Open for Murder, page 1
Deep in the heart of touristy small-town Spirit Canyon, South Dakota, former journalist Zo Jones runs the Happy Camper gift shop, where she sells everything from locally made souvenirs to memorabilia. She even rents out mountain bikes, and dabbles in the adventure industry—and sleuthing . . .
It’s Memorial Day weekend in Spirit Canyon, and for Zo that means the return of summer shoppers. It also means the return of her good friend Beth, who’s moved back to the area to reopen her family’s premier hotel, Spirit Canyon Lodge. Beth and Zo spent many childhood summers there and Zo can’t wait to reconnect and celebrate the Grand Opening. But the festivities go from bad to worse when a power outage knocks out the lights—and morning reveals a competitor’s dead body found on the premises . . .
Soon enough, Beth is the prime suspect in the