Midnight Spells Murder

by Mary Angela

  Groups of happy partygoers munched snacks, drank cocktails, and chatted about the busy weekend, but to Zo, they were obstacles to finding George. She wouldn’t be able to enjoy herself until she found him. Trying to appear cheerful, she asked if they’d seen him, but it was always the same answer: no. He must have sneaked outside undetected, which itself was a feat. He had a way of making himself known. On a cool night such as this, he normally would have curled up on the lounger, close to the fireplace. But he wasn’t overly fond of people, and the couch was full of guests. It was no wonder he hadn’t lingered.

  As the minutes wore on, Zo couldn’t focus on her guests or the party, and she was glad when the first business owners left. Others followed quickly. Patrick Merrigan gave her a hearty handshake, thanking her for a fun evening. Nikki joined him, saying it was the best adult Halloween party she’d ever been to. Cunningham said they should do it again for Thanksgiving, minus the costumes.

  Max was still manning the bonfire, and she hurried down the stairs to help him extinguish the flames. Not that he needed help, she smiled to herself. He was Smokey the Bear; he knew the perils of forest fires. She brought him a bucket of water.

  “The camp cones were a hit.” Max doused the fire with water. “I’m going to tell our outreach ranger about them. He’s always looking for campfire snacks for kids.”

  “Yeah…” Zo checked under her pine tree. “I’ll get you the recipe.”

  Max mixed the embers and dirt with a shovel. “Peanuts, M&Ms, and marshmallows. Even I don’t need a recipe to remember that. What are you looking for?”

  She joined him at the pit. “George.”

  He poured more water on the fire. “Where has he gone this time?”

  “I’m worried, Max. I don’t want him outside tonight.”

  He stopped stirring, and their eyes met. The blue sparkle was like a clear path home, reassuring and bright. “We’ll find him. I’ll help you.”

  “It’s late,” she said. “I know you have to go.”

  “I’m not Cinderella,” said Max. “I’m not going to turn into a pumpkin.” He held his hand over the wood.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You know Smokey’s rule: If it’s too hot to touch, it’s too soon to leave.” He stood. “This is okay. Let’s find that tomcat.”

  His confidence brought her a breath of relief. Never had it felt so good to have help. He was an expert when it came to animals and had their best interests at heart. He didn’t shrug her off or utter some platitude, like, he’ll be back. She was grateful he was taking George’s disappearance as seriously as she was.

  “Where did you find his collar?” asked Max, opening her gate. George wasn’t in the backyard. They would need to expand their search.

  “On the deck,” said Zo. “It was so weird. Like it leaped off the ledge to get my attention.”

  “Like a wind gust?”

  “Like a ghost,” Zo answered.

  Max stopped. They were in front of Happy Camper, and a grin touched his lips.

  “I’m sure you don’t believe in ghosts,” said Zo. They continued past the store and up the hill. “I’m not sure I did until Marianne died. But since then, I’ve experienced feelings I can’t explain. Tonight, I felt as if Marianne—or someone—was warning me of George’s absence. Ask Duncan. He saw it.”

  “I’m not sure he’s a reliable witness,” said Max with a laugh.

  “Laugh all you want, but I trust my intuition.”

  He stopped chuckling.

  “Let me guess. You don’t believe in intuition, right?”

  They stood at the edge of a row of dark ponderosa pines, and Max squinted into the inky night. “I believe in things I can see and touch. Intuition is a little fuzzy for me. Maybe I just don’t have any.”

  “Intuition is fuzzy—it’s a feeling. You can’t touch it, but it’s there, like a song. It leads you in the right direction.” A breeze came up at their backs, underscoring her words and pushing them toward the forest. She quirked a brow at him. “See?”

  “That’s called October,” Max explained.

  The man didn’t have an ounce of intuition in his body. Rules had taken him everywhere. She knew other paths. “What about animals? Animal instinct? You believe in that, don’t you?”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “It’s what keeps animals alive. It’s how they mate.”

  He turned to face her. “You’re thinking of pheromones. Those are chemical signals.”

