who put others’ concerns above his own, and it was hard not to look at him and remember a teacher or mentor who had once made a difference.

  “No worries,” said Zo. “It went really well. We sold out of books.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I thought. I saw a lot of cars in the parking lot.”

  Zo sipped her cinnamon tea, relishing the hint of clove. This time of year was the best—for her anyway. “How are the papers coming?”

  “The papers are not coming.�
�� Cunningham scowled. “The stack is at a standstill.” He leaned over his knees, warming his snow-white hair and beard in the firelight. “I have a feeling my students didn’t read the novel. Nobody reads books anymore.”

  “They’re reading Marianne’s book,” said Zo. “Maybe you should try integrating it into your class next year.” His open mouth told Zo the idea was scandalous. “Just for a change of pace,” she added.

  “Thank you, but no.” Cunningham lifted his chin. “The day students can’t get through Main Street is the day I retire, move to Hawaii, and drink mai tais all day.”

  Zo stretched out her legs on the elongated lounge of the sofa. She remembered Sinclair Lewis’s classic Main Street. She had to read it in one of the English classes she’d taken while getting her degree in communications. She’d been a journalist for almost ten years before starting Happy Camper. Now she wrote the weekly Happy Camper column for Canyon Views, which was creative and fun and so much better than the news. “Isn’t Main Street five-hundred-something pages?”

  Cunningham bristled. “That isn’t long.”

  To students who were used to absorbing information at warp speed, Zo had a feeling it was but didn’t say anything. She liked reading and writing. It was why she wrote the column. “Maybe you need a break from grading. Why don’t you come with me to Wine and Waterfalls? Jules is hosting a tasting at Spirits & Spirits.”

  “I’d love to.” Cunningham stood. “But I can’t. No matter how bad, the essays need to be read—and graded.”

  “If you change your mind…”

  “I know where you live,” said Cunningham.

  Finishing her last sips of tea, she watched him return to his house. He waved from his deck, and she held up her mug.

  Zo stood and flicked off the fireplace. She could relax the rest of the afternoon, watching the quiet smoke waft up from new nighttime campfires, but needed to get ready for Jules’s event. A local tour group was visiting area waterfalls and wineries. The Black Hills had several gorgeous waterfalls, but Spirit Canyon’s was the most well known and the last stop on the tour. With its sixty-foot plunge and lace-like cascade, the waterfall attracted lots of tourists to the canyon.