Midnight Spells Murder Read online

  Zo didn’t see a collar. “Do you have any idea who the owner is?”

  “I put out an alert at all the ranger stations,” Max scratched the dog’s neck. “I’m sure they’ll come looking for her. She had a laceration on her leg, not big, but it could have become infected without treatment. They must be worried.”

  The dog sat up taller. Zo noticed her head touched the ceiling. “It looks like she can put weight on her leg. That’s good.”

  Max laughed. “She can do more than that. She bounded into the truck like a jackrabbit.”

  That would be one big jackrabbit. The dog had to be a hundred pounds.

  “Where are you coming from?” asked Max.

  “Emily’s house.” Zo told him about the checkbook.

  “It was a good idea,” said Max. “Too bad it didn’t turn out.” His phone rang, and he glanced at the number. “Hold on. It’s Brady.”

  Zo waited anxiously while Max took the call.

  “Are you sure?” Max asked Brady.

  This couldn’t be good. She focused on the kind eyes of the German shepherd. Dogs had a way of making everything seem okay, even if they weren’t.

  “All right,” said Max. “Thanks for the call.” He hit the end button. “That was Brady.”

  “I know. What did he say?”

  “The blood on the tire iron was a positive match,” said Max. “It was the weapon used to kill Marianne.”

  Zo shouldn’t have been surprised by Max’s news, but she was. It was confirmation that someone had battered Marianne that fateful night and dumped the evidence at Happy Camper. It was a dangerous move. Sure, it linked Zo to the murder. However, it also provided the police with a weapon. The killer must be confident it couldn’t be traced back to them.

  She considered the man outside Happy Camper last night. He must have planted the evidence. Ergo, he must be the murderer. She needed to find him—like ten minutes ago. He was her only hope of not being charged with a crime. If he kept the weapon, he also kept Marianne’s purse. If Zo could find the duplicate check, she could clear her name. The only person who came to mind was Jake. Like the man outside Happy Camper, he was good-sized. The problem was she knew what Jake looked like. The man last night didn’t remind her of him, but that was the idea behind the hat. It was a disguise and kept his face hidden.

  The other possibilities were Roberto and Alex. Neither of them was small, but they were muscular. She shook her head. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make any of the suspects fit the scenario. What was she missing?

  “Zo, did you hear me?” Max said. His large dog underscored the question with a short bark.

  She jumped. “Yes, no. I didn’t hear you. I was too busy figuring out how the heck I’m going to get out of this jam.”

  “You’re not going to do anything except get into this truck,” said Max. “There’s a bus behind me that can’t get through.”

  One of the travel agencies that hosted bus tours was trying to turn around on the side street. “What about King Kong here?” asked Zo.

  Max grinned and put his arm around the German shepherd, gently pulling her toward the middle of the seat. “There’s room.”

  She hopped in. The dog’s panting filled the silence all the way to the store.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  When Zo returned to Happy Camper, Harley was having a difficult conversation with a customer who thought an item was on sale. Unfortunately, it was not. Harley was a whiz with numbers but could be shy with people. The opposite held true for Zo. She loved chatting with customers. It was one of the reasons she enjoyed writing her Happy Camper column. The piece gave her the opportunity to talk to people in the community. Which reminded her, she still needed to talk to Brady Merrigan about the station’s plans for the holidays. With the new evidence against her, she wondered how fun that wouldn’t be.

  She brushed aside the worry and joined Harley and the customer’s conversation. “Is it a gift?”

  “Yes, it’s for my mother.” The woman’s voice softened. “She’s a huge cat lover.” The merchandise was a sign that read, Coffee, Cats, and Kindness: It’s All the World Really Needs.

  “I’m sure you’ve met George the cat, then,” said Zo.

  The customer shook her head, and Zo led her to the bookcase, where George was shelved above the A and B section. He stretched out as Zo approached.

  “My mom would love him.” She smiled. “Can I snap a picture?”