  “Whatever.” Zo had never been as good with science as English.

  “Pheromones are so small, like tiny particles. They’ve evaded scientists for years. But you’re right about one thing. They draw the male to the female, by the wind.” A fresh breeze stirred her hair, and he brushed it back from her face. Electricity charged the space between them. “But you can’t see them, pheromones, I mean. It just happens… I’m not explaining it right.”

  Zo didn’t need an explanation. She knew what she felt and trusted her feelings. “That’s what I’ve been saying. Some things are beyond our explanation.” A twig snapped in the distance, and she turned in its direction. “George!”

  “Let’s go.” He took her hand and led her into the forest.

  Dry pine needles crunched beneath their feet, and an owl hooted somewhere in the forest. Away from the last drops of streetlight, the night grew darker, murkier. Despite George being an expert on the area, Zo was afraid for him. What if he was lost on a night such as tonight? A night when even nice children played tricks. She couldn’t bear to think of it. He’d become family to her—maybe a cantankerous relative—but family all the same. She had to find him. She wouldn’t stop until she did.

  The moon broke free from a cloud, lighting the footpath, but then succumbed to another cloud moments later. Max turned on his oversized flashlight, checking the trees, while Zo called George’s name. A half hour later, there was still no sign of him.

  “Maybe he’s gone back to your house,” said Max.

  Zo shook her head. “I told Jules to call me if he showed up.”

  “You might be out of range.”

  Zo checked her phone. Not surprisingly, she didn’t have service. Even in town, it could be sketchy. In the canyon, it was worse. You could go for hours—or days—without a signal. “You’re right. Maybe we should head back.”

  “Just a sec,” said Max, craning his neck. “Do you see that?”

  At first, she didn’t. But as she took a few steps forward, she noticed a reddish orange glow in the clearing. Flames stretched into the night sky, and the smell was unmistakable. Someone hadn’t put out their campfire, or if they had, they hadn’t done a good job of it. Max broke into a run, and she followed.

  Twigs popped and snapped as Max stomped out the fire. It took a couple minutes for him to bury the flames, the bright red blaze turning dull amber. As flames changed to smoke, Zo noticed something unusual in the ashes. In the pile of wood was the remains of a book, a book whose cover she recognized immediately.

  “Wait,” Zo said. “I know that book. It’s Marianne’s.”

  Max kicked the singed book to the side with his foot, and Zo bent down to examine it. It was one from the signing. It had a Signed by the Author sticker on it.

  “Careful,” Max warned. “It’s still hot.”

  That much was clear from the smoke plumes. She poked it with a stick, opening to the title page. She and Max exchanged a look. It was signed to Roberto, with love.

  Out of all the people at the book signing, Roberto was the last person Zo suspected of throwing Marianne’s book in the flames. By all accounts, they were a happy couple. At the store, they shared easy conversation, and Roberto was good to Emily. Plus he owned a successful transport company. He had no need for Marianne’s money. Even if he did, he wasn’t included in her w
ill. So what was his book doing in the flames? Zo would ask him when she brought it back to him.

  “I can’t believe Roberto would be so irresponsible,” spat Max. “I’m going to have a chat with him about fires and the proper way to extinguish one.”

  Perfect. Zo could tag along. “I’ll come with. I want to ask him why he destroyed his autographed copy of Marianne’s book. It had to be one of the last things she gave him. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Unless he killed her,” said Max. “Then it’s a reminder of her love for him. He’d want to get rid of it.”

  She gave him a second glance. She wasn’t used to him making unsupported claims. Flushed with passion for the forest, he was mad as heck and his jaw clenched. She decided she liked the side of Max she was seeing tonight. “True. We’ll ask him tomorrow.”

  “I’d ask him tonight if it weren’t so late,” he ground out, walking toward the tree line. “Plus, we still need to find George.”

  Zo took the book in her hands. It was warm to the touch but no longer smoking. Out of nowhere, a strange gust of wind flipped the pages to the middle of the book. Page 100, to be exact. She dropped it, and Max spun around, seeing the book at her feet.

