Midnight Spells Murder Page 3

  Zo exchanged her witch t-shirt for a burgundy sweater. Like it or not—and actually, she did like it—the evenings were getting colder, and she was walking to tonight’s gathering. She didn’t want to worry about driving home, and Jules’s store was only a few blocks away. After giving her edgy bob a tousle, she slipped on her tennis shoes and grabbed her keys, locking the deck door behind her.

  On the eve of Spirit Spooktacular, downtown Spirit Canyon was a sight to behold. Store windows were decked out with goblins, ghouls, and ghosts, and doors were decorated with haystacks and pumpkins. The opera house had costumes from Phantom of the Opera on display, complete with the Phantom’s signature mask. Even the old-fashioned lampposts, just beginning to glow yellow, were adorned with miniature ghosts, swaying spookily in the autumn breeze.

  The tour bus was in the parking lot of Spirts & Spirits when Zo arrived, and she quickened her pace. Jules assured her she didn’t need any help, but after hearing about Duncan’s missteps at work, Zo worried he wouldn’t be the support Jules needed for the event. Since Spirit Canyon didn’t have a winery, tour participants were enjoying a glass of wine at Jules’s super-spirited store, and from the size of the caravan, Zo guessed many participants were inside, not to mention several locals, who looked forward to the evening every year.

  For the occasion, Jules had created wine glasses etched with Spirit Canyon’s signature waterfall. She was filling them with a rich-looking cabernet while Duncan stood by with a bottle of white, several ladies opting into his line. Maybe they preferred white, or maybe they preferred his dark wavy hair, killer smile, and honey-smooth voice.

  Zo made a beeline toward Jules. “Can I help?”

  “I’m good.” Jules shooed her away. “You go mingle. There’s a guy in a red shirt who looks like he could use some company.”

  Zo turned around. The guy in the red shirt was Max. It always surprised her to see him out of his park ranger uniform. Though he looked the same, a sandy crew cut and broad shoulders, he seemed less ready to rescue a trapped animal or put out a rogue campfire. Seeing her glance, he gave her an easy smile.

  Jules gave her a glass of red wine. “Here, take this.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Zo.

  “If I need you, I’ll holler.” Jules was certain. “Go.”

  A skeleton in a coffin sat up as Zo walked by a table, startling her. She laughed at herself for being spooked by the decoration.

  Max laughed, too. “That guy is creepy, right?”

  “I get the feeling the whole place is full of spirits, and not just the alcohol kind,” said Zo. While Happy Camper was filled with cutesy Halloween décor and quotes, Jules’s store had a different feeling. Behind a fringe curtain, Jules did tarot-card and palm readings. She also held séances. The store was filled with a variety of ghost beads, dream catchers, and voodoo dolls for sale. Zo was wearing the mood ring she’d bought here last year. It was one of her favorite pieces of jewelry.

  “I bet she makes a killing at these events,” Max observed. “I saw one woman order half a dozen of those wine glasses.”

  “She’s always had an eye for business,” said Zo with admiration. “She knows what people want.” A customer chuckled at something Duncan said, catching Zo’s attention. He seemed to be doing fine. Better than fine. She decided to ask Max. “How’s Duncan? Are you here to check up on him?”

  “Believe it or not, I don’t spend my evenings policing the world.” Max took a drink of his beer, a local cream ale that left a soft foam on his top lip. Spirit Canyon’s brewery was very popular in the tristate area, and Jules sold gallons of it by the growler.

  Zo sipped her wine, saying nothing. She knew him too well to believe he was here for the wine event. He was drinking beer, for goodness’ sake.

  “Fine,” Max admitted. “I’m sort of checking up on him. After what Jules said about him handing out business cards, I’m worried about his job. I don’t want him to do something stupid and lose it. I figured I could help out if he needed it.”

  Zo noticed Max’s short beard, a handsome outline of his jawline. It was new, or perhaps a change for fall. His hair was mussed and a bit longer on top. Was he more worried about his friend than he let on? “Is Duncan in trouble?”

