Midnight Spells Murder Read online

  George was hiding behind a stack of books on the counter, planning a sneak attack on the ribbon. He wanted to put the finishing touch on the holiday packages—kitty-cat style.

  “Uh-oh,” moaned Zo. “He didn’t like the dog?”

  “By the giant hiss he let out, I would say no,” said Max. “George is not a fan of dogs.”

  “Huh.” Zo shrugged. “He never hisses.”

  “It wasn’t pretty.”

  George pounced on the ribbon, still wrapped around Max’s hand.

  Zo laughed. “I don’t think he appreciates the criticism.”

  “I’m sorry, George,” Max apologized. “You’re a very handsome cat.”

  George was happy with the compliment. At least he let go of the package, anyway.

  Max left, and the store got busier. By the time Harley arrived, Zo was swamped with gift-wrapping requests that had backed up over the last hour. While free gift wrap was a great idea, it was also time consuming. Zo told customers to pick up their packages when they were finished shopping downtown, and she had a feeling several would be back any minute.

  While Harley rang up merchandise, Zo caught up on wrapping. When the last bow was tied, she asked Harley if she needed food. Zo was starving, but Harley said she’d eaten.

  “Do you mind if I pop out for lunch?”

  Harley glanced up, her blue eyes almost violet in her retro Prince t-shirt. “You own the store. You can do whatever you want.”

  “You know what I mean,” said Zo, tucking away a roll of paper. “Will you be okay here by yourself?”

  Harley shooed her toward the door. “Go, I’ll be fine. If I need anything, I’ll call.”

  “I won’t be long,” said Zo. Grabbing her jacket and backpack, she hurried outside. Across the street, Buffalo Bill’s had pulled pork sandwiches, chips, and a drink for five dollars. That was something to be thankful for. Buffalo Bill’s was a bar and grill with good food and live music. Usually, more customers came at night than in the afternoon, but not today. Today, people were lined up on the patio, where the smoker had been cooking the meats for hours, wafting the delicious scent into air.

  Zo joined the throng of people waiting in line. That’s when she noticed Jake Morgan, drinking a beer at a table. An empty paper basket sat in front of him. Even with him seated, she knew he was the same size as the man she saw last night. He wasn’t wearing a hat, though. In fact, she’d never seen him wear a hat. Of course, a hat was the easiest disguise without going to much effort.

  She ordered her lunch. If Jake planted the weapon at her house last night, she would know it. She’d be able to tell by his reaction. She took her sandwich to the table. He was definitely surprised to see her. Nervous? She couldn’t say—yet.

  “Is anybody sitting here?” she asked.

  “Go ahead,” said Jake. “I’m finished.”

  She took a seat. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  He sipped his beer and went back to reading his phone. If he was bothered by her presence, he didn’t show it.

  “I thought you should know, the police might have found the weapon that killed Marianne.” Zo ate a chip, studying his reaction. “They’re testing it now.”

  He looked up from his phone. “What are you talking about?”

  Finally, she had his attention. “Marianne was hit in the head the night she died. The police think they found the weapon that hit her.”

  He flicked the whiskers on his chin with the back of his grease-stained hand. His beard was at least three days old or older. “Where?”

  “You really don’t know?” Zo couldn’t tell.

  “Would I be asking if I did?” Jake’s cheeks colored.

  He had a hot temper. Zo didn’t want to test how hot. She’d seen the way he’d blown up at Nikki. She didn’t want to be his next target. “Not far from my store.”

  “Well, that figures.” Jake squinted. If he had a pickax, he would have looked like an old-fashioned miner. A dark smudge crossed his cheek. He must have been working on his car again. “Justin Castle says you’re a sneaky one.”

  Zo was pretty sure Justin hadn’t said that, but it was implied all the same. “I had nothing to do with her death. I liked her, and she liked me. Why would I kill her?”

  “That’s what Justin’s going to tell us tomorrow.” He swigged the rest of his beer and stood. “Until then, stay away from me—and stay away from my daughter, too.”