  “Are you okay? I knew that was still hot.”

  She wasn’t about to tell him what happened. He would explain it away as the wind. But they were still deep in the forest, sheltered by towering trees. The wind rarely came in this far. She picked up the book. “I’m fine. Let’s head back. Maybe George’s home by now.”

  When they returned, the only people left were Duncan and Jules. Surprisingly, they were sharing a glass of wine by the fireplace. What was next, a truce? Seeing Duncan with his arm across the back of the couch made it seem possible. Zo cast a backward glance at Max.

  “That’s a good sign, right?” Max whispered as he followed her up the stairs. “Maybe she won’t fire him.”

  Jules heard their footsteps—or whispering. “There you are. Did you find George?”

  Zo shook her head. “I guess this means he hasn’t come home. Did Beth and Jack leave?”

  “Right after you,” said Jules. “There was a problem with one of the guest’s plumbing. They had to get back to the lodge.”

  “She left the pies, though.” Duncan held up a plate of pie crumbs.

  Zo and Max joined them at the fireplace. Spotting the bottle of wine on the table, Zo went to find two more glasses.

  “What’s in your hand?” asked Jules. Her brown eyes flickered amber in the firelight, and Zo had no problem envisioning her as a witch, at least on Halloween, with the full moon high in the sky.

  “It’s Marianne’s book.” Zo placed it on the table. “We found it in the middle of a campfire. Max will fill you in on the details.”

  She returned with the glasses and poured the wine. Max was finishing the story.

  “Roberto’s book.” Jules tapped her wine glass with her long black nails. “Makes sense. They say nine times out of ten the boyfriend’s the murderer.”

  “They say that about husbands, not boyfriends,” Duncan countered. “Roberto’s a nice guy. I gave his son guitar lessons two years ago. The kid was a brat, but Roberto was nice. A really hard worker.”

  “I know that,” said Jules. “I dated him.”

  “Is there anyone in this town you haven’t dated?” Duncan feigned puzzlement. “I’m starting to feel left out.”

  Jules set her wine down with a plunk. “You are skating on such thin ice. Paper thin.”

  Zo covered her mouth to keep from smiling.

  “There goes the truce,” whispered Max.

  Unfazed by Jules’s warning, Duncan continued. “Anyway, Roberto bought his son a Fender guitar, and the kid complained because it was used. Like I said, an entitled brat.”

  “I don’t get it.” Jules shook her head. “How can a kid with a dad like that grow up to be such a slacker?”

  “Roberto’s trying to save Alex the trouble he went through,” said Max. “The problem with that is it creates more headaches than it solves.”

  Zo sympathized with Roberto. If she had kids, she’d try to protect them. But maybe he’d sheltered Alex too much. There was something to be said for old-fashioned hard work.

  Jules stood. “It’s getting late.” She gave Zo a small hug. “I hope you find George.”

  “Thanks,” said Zo. “I’m sure he’ll show up any minute.”

  “I’ll walk you back,” said Duncan.

  “Not necessary.” Jules patted her false sidearm. “I’m packing iron tonight.”

  “It kind of is,” said Duncan. “I forgot my key at the store.”

  Jules let out a groan and marched down the stairs, Duncan in tow like a reprimanded child.

  Chapter Fifteen

  If Zo slept poorly when George was in the bed, it was nothing compared to when he wasn’t there. Every hour or so, she imagined she heard him and would jump out of bed to check the deck door. A few times, she even went down the stairs and looked into bushes. When morning finally dawned and he hadn’t returned, she was beside herself. She spilled the coffee grounds, and then, when the coffee was brewed, dropped her cup. She told herself she was being silly. George was an outdoor cat. He could be gone for days at a time. But this fall had been different. He stayed closer to home, and they, too, were closer. At least she thought they were, until he took off last night.

