Midnight Spells Murder

by Mary Angela

  “Any time,” she said.

  Duncan handed the helmet to Max. “You’re going to want this.”

  After Duncan left, Max said, “You texted you were on your way.”

  “I was. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “After a detour with Duncan.”

  “You were in the shower, and he wanted a ride.” She flipped open her visor. “I was five miles over the speed limit, tops.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what?” He couldn’t be jealous, could he? Duncan was a playboy, a good-looking playboy, but a playboy all the same. He might send a thrill down her spine, but Zo would never get involved with him. She took one last look at his backside as he shut the door of the bungalow. At least she didn’t think she would.

  “Forget it,” he said. “Do you have the book?”

  She pointed to her bag.

  He fastened the helmet and jumped on the bike. Unlike Duncan, he kept his hands on the seat handle. So much for last night. She plugged Roberto’s address into her phone and placed it on the cellphone mount. Nothing had changed between them. He was still the man who followed every rule, and she was still the woman who did not.

  The directions took her to the posh neighborhood of Seven Acres, though Zo was pretty sure each property had only an acre of land. The large houses were surrounded by lush hills. Roberto’s drive was lined with fading yellow, red, and orange rose bushes, which was appropriate considering the name of the street was Rose Lane. Zo parked the bike in front of the fourth stall of the towering two story, shook out her hair, and hung the helmet on the back of the bike.

  “I didn’t have a chance to ask, did George come home?” Max rang the doorbell.

  “No,” answered Zo. “I searched again before I left.”

  “Don’t worry.” Max gave her a sympathetic look. “He will.”

  Alex opened the door. He was dressed in lounge pants and no shirt, and his hair hadn’t been combed. Zo wondered if it had been a late night. Halloween usually was in Spirit Canyon, especially for young people.

  “Hi Alex,” Zo greeted. “Is your dad here?”

  Alex didn’t bother with a response. He hollered from the doorway. “Dad!”

  Roberto came to the door a moment later, inviting them inside. “Your phone call sounded important, Max. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

  “It is important,” said Max. “Thanks for letting us drop by.”

  “No problem.” Roberto motioned to his left. “Let’s sit in the living room.”

  They followed him into the living room, where everything matched, from the curtains to the furniture to the floor rug. It was collage of grays, giving off an air of clean coolness. Zo bet the look was achieved with the help of an interior decorator. Her eyes fell to a silver picture frame of a young family on the console table behind the couch. It had to be Alex’s mother, for they shared the same features, including a high forehead. Next to it was an envelope from a university on top of a small stack of mail. It was only the first of November. Why was he getting mail for next year already?

  “Can I get you something to drink?” asked Roberto. He took the chair across from the sofa, where Max and Zo sat. “Coffee?”

  “No thanks,” said Max.

  “Congratulations on your winning pumpkin, by the way.” Roberto crossed a soft leather shoe over his knee. Despite that it was Sunday, he wore khakis, a polo, and dress loafers. It appeared he always dressed for work. Zo understood the commitment it took to run a business. She, herself, was rarely away from her small shop.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It was a nice surprise.”

  An awkward silence fell over the room, and Roberto turned to Max, whose hair was sticking up more than usual because of the helmet. Combined with his perturbed glare, it gave him a devil-may-care look. Zo had the feeling, however, that Roberto would find out in a moment just how much Max cared about the forest. The look from last night was back. His eyes changed from sky blue to stormy gray.

  “So how can I help you?” Roberto asked.

  “Last night, after the Halloween parade, did you go into the park?” Max’s question was tinged with accusation.

  “The park?” The question surprised Roberto. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that. “No, I came right home. Why?”

  “We found something of yours.” Max nodded at Zo, and she pulled out the book. A few papery flakes fell on the light-colored rug.

  “That’s Marianne’s book,” said Roberto. “It’s…burned. Where did you find it?”