  Max eased her worry with a quick smile. “Duncan’s always in trouble.” He closed the space between them, talking quieter. “To be honest, he’s driving me crazy. Since he’s been out of work, he’s been writing his own songs, and they’re terrible.”

  Zo choked on a laugh.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” added Max. “He’s a great musician, and you know he’s my friend. But he’s been experimenting with country.” He shook his head. “It’s just not his thing.”

  It wasn’t Zo’s thing either. “I thought he was more of a rock-and-roll guy.”

  “He is,” said Max. “But he thinks country might be more marketable.”

  Maybe Jules is already rubbing off on him. People dug the Wild West, and that meant country music. But Spirit Canyon was eclectic, a mesh of thrill-seekers, nature-lovers, and cowboys. There was room for all kinds of music and musicians.

  “He’s been writing songs about pickup trucks,” Max explained. “He drives a Camaro.”

  Zo held back another bout of laughter. Max was a good guy, maybe too good sometimes. She wondered if he was having a hard time being honest with Duncan. “Have you tried talking to him?”

  He furrowed his brow, his blue eyes darker in the shadows. “What am I supposed to say? Your songs suck?” He shook his head. “That’s not going to inspire him, and despite appearances, he’s a sensitive guy. If this job doesn’t work out, he might be living with me permanently.”

  Duncan moved in after his music lessons disrupted neighbors in his apartment complex. The arrangement was supposed to be temporary, and it sounded as if it was time for him to move on, but how was he supposed to do that without a steadier income? Maybe Zo could mention something to Jules. She was walking in their direction right now, her floor-length sweater floating behind her like a cape of a sorceress.

  “Do me a favor, will you?” Jules asked. “Watch the store while I run home to get more wine glasses.”

  “Of course,” said Zo.

  “I have a woman who wants to get her Christmas shopping done early.” Jules lowered her voice. “She wants two dozen.”

  “Can I help you grab them?” asked Max.

  Jules laughed, taking off her Spirits & Spirits apron and putting it over Zo’s head. “Do I look like the kind of women who needs help carrying wine glasses?” Strong to the core, with arms to match, Jules could handle wine glasses—or anything else that came her way.

  “I’m just offering.” Max raised both hands in surrender.

  “And I’m just kidding,” answered Jules. “You can help Zo. You never know when Duncan will find a better offer and dash off with one of my patrons.”

  While Jules ran home, Zo and Max mingled with customers, who were enjoying the event. Duncan was enjoying himself, too, chatting with a group of young women. Whatever he said must have been hilarious, because every one of them was either laughing or smiling.

  Not one for group attention, Max struck up a conversation with a couple about their upcoming visit to Wind Cave. He told them about the different formations they could spot inside. Meanwhile, Zo refilled the bowls of snack mix at the counter, listening in to his informative tidbits. She loved his quiet passion for nature and was fully engaged in his descriptions when the door chimed, and Tiffany Snow walked in. With a quick sweep of the room, Tiffany grimaced. The event was obviously not her cup of tea—or glass of wine, for that matter.

  “Can I help you?” asked Zo.

  “Thank god, it’s you,” said Tiffany. “All the downtown stores are buying wreaths to display on their doors. I’m here to collect Jules’s payment.”

  Zo frowned. Jules hadn’t said
anything about a wreath. “Does she know you’re coming?”

  “No.” Tiffany blinked. “Why would she?”

  The woman wouldn’t give up the ghost. She was doggedly persistent, but this was taking it too far. “I admire your zeal,” Zo said. “I really do. But aren’t your kids supposed to be selling the wreaths? It seems like they’re missing out on an opportunity.”

  “My children are at home, asleep.” Tiffany flicked a blond curl over her shoulder. “Do you think I’d let them come in here? With this…this sorcery? It’s a devil’s workshop.”

  “Only if you want it to be.” Duncan appeared at Zo’s elbow as if by magic.

  Zo swallowed a laugh. Tiffany turned on her heel and stomped out of the store.

  Duncan raised a dark eyebrow. “Usually my lines have better results.”

  “I can imagine,” said Zo.

  “Should I try again?” Duncan leveled the question at her.