  Zo remained silent. With him looming over her, she didn’t want to make him any angrier than he was.

  “You got that?” He pointed a finger at her.

  She nodded, but what she was really thinking as he walked away was how he asked where the weapon was found but not what the weapon was. It was possible he already knew the answer to the question.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Zo contemplated her conversation with Jake as she rang up a sale at Happy Camper. He didn’t want her talking to his daughter, Emily, but Zo decided that’s just who she needed to see. Emily was a bright young woman with insights into her mother. She’d already tipped off Zo about the meeting with the lawyer. What other information might she have?

  Zo considered the possibilities as she waited for the customer to write out a check, an orange paper covered in pumpkins. If checks came in holiday themes, Zo might have to take up the outmoded form of paying more often. She paused before placing the check in the drawer. Something was familiar about it. Not the check, exactly. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Then she remembered. Marianne wrote a check for merchandise the day of her book signing.

  Customers rarely used checks, which made the transaction easy to remember. Zo might be able to match the number with her check registry, on paper or online. That would tell her to whom the check was written. She really did need to see Emily after all.

  “Is there something wrong?” the customer asked.

  Zo realized she was still holding the woman’s check in her hand. “No, sorry. These are just the cutest checks I’ve ever seen. Would you like free gift wrapping?”

  “No thanks,” the woman said with a smile. “This is an early gift for me.”

  Zo wrapped the mug in tissue paper and placed it in a brown paper Happy Camper bag. Her mind was still on Marianne’s checkbook. Had it been in her purse the night it was stolen? There was only one way to find out. Go to Marianne’s house. The proof Zo needed to clear herself might be as easy as a short walk up the hill. Her heart fluttered at the notion.

  Zo handed the customer her purchase and surveyed the store. Traffic had tapered off, the afternoon lull hitting. Customers would return after work, but Zo would be back by then. While pulling up Marianne’s address on her phone, she told Harley she was going out for a while. Then she grabbed her coat and left.

  Marianne’s place was a half-mile from Happy Camper. Scanning the directions, Zo realized it made sense that her body was found near the store. Marianne might have been walking to or from her house when she was killed. Unfortunately, Brady Merrigan didn’t see the connection, especially after the murder weapon turned up at Happy Camper.

  Propelled by the cold and perhaps a little fear, Zo picked up her pace. She needed to figure out the murderer before Justin’s program aired tomorrow, and she was running out of time. As a journalist, she’d never missed a deadline. She’d cut it close, but time was a respected commodity in the business, and she’d never lost sight of the finish line. She needed to make sure she reached it before Justin Castle did.

  Marianne’s house was a small white ranch. High on a hill, it had a neat view of the town below. White with blue shutters, it was much plainer than the woman herself. It had a single-car garage and a tidy front stoop, free from clutter or decorations. The single ornament was the witch sign she’d purchased at her book signing. When Zo saw it, she stopped short of knocking, remembering the author she admired. The book had spok
en to her own experiences. Marianne had persevered through so much: a poor childhood, little schooling, and a bad divorce. Now Zo would persevere to find her killer.

  She squared her shoulders and knocked. She hoped Emily was home. Zo hadn’t called ahead because she wanted the element of surprise on her side. Jake might’ve put a bug in her ear, warning her about Zo. She might decline to talk to her. With any luck, he hadn’t mentioned the incident at Buffalo Bill’s yet—but he would, given a few more hours. If Zo had one chance, this was it. She couldn’t blow it.

  Hearing soft footsteps approach, she took a deep breath and smiled.

  Emily pulled open the door, her face surprised but not unhappily. Good. Her dad hadn’t talked to her yet. “Hey Zo.”

  “Hi, I hope I’m not bothering you,” said Zo. “I know how busy you must be.”