  “In a bonfire—a bonfire on the verge of rekindling.” Max leaned in. “If I hadn’t got there when I did, Spirit Canyon might look very different this morning.”

  “You’ve got it wrong,” Roberto shot back. “I wasn’t in the park, and I know how dangerous fires are this time of year. I would never leave one burning. That’s not my book.”

  Zo opened to the title page. “The inscription says otherwise.”

  “It can’t be…” Roberto’s brown eyes softened as he reached for the book across the coffee table. His hands were proof of a lifetime of hard work. He studied the print, passing his thumb over the smudged words.

  “I could arrest you for attempted arson.” Max focused on his reaction. “The judges around here aren’t forgiving to people who start forest fires.”

  Roberto looked up from the book. Max’s tone had put him on the defensive, and the two were locked in a silent standoff. As an ex-journalist, Zo knew nothing shut down a productive discussion faster than flinging accusations.

  She changed the direction of the conversation. “We don’t mean to upset you, Roberto. We know how much you cared for Marianne. Let’s start over. If you weren’t in the park, did you leave your book somewhere? Is it possible somebody took it?”

  “Why would someone steal his book?” Max asked her. “Its value is purely sentimental.”

  Zo ignored Max. “Maybe your son? Could we ask him?”

  He lay the book on the coffee table and stood. “I’ll get him.”

  “Why are you giving him a way out of this?” whispered Max. “We know it’s his book. It has his name on it.”

  “Didn’t you see how shocked he was?” she said. “It might be his book, but I don’t think he threw it into the fire.”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Intuition again, right?”

  “Right.” Zo twisted for the envelope on the console table behind the couch. “Besides, I saw something interesting when we came in.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “You can’t open someone’s mail. It’s a federal offense.”

  “It’s already open.” She took out a letter and scanned it quickly. “It’s from a coach on the water polo team. He thanks Roberto for his support and says he looks forward to having Alex on the team.” She glanced up at Max. “It doesn’t make sense. How does he know Alex will be on the team? I doubt the college has sent out formal acceptance letters yet.”

  “Maybe the Ivy Leagues do things differently.”

  “Maybe,” agreed Zo. “Or maybe Roberto pulled some strings.” She turned over the letter. “This isn’t on university stationery, just stuck in a university envelope.”

  Hearing footsteps, she shoved the letter in the envelope and tossed it back on the pile. Alex was pulling on a tank top as he entered the living room. Roberto motioned for him to sit in the chair next to his. Alex landed with a grunt.

  “Tell them you weren’t in the park last night,” said Roberto. “You didn’t burn the book.”

  Alex’s young skin had one wrinkle—a smirk. “I wasn’t in the park last night. I didn’t burn the book.”

  “This isn’t a joke,” fumed Max. “So wipe that smug smile off your face.”

  Roberto’s eyebrows knitted together in an angry glare at Max. Zo knew the look of protective father, and that was it. She interven
ed before Max could say anything else. “Maybe you know someone who had a bonfire last night? Not far from town?”

  Alex crossed his arms.

  “Alex, answer Zo’s question,” Roberto demanded. He was protective but also authoritative. He would make his son talk.

  “Some people from the high school were having a bonfire after the parade,” Alex informed them. “They were going to play Midnight Man. I didn’t go.”

  “He was home all night with me,” claimed Roberto.

  That you know of. “Is it possible one of the kids got ahold of your dad’s book? Took it from your house?”

  “I doubt it,” said Alex, bored. His eyes wandered to his phone, where he checked his social media.

  “Then how do you think it got there?” asked Max.

  “Marianne was a witch.” Alex shrugged. “Maybe she flew it there.”

  “Alex,” warned Roberto.

  He looked up from his phone. “What? It’s not as if she hid it. She embraced it. You were at the talk, Dad.”

  And so were you. You were being a jerk then, too.