  “Of course,” agreed Zo. “George is very photogenic.” George took the opportunity to cover his face with one fluffy orange paw. He loved proving her wrong, but she didn’t care. She liked his aloofness and was glad he was feeling like his old self again.

  “Adorable,” the woman cooed, handing Zo the merchandise and snapping a picture. “You can go ahead and wrap this up—even if it isn’t half-off.” She followed Zo to the register. “If there’s anyone who deserves the perfect gift, it’s Mom, right?”

  Zo’s eyes fell to the printout of plays Hattie had given her. Within the stack may be the key to her birth mom’s identity. Murder or not, Zo deserved to grant herself permission to look. “You’re absolutely right.”

  After Zo wrapped the purchase and bid the customer goodbye, Harley approached the counter. “There goes another happy camper.”

  “How about you?” said Zo. “You must need a dinner break. Why don’t you go early? You’ve had a busy afternoon, and I can handle this.”

  “Sure.” Harley grabbed her wallet from beneath the counter. “Honey Buns has their buns half-off for Crazy Days.”

  “Yum,” said Zo. “Take your time.” Honey Buns’ saucer-size rolls were meals in themselves. Drenched in natural honey or huckleberry jam, the large fluffy pastries were perfect for an early supper.

  While Harley was gone, Zo straightened the rest of the wrapping supplies. From the looks of the messy counter, it must have been a busy afternoon. She glanced at George, still asleep on the bookshelf. Or George had been busy. After the bookshelf, his favorite bed was a piece of wrapping paper.

  Harley reappeared with a soft drink and satisfied smile. Zo took it to mean the bun was delicious. When Zo inquired, her reply was “heaven.”

  Stuffing the list of plays into her backpack, she bid Harley goodbye. She needed to finish her column and that meant a detour to the police station. Next stop, the theater. She wasn’t going to let another day go by without perusing the old playbills. Tomorrow the playhouse would begin its weekend shows, and another three days would pass. She wasn’t about to let that happen without at least spending a few minutes looking through the storage room.

  The walk—and column—were welcome reprieves from thinking about Marianne’s murder. She gazed at the azure sky, which was fading quickly. The days were getting shorter. Dusk loomed at the edge of the forest, waiting to cloak the sun like a black cape. Gold lights began to flicker from store windows, and smoke puffed from crooked chimneys. Under the footbridge, the creek babbled below. Zo took a breath of frosty air. The fall was picture perfect.

  She stood in front of the police station, surprised by her quick arrival. It was as if her legs knew what to do. They were on assignment even if her brain was elsewhere. Her “Spirit of the Season” column was one of her favorite pieces. No one could get cranky talking about holiday charities, even Chief Merrigan.

  She gave the woman at the desk her name and asked if he was there. After a quick call, the woman confirmed he was and buzzed Zo in. Brady met her in the hallway, his cowboy hat titled to one side, revealing more of his jet-black hair than usual. Maybe he was on his way out.

  “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” asked Brady.

  “My column is due tomorrow,” Zo explained. “I never got your response. What’s the station doing for its charity drive?”

  “And here I thought I was going to get out of work a littl
e early.” Brady gestured to his office, a large room surrounded by smaller cubicles. “Come this way.”

  The décor hadn’t changed since the last time she was here. Bison prints, horns, and a geographic map of the state made her feel as if she’d entered the Wild West as she crossed the threshold. She would have sworn she smelled cowhide. It must have been his leather chair, though it didn’t look new. Zo had to wonder how much of it was her imagination, which had a tendency to add its own details.

  She took out a notepad and pencil from her backpack and plopped down in the chair across from his desk. Poised to jot down his answer, she asked, “What did you come up with?”

  He rubbed his jaw. “This murder investigation has eaten up a lot of my time—all of it.”

  Tell me about it. It had taken over her day job. But it was his day job. It had to be hard concentrating on anything else. “Do you have any new leads in the case?”

  “Nice try, Zo.” Brady let out a chuckle. “You know I can’t discuss the case with a civilian.”