  “Actually, I wouldn’t mind a break.” Dressed in a polo and jeans, Emily stepped to the side to let her in. She didn’t have the same style as her mother—or demeanor. She acted middle-aged. But Zo knew what it meant to grow up early and felt a flood of empathy for the girl. She understood how it felt to have responsibility thrust on one’s shoulders. She respected Emily. Even amidst tragedy, the young woman was holding it together.

  The living room was nothing more than a plain rectangle with a window, but the kitchen was wallpapered and inviting. Zo followed Emily’s cue and took a seat in the dining room. Papers were spread over most of the small oak table, and Emily gathered them together so that Zo had a clear place to sit.

  “Sorry for the mess.” Emily stuffed the papers into a nearby bin. “It’s been…well, you know how it’s been.”

  “Don’t apologize,” said Zo. “I’m surprised you’re keeping it together as well as you are.”

  “You do what you have to do, I guess.”

  Zo noticed the dark circles, the chapped lips, the frizzy hair. Emily was doing what she had to, but at what cost? She had a feeling Emily had been strong a long time, the steady person her mom needed in her life. “How are you doing?”

  Emily folded her hands on the table. Like her hair, they were dry and neglected. “Honestly, not that great. Mom’s death has been overwhelming, and the idea that someone murdered her makes it that much worse.”

  Zo voiced her innocence in case Emily had been watching or intended to watch Justin Castle’s special report. “I didn’t have anything to do with her death. I hope you know that.”

  She shook off the suggestion. “I didn’t think you did for a second. Do you have any ideas who did?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” Zo admitted. “That’s why I’m here. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

  “Not at all,” said Emily.

  “At the book signing, Alex laughed at your mom,” recalled Zo. “They didn’t seem to get along. Did they?”

  “Nope. Mom thought he was a spoiled brat.”

  That pretty much describes it. “That had to be difficult for her and Roberto. Did they fight about him?”

  Emily tucked her hair behind her ears, making her plain pale face look plainer. “Mom wasn’t a judgmental person. She didn’t blame Roberto for Alex’s bad attitude. She did blame him for this college thing, though. They fought about that.”

  “Alex says he’s already been accepted to college,” said Zo. “How can that be?”

  “With a huge donation to the university,” Emily claimed. “That’s how. Mom called it a bribe. When she found the check, she was furious. She worked her way up from nothing, so did Roberto, and Mom didn’t believe in free rides.”

  Checks again. Zo wondered if it had anything to do with the one in Marianne’s hand the night of her death. But the check was hers, not Roberto’s. Still, it was an interesting coincidence. “Did she confront him?”

  “Yes,” said Emily. “Roberto claimed it was a donation to the water polo team, but Mom knew better. Roberto bought Alex’s way into college, plain and simple.”

  Just as Cunningham had said.

  “I understood why he did it,” continued Emily. “He wanted to give Alex an advantage he didn’t have. He wasn’t trying to cheat the system. He was just trying to be a good dad.”

  “Did you tell your mom that?”

  “Are you kidding?” laughed Emily. “She would have put a curse on me or something. And she was right, of course. It’s better to earn your way than take handouts. I would feel crummy about getting into college with a bribe.”

  Zo admired her integrity. Marianne had done a good job of raising her daughter. Maybe she wanted Roberto to raise Alex the same way. Had she insisted Roberto take back the money, or that Alex come clean with the university? If so, both of them had motives for murder.

  “You mentioned a check.” Zo scanned the scattered papers on the table. “The night of her murder, your mom had a ripped check in her hand, just the corner, but it was enough to give me the numbers. She wrote a check for some merchandise at Happy Camper. Maybe we could find who she wrote the check to by looking at her check register?”

  “That’s a really good idea.” Emily stood and walked to a three-tier bin on the counter. “Mom always kept her checkbook with the bills. She still paid them by snail mail.” She thumbed through statements. “Huh, some of these are due. I didn’t think to pay them.”

  “You can’t think of everything,” said Zo. “Has your dad been helping out?”