  “This book was in perfect condition,” said Roberto. “It was prominently displayed on the bookshelf until yesterday. It’s obvious to me that someone burned it on Halloween as some sort of cruel joke.”

  It was obvious to Zo that person was Alex, but Roberto was blinded by love for his son. He couldn’t believe he’d do anything so callous. Zo could. He’d acted the same way at the book signing: spoiled, bratty, and rude. Did he think Marianne was trying to take his mother’s place? Was that why he was hostile toward her? “I couldn’t help but notice the family picture.” She nodded toward the console table. “That’s Alex?”

  Roberto smiled, the warm kind smile for which he was known. The gray flecks in his hair flickered as he turned toward the frame. He looked more like himself. “Yes, when he was a year old. His mother died shortly afterwards, bless her soul. She was killed in a car accident.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Zo.

  “Me, too,” Max added.

  “She was a professor at Black Mountain. Very smart.” He gave his son an affectionate swat on the knee. “Like Alex. He inherited her smarts, luckily for us.”

  “Can I go now?” asked Alex.

  “As long as you promise to ask your friends about the book,” Roberto insisted.

  “Sure.”

  Roberto watched his son walk out of the room. “I know how he seems, but kids today are different. They don’t know how to communicate. It’s the technology, the smartphones.”

  “If you talk to any of his friends, let us know.” Max stood. “I’d like a few words with them about fire safety.”

  And a few words about Marianne Morgan, Zo added silently. She stood also.

  “Do you mind if I keep the book?” asked Roberto. “It’s mine, and I’d like to see about having it repaired.”

  “I need it for evidence,” said Max. “In regards to the fire.”

  Roberto reluctantly handed him the book. A second later, Max dropped it, and it landed on the coffee table with a plunk. Zo reached for it.

  “Leave it,” said Max. “I…I don’t think it will hurt if Roberto keeps it.”

  Zo wondered about his change of mind but said nothing. She thanked Roberto for his time before they left.

  Putting on her helmet, Zo said, “Are you going to tell me what that was about? Back there with the book?”

  “No, I’m not.” Max got onto the back of the bike. “You’re just going to have to use your intuition.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  After dropping Max off, Zo made lunch at home. Then she changed clothes for the Harvest Hike. The hike was a one-and-a-half-mile trail to Spirit Canyon Falls, the popular waterfall pictured on postcards. She tossed on her Take A Hike long-sleeved shirt with a plaid vest and orange hiking boots. In her backpack, she tucked in staples including a map, compass, and first-aid kit. The writing paper, for journaling, was downstairs in the store. The group would pause near the lower observation deck to write. They would add the sheets to their scrapbooks when they returned to Happy Camper. She couldn’t wait to see Max’s entry.

  If he didn’t like the journaling exercise, it would be his own fault, she mused as she hitched her backpack over her shoulder and locked the door. He was the one who signed up. His reasoning still evaded her. Did he think she was unqualified to lead the hike? She would disabuse him of that notion today. She knew her limits and would never put a group of tourists in danger. Strenuous hikes and trails, the ones deeper in the woods, she left to professionals. Her hikes were recreational and usually involved a theme or holiday. This one was based on gratitude and perfect for November.

  “Where do you want the Gratitude Tree?” Harley asked when Zo came through the door. Always on task, she was busy switching out Halloween décor.

  “Near the front window,” Zo answered. “Where people can easily get to it.” The Gratitude Tree was a big hit with her customers last year. They wrote what they were thankful for on gold, brown, and orange pieces of paper. By the end of November, the bare branches would be covered with “leaves” of gratitude.

  “I set up the scrapbook table in the back corner.” Harley wore a gray cotton jumpsuit and army boots that matched her long-sleeved shirt. “I couldn’t find the glue guns.”

  “I’ll get them,” said Zo. “They’re in the back.” She’d just finished laying out the supplies when Max arrived.

  “You’re early,” she said.

  “I wanted to remind you about the Trip Plan,” said Max. “Did you complete it?”