  It was tempting. Duncan appealed to her in more ways than one—well, primarily just one. He had a reputation for being a playboy, but she’d gotten to know him through Max, and he was a nice guy. Jules must have agreed, otherwise she wouldn’t have hired him.

  The door reopened, and Jules walked in with a box of glasses. She slid it on the counter. “I saw Tiffany leave in a huff. What was that about?”

  “Take a guess.” Zo took off her Spirits & Spirits apron and laid it on the counter.

  “Christmas wreaths?” answered Jules.

  “I stand corrected.” A smile played on Duncan’s lips. “You do have psychic powers, Jules.”

  Jules wasn’t amused. Unlike most women, she wasn’t smitten with his good looks and handled him like a well-used pilsner glass. “Help me wrap these.”

  While they packaged stemware, Zo chatted with Melissa Morris, who worked at the Visitor Center. She was excited about the costume party at Zo’s house on Halloween night. Zo was excited, too. It was fun to get together and celebrate the successes of the weekend. She’d begun the tradition at her original store and kept it up after changing addresses. It felt great being part of the local community.

  “What if I’m not a business owner?” asked Max, who’d overheard her conversation with Melissa. “Can I still come?”

  “Only if you dress like Smokey the Bear,” said Zo.

  He rubbed his light beard. “That can be arranged.”

  “Jules and I are going to dress like Bonnie and Clyde.” Finished packaging the glasses, Duncan handed the customer the box.

  Jules thanked the customer again for the purchase then joined the conversation. “Says who? You’re not a business owner.”

  Duncan pointed to Max. “He gets to come, and I work here.”

  Jules turned her brown eyes on Zo. “Is flirting and working the same thing? What do you think?”

  “If it results in a sale, I think so.” Zo chuckled. “But I have to tell you, he struck out with Tiffany a few minutes ago. She gave him the biggest brush-off I’ve ever seen.”

  “Maybe you’re losing your touch,” Max teased.

  “At least I have a touch,” countered Duncan.

  “I have a touch,” said Max. “A big old effective touch.”

  Zo winced. The way he described it didn’t sound very effective.

  Jules put her hand on Max’s shoulder. “In this one specific case, Duncan is right. You got no game.”

  Max looked pleadingly at Zo. “Tell them, Zo.”

  Tell them what? How they had gone from sparring partners to speaking acquaintances after solving a murder together on Memorial Day? A couple of times over the last five months, she thought they were growing closer, and then she’d wonder if she imagined the entire idea. He would say something about her tours or her kayaks or her motorcycle, and they’d be back to square one. “Max has game—the long game.”

  Jules and Duncan laughed at that.

  “Very funny,” said Max, but he was laughing, too. “That comment earned you a little rangerly advice during your Harvest Hike on Sunday. You know I’m signed up.”

  “Try it, and I’ll clog your glue gun,” warned Zo.

  Duncan gave Jules a confused look.

  “You don’t even want to know,” said Jules. “Come on. Help me clean up, guys.”

  The bus was gone and so were most of the customers. A young couple sat at a pub table, finishing a glass of wine. Wiping the counter, Zo thought they made it look easy. But from experience, she knew relationships took more than a good cabernet. Wine could only do so much to smooth the bumps in a relationship. Unfortunately, in her case, it didn’t do enough. Her boyfriends would say or do something that got up her guard, and she would break up with them before they really hurt her feelings. She saved herself a lot of headaches that way. Still, it would be nice to share a private moment with someone special at the end of the day.

  Zo placed her cleaning cloth on the bar. “I’m finished, Jules.”

  “Thanks for your help,” she said. “I’ll see you at the parade?”

  Zo nodded. “I’ll look for a woman smoking a cigar.”

  “I’ll be in a fedora,” said Duncan.

  “And I’ll be in a felt cap,” added Max.

  “See you tomorrow, guys.” They gave her a wave, and Zo started for home, the warm feeling of friendship fading fast.