  She crossed her foot over her knee. “I think I’m a bit more than a civilian. Marianne was found near my store and so was the murder weapon. If the case isn’t solved by seven p.m. tomorrow night, I’m going to be primetime news.”

  Brady tapped his desk. “That Justin Castle is a bugger.”

  “Thank you,” said Zo. “It’s nice to hear you and I agree on one thing.”

  He smiled. “If I find anything that clears your name, he’ll be the first to hear it. I promise you that.”

  “I appreciate it.” She felt the wall between them shift an inkling and returned his smile. “I’m guessing you don’t have any ideas for your charity drive.”

  “Oh I have ideas,” said Brady. “I just don’t know if they’re any good.”

  “Maybe you want to run them by me,” Zo suggested. “I’ll give you an honest opinion.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” Brady looked out the window, then back at her. He must have decided it was okay to discuss them because he continued. “We did the coat drive last year, and the food bank the year before.”

  Zo nodded. “Right. So you want to do something different?”

  “Yes, something new.”

  “Any idea what that might be?” Zo would be here all night if he didn’t spit it out, and she wanted to get to the theater while it was still open.

  “I have one, but I don’t know how it would work.”

  “Maybe we can figure it out together,” Zo tried. Really, Brady was being downright shy.

  “Formula,” he sputtered. “For babies. I’d like to see about donating formula to babies.”

  “That’s a great idea,” said Zo. “Where did you see that?”

  His brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I didn’t see it anywhere. I came up with it myself.”

  Zo was pleasantly surprised. She’d never seen the softer side of Brady Merrigan, but here it was, in the form of baby formula. The holidays really did bring out the best in people.

  “Seems like it wasn’t long ago that you were left here, in our care,” said Brady. “We didn’t have anything for you to eat except the bottle in your carrier. I was young. And I’m not too proud to admit I was afraid.”

  Zo sat up in her chair. “Wait. You’re telling me you were here when I was dropped off?”

  “Of course I was.” Brady laced his fingers. “I’ve been with the station thirty-five years. I was just a kid then. A rookie, and scared as heck, too. You wouldn’t quit crying. Even then you had a set of lungs and knew how to use them.”

  Zo could hardly believe her ears. Picturing the scenario in her mind, she smiled. Poor Brady Merrigan. She couldn’t see him dealing with a baby. “What did you do?”

  “Well, I gave you the bottle, for starters, but I didn’t want to. I could see it was the only one you had, and I was worried you’d start crying again when it was gone.” He stopped, clearly remembering. “Actually, though, you went to sleep.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Huh. I never knew.”

  “I guess I should have told you.”

  “It’s okay,” said Zo. “I never thought to ask. Did you ever have any idea who dropped me off?”

  He shook his head. “We never did. Nobody saw her—or him. It was Christmas time. Cold and frosty. The roads were slick, and the station was a ghost town. Every officer we had was out helping with accidents and the storm. That’s when you decided to make your entrance. It was as if you were delivered by a phantom.”

  Phantom. His comment reminded Zo of the Opera House’s current production. Actors and actresses were masters of disguise. Maybe her mom disguised herself the night she dropped her off. Maybe that’s why no one saw her. “A phantom or an actress.”

  Brady leaned over his desk. “What do you mean? What makes you say that?”

  In the heat of the moment, Zo almost spit it out. Then she checked herself. Only her close friends knew about the necklace. Though she and Brady chipped away at a barrier tonight, she wasn’t prepared to share anything else. “It’s nothing. Let’s get back to the formula drive before you have to leave.”

  For the next ten minutes, they talked about the details of the fundraiser. By the time they were finished, Zo had a page full of notes and a newfound respect for Brady. He must have felt likewise. When she stood to leave, he held out his hand.

  “Thanks for your help with this, Zo.”

  “No problem.”