  “He’s called a few of Mom’s relatives.” She searched another bin. “I love my dad, but he’s not the best in these situations. Plus they didn’t get along—at all.”

  “Nikki mentioned the divorce was recently finalized.”

  Emily nodded. “They should have divorced years ago. They fought all the time.”

  “Why didn’t they?” asked Zo.

  Emily looked up from the bin. “Me.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you love how parents think they’re saving you from something when they’re really not? They just make things worse.”

  Zo smiled. “Not exactly, but I can imagine.”

  “First, Mom wanted to get me through junior high and then it was high school. The divorce was finalized the day I started Black Mountain College. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

  “Did your parents ever fight, physically?” Zo approached the subject as carefully as possible. Emily loved her dad, bad temper or not. But if he killed Marianne, she might be in danger, too.

  “Never,” said Emily. “Dad might have a bad attitude but he’s kind of…lazy. I don’t think he’d hurt a fly.”

  “Nikki got a restraining order against him,” Zo prodded. “She felt threatened.”

  Emily stopped looking for the checkbook. “They never got along. Nikki wanted Mom to leave Dad a long time ago. She knew if Mom could get away from him, she would do big things. Dad thought Nikki was using Mom. He isn’t exactly a fan of the theater—or writing. He hated that Mom shared the story of their divorce in the book.”

  Zo remembered the chapter vividly. “Hated it enough to…retaliate against her?”

  “No.” Emily leaned against the wall as if the question weighed heavily on her. Maybe she’d wondered about it herself. She blinked back tears. Obviously the idea of her father killing her mother was too much to handle.

  Her response put a stop to Zo’s other questions. Emily couldn’t entertain the idea of her dad being a murderer. Fortunately, Zo could.

  Emily flicked away a tear. “The checkbook’s not here. It must have been in her purse.”

  An envelope fell out of the bin. Zo thought it was odd, and Emily did, too. She stood blinking at the envelope on the floor for several seconds before she bent over to grab it.

  “It’s a bank statement,” said Emily. It was several pages thick.

  “A bank statement…” Zo repeated, chewing her lip. “Genius! A bank statement will show us who cashed the check.”

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p; “What’s the check number?” asked Emily, clearing her throat.

  Zo pulled out her phone and checked the number. “3544.”

  Emily’s index finger scrolled through page after page. “3541, 3542, 3543…3545.” She glanced up. “It’s not here. It wasn’t cashed.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Emily handed Zo the statements. “Look for yourself.”

  She thumbed through them, confirming Emily’s declaration. Another roadblock on the road to justice. And here she believed it was ghostly intervention. It must have been a fluke. She set the papers down on the table. “I’m going to find whoever did this, with or without the check.”

  “I wish I could be more helpful,” said Emily. “The truth is, I can’t imagine anyone wanting my mom dead. She was my best friend, and now she’s…gone. I wish I would have told her.”

  Zo touched her arm. “You’ve been incredibly helpful, and if anyone knew how you felt, it was your mom. I promise.” She straightened the bank statements and returned them to Emily.

  Emily nodded, her spirits seeming to lift a little. “Will you keep me posted?”

  “I will.”

  Emily shut the door, and Zo began the descent down the hill back to her store. She didn’t get far before she saw Max, with a German shepherd monopolizing the front seat of his old pickup truck. She waved, and he pulled over to the curb.

  Zo made a detour toward the truck, a mint-green-and-white relic from the 1960s. She loved its matching mint-green hubcaps. “Is this the dog you were telling me about? He’s beautiful.” The dog had tall inquisitive ears and a tan and black face with deep dark eyes. A bandage covered one leg.

  “She,” Max corrected. “She’s a girl.”

  “Can I pet her?” asked Zo.

  “Sure,” said Max.

  Zo held out her hand, and the German shepherd gave it a lick. “Did you adopt her?”

  “No, I’m just hanging on to her until her owner shows up,” explained Max. “Doc doesn’t have room in the office for a big girl like her.”