  Outside, the wind had picked up, scattering curled leaves down the sidewalks. Somewhere a campfire burned, and the sweet smoke lingered in the air. With a fresh gust of wind at her back, Zo crossed under the yellow-blinking streetlight. Maybe it was the full moon, or maybe it was the myth of the canyon coming to life for Halloween. Whatever it was, something hastened her step, telling her to hurry.

  She focused on the charming downtown storefronts, trying not to let her imagination get away from her. It didn’t take much for it to invent an alternate story. The Cut Hut was running a sale on black hair dye, and Honey Buns was selling orange bread. Its iconic beehive was colored orange and black for the weekend, and the bees wore miniature ghost costumes. Spirit Canyon’s bookstore, the Cracked Spine, was decorated like a haunted house. The windows were flecked with black paint, cobwebs netting the corners. Inside, books were stacked into a staircase that led to the ceiling, and a skeleton read Bag of Bones while lounging in a rickety coffin. Pop and Shop, the gourmet popcorn store, was small but not to be outdone by the larger stores. It had the longest string of gold, orange, and brown popcorn she’d ever seen. It festooned the store in beautiful autumn colors.

  As cute as the decorations were, Zo didn’t relax until she came upon her own block. The night had grown cold, and she was glad to be home. In a few minutes, she would be tucked inside her warm bed with a book and maybe even her cat. Nothing sounded better.

  She noticed a life-sized witch propped up near the bales of hay on the sidewalk. Her face was hidden by her hat, but she was very lifelike. She even had shoes. Harley must have found the decoration in the forgotten box of décor Zo recently unearthed. Zo just hoped the witch didn’t cackle as she passed. Zo breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t.

  Zo took a couple more steps, then stopped. A sense of familiarity or déjà vu wouldn’t let her continue. She turned around. Despite her desire to pile into bed, she sensed something was wrong. She studied the decoration. That was it—the shoes. They were Marianne’s. She remembered the buckles. It couldn’t be.

  Zo bent down for a closer look. The long black skirt was the same, too. Zo’s hand shook as she reached out to lift up the hat. Marianne’s lifeless eyes peered back at her.

  She dropped the hat and screamed.

  Chapter Four

  Zo scanned the area for help. Buffalo Bill’s bar and grill was hopping, and she yelled out, but no one heard. A country band was blaring, and partiers were dancing under the patio warmers to the twangy beat. Cunningham was nowhere to be seen. Zo pulled out her pho
ne, her hands trembling. She dialed 9-1-1, and the operator assured her the police would be there right away.

  Zo tucked her phone in her pocket and waited. She knew Marianne was dead, but something pulled her back to the body, a feeling she had to obey. She glanced at the vacant eyes, pointed toward heaven. Shivering, she touched her wrist, hoping she was wrong. If Marianne could be resuscitated, she would try. She felt no pulse. Her fingers still on her wrist, Zo noticed a mark on her head. “You must have fallen…”

  I didn’t fall. I was hit.

  It was as if Marianne had said the words aloud. Zo’s eyes flew to hers, but they showed no signs of life. Zo must have imagined it. She shook off the voice, squinting at the patrol lights in the distance. She noted the sound of the sirens, thankful they were close. She was starting to doubt whether Marianne was dead. Giving her a quick once-over, Zo saw scratches on her arm. It looked as if she’d been in a tussle with someone. So she was hit. But who would hurt Marianne?

  Zo followed the scratch down to Marianne’s fist and swore it relaxed, revealing a piece of information. A paper was tucked inside. Shudders rocked Zo’s spine, but she took a deep breath and uncurled the fingers. It was a scrap of blue paper with a number, maybe a check. She didn’t have time to examine it, but something—or someone—told her it was important. A squad car squealed into a parking spot, and Zo snapped a quick picture and tucked her phone into her pocket. Standing, she waved to the officer to notify him of her location.

  She stopped mid-wave. It was Brady Merrigan, chief of police. His black leather cowboy hat was as recognizable as the sign outside of town. They’d tangled last Memorial Day when a local business owner was found dead at Spirit Canyon Lodge, the resort owned by her friend Beth. Now here was Zo with another body. He was going to kill her, and then he’d have two dead people to haul to the morgue.