  He walked her to his office door, and she scurried down the hallway, a new enthusiasm in her step. Their conversation brought the nagging questions surrounding her birth to the forefront of her mind. She had a lead on her natural mother yet she hadn’t followed it. Why? Was she afraid of what she might find? Did a part of her not want to know? She opened the door to the late afternoon, shaking off the doubt that always surrounded this part of her life. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she knew the answers, no matter what those answers were. Life was a series of stories. She deserved to know how hers began.

  Chapter Thirty

  The opera house didn’t have a performance tonight, so Zo hoped she could catch Nikki before she left for the day. It didn’t even need to be Nikki. Chances were, someone would be around to let her in, and Nikki said she could dig through the old playbills anytime. Still, Zo wanted to get there as soon as possible, before the doors were locked for the evening.

  She walked double-time toward Main Street, noting the new clouds blotting out the remaining drops of daylight. Steel-gray, they would bring a quick, cold rain. The wind, too, indicated a storm. A wind whistled through the street, sending shivers up her back, and she scampered toward the opera house, where the lights shone bright white.

  Once inside, she smoothed her hair, which had been ruffled by the wind. She checked the lobby for someone to help her. It was empty. So was the will-call booth and concessions stand. From the inside of the auditorium, she heard a clang. Maybe that was Nikki. She ducked inside the theater, hoping she wasn’t too late. “Hello?”

  A construction worker met her at the bottom of the stairs. Zo recognized him as the helpful person who found the necklace. With his long black braid and kind eyes, Chaska was a man not easily forgotten.

  “Oh, hey.” He was carrying a bucket of paint supplies. They were finished with the touch ups.

  “Hi, Chaska. Is Nikki in?”

  “I don’t know.” Chaska shrugged. “She was earlier.” He scanned the auditorium. “I haven’t seen her for a while.”

  “Oh.” She had no idea where the playbills were stored or how to get to them. If Nikki had left for the day, Zo would have to come back tomorrow. She kicked herself for taking too long at the police station.

  “Maybe I can help you?” Chaska offered.

  “It looks like you’re packing up for the day,” said Zo. “I don’t want to keep you.”

  “It’s no p
roblem.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” she said. “Thanks. All I need is for you to point me in the direction of the storage room. Nikki said I could go through the old playbills in there anytime.”

  Chaska set down the pail. “Storage room…I wonder if you mean the prop room?”

  “Nikki said there’s a bunch of junk in there from the remodel. She’s still going through it.”

  “Oh, I know where you mean,” said Chaska. “Come on. It’s in the basement.”

  Zo followed him toward the stage, where they turned and went through a doorway and down a steep flight of steps. At the bottom of the stairwell, Chaska flipped on a light, which began to buzz. It didn’t give off much illumination. From what Zo could see, though, there were a series of rooms. As they continued, she noted some of them held dusty props like vases and candlesticks while others stored racks of old costumes.

  Chaska stopped in front of a room with file cabinets, boxes, and bags. “This has to be what she was talking about. A lot of this needs to be archived yet.”

  “I believe you’re right,” said Zo. “Thanks so much.”

  “Do you need anything else before I go?”

  “No, you’ve been more than helpful,” said Zo. “Have a good night.”

  “You, too.”

  His footsteps echoed as he climbed the concrete stairs. Zo instantly missed the company. She wasn’t skittish, but it was downright spooky here. The masks, the costumes, the props—everything that brought the stage to life—looked strange and otherworldly. They, like her, were abandoned in the cement cellar, the buzz of a single lightbulb the only sound.

  Shaking off her unease, she got to work, unlocking the file cabinet with the key that hung on the drawer. She didn’t have time for childish fears. Inside were the usual folders and papers, business items. The theater camp had several tabs, organized by theme and year. Nothing about the plays themselves.

  Zo skipped to another drawer, where she found information on the renovation, including donors’ names, addresses, and amounts. She sneaked a quick peak under M for Marianne Morgan. Marianne donated on a monthly basis, not to mention a hefty sum for the renovation. When Zo and Emily were searching for the checkbook, she’d noticed the reoccurring payment on the bank statement. She only remembered it now.