  After a muddled start to Sunday morning, she enjoyed a full mug of coffee on the deck. The sky was cool pink, a new day and month dawning. The trees in the canyon cut a jagged line across the horizon, sharp and saw-toothed against the smooth sky. November meant snow would top the trees soon, softening the sharp edges with powdered white fluff. Winter was like that, insulating the town of Spirit Canyon like thick wool. Zo could hardly wait for the holidays—and holiday shoppers. She had so much planned for the store.

  Which reminded her, today was the Harvest Hike at Happy Camper. She and Max would need to talk to Roberto about the burned book before the hike. The idea of seeing Max again gave her pause. Last night felt different, but she couldn’t pinpoint how. If something had changed, she couldn’t articulate what.

  She finished her coffee and went inside. Probably nothing. The moon, the stars, the forest—it was a peculiar evening. Her eyes fell to Marianne’s book on the kitchen table. She thumbed through the charred pages. Ashes crumbled onto the antique wood as she flipped to page 100. It was the chapter on poisonous relationships, like the one Marianne had with her ex-husband, Jake. Had he spotted himself among these pages? Zo didn’t know him well, but from what she saw at the book signing, he seemed uninterested in Marianne and the event. She could still picture him, leaning against the car with a cigarette in his mouth. If anyone was angry, it was Roberto. Which gave Zo another reason to seek him out.

  After breakfast and a shower—and another look around for George—she rode her motorcycle over to Max’s house. She needed wind power to clear her head after the foggy night and took her time cruising the quiet streets. Plus, she might spot George.

  When she pulled up to Max’s bungalow, Duncan was strumming his six string on the porch. She killed the engine. Max was right: country wasn’t his forte. But with jeans and bare feet, who cared? She would have paid for that concert any day. She had a feeling the rest of the women in town would, too.

  She took off her helmet. “Hi Duncan. Is Max inside?”

  Duncan put down the guitar and came over to the bike. “He’s in the shower. I like your bike. How about a ride?”

  “Now?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Do I need to make an appointment?”

  Zo laughed. “I guess not, but I do rent it out at Happy Camper, if you’re interested.”

  “I had a Harley Davidson, a Road King Classic.” He bent down to check out the equipment. “I had to sell it when money got tight. I miss riding.” />
  Zo understood. The canyon byway was the most beautiful drive in Black Hills Forest. Seeing it by motorcycle was like nothing else. “It’s not a Harley, but get your shoes. We’ll go for a ride while Max finishes showering.”

  Duncan rejoined her a few minutes later in black boots and a black helmet. They didn’t have time for a ride through the canyon, but she could get to the scenic pass within minutes.

  He hopped on, and when he put his hands on her waist, she jumped a little. She heard him chuckle through his helmet. He could laugh all he wanted. She doubted there was a woman in town who wouldn’t startle at the notion of Duncan’s hands on her hips.

  Soon she forgot about his hands and everything else. Racing up one hill and down another was thrilling. Hugging the curves of Black Mountain Pass, she enjoyed the view of the exposed rock, the forest, and the lake down below. It felt good to go fast, to clear her mind of the oppressive worry about George. Nature centered her, and she was relieved to let go of the weight if even for a few minutes.

  “You’re a good driver, Zo Jones,” he hollered. “Scary, but good.”

  She laughed, taking odd pleasure in the ability to frighten him. He held on tighter as she descended the last hill, cruising into town a tick above the speed limit. She slowed down as she approached the first green stoplight and way down as she approached Max’s house. He was standing outside. In his green uniform and shiny boots, he looked very official, too official.

  “Uh-oh,” said Duncan as they approached the driveway. “It looks like you’re getting a ticket.”

  “Can he do that?”

  Duncan didn’t have time to answer. Max was walking toward the bike.

  “You were speeding,” accused Max.

  “I wasn’t,” Zo answered automatically.

  “Oh yeah?” Max gestured to Duncan’s hands, still wrapped tightly around her waist. “Why the vice grip then?”

  Duncan hopped off the bike and removed his helmet, smoothing his black hair. Unlike Max’s crew cut, his was long and fell over his brow. “For safety purposes, I assure you.” He gave Zo a wink. “That ride made me want to get my bike out of hock. Thank you for the motivation. I’m going to write another song.”