  Dang it. With everything going on, she’d completely forgotten. She rummaged for it in the paper stack beneath the counter.

  “You didn’t lose it, did you?”

  She glanced up. The green vest he was wearing made his eyes look the same color as the forest pine trees. For a moment, she forgot what she was doing. Then his brow furrowed, and she remembered. The Trip Plan. She found it under a flyer for this year’s Holidazzle, which reminded her. She needed to get moving on her “Spirit of the Season” column. “Here it is.”

  “It’s incomplete.”

  She pulled out a folder. “I know, but I have all the signups right here.”

  “In an emergency, it’s nice to have quick access to the information.” Max grabbed a pen out of the holder. The daisy on top looked hysterical in his large hand. “I’ll finish it before we leave. That way you’ll have an example to follow.”

  “Thank you.” She wasn’t sure she meant it. She didn’t like him meddling in her business, or giving her more work to do. Hers was a one-woman operation, two-person on nights and weekends. If she could embed the form online, it might work. Right now it was just another piece of paperwork she didn’t want to complete. But she believed in trying everything at least once.

  When all ten hikers had arrived, she informed them of the plan. The group started off toward the woods, in the direction of the trailhead. The curvy path was cool and covered in pine needles. Towering evergreens surrounded them, shading the trail. As they walked, Zo told them a little bit about wildlife in the area, including bison, mountain goats, bighorn sheep, turkeys, and woodchucks. Max was quick to jump in and add mountain lions to the list of animals. Zo noticed the group huddled a little closer after the mention.

  They came to a creek, and Zo allowed everyone a few moments to rest or take pictures. What had they observed so far? Could they capture it with a photo? It was a perfect opportunity to fill their scrapbooks later. She also encouraged them to hydrate during the break. If anyone felt hungry, she had energy bars in her backpack.

  Max sat down next to her on a bench. “I admit, the hike’s a lot different than I thought.”

  “How?” Surrounded by women in their thirties, forties, and fifties, she could see one major difference. He was the only guy on the trip.r />
  He shrugged. “I’ve hiked this trail a million times, but it’s not the same. The pace, the little tidbits. I’m enjoying it more this time.”

  “Thanks,” said Zo, smiling. “That means a lot.”

  For the rest of the journey, she pondered Max’s compliment. She was relieved he was enjoying himself. He didn’t mention any other dangerous animals, and when they reached the lower observation deck of the waterfall, he didn’t caution them about the slippery rocks. Zo did that. She’d seen overzealous tourists fall into the water while taking selfies. Instead, she encouraged them to find a quiet spot on the bridge or a rock, listen to the sounds of the spray, and think about what they were most thankful for right now. As she journaled, one idea monopolized her pages: Spirit Canyon. Houses changed, tourists came and went, but Spirit Canyon remained the same. Ruggedly beautiful, life-giving, and inspirational, it signified home to a girl who didn’t have a permanent address. It filled her cup with daily gratitude.

  A hiker asked a question about a bird, and Zo followed her to the bridge. She listened to the description, then took the hiker’s binoculars to see for herself. Perched near the top of the waterfall was a majestic bird of prey native to the area.

  “It’s a red-tailed hawk,” said Zo, peering through the lenses. “See its dark head, white throat, and red tail? The curved beak—” She stopped talking. On a lower shelf, something orange caught her eye. Too large to be a rodent and too furry to be a land animal, it was out of place. Her heart fell to her stomach. George! As if feeling her eyes on him, he turned his head and meowed. “Go get the ranger,” Zo said to the hiker. “Please, hurry.”

  Max was there in an instant. “What is it?”

  Only then did she pull her eyes away from the binoculars. She gave them to Max. “It’s George.” She heard his breath catch in his throat. It was the scariest sound in the world. It confirmed George was in danger.

  “Don’t worry,” he said with certainty. “I can get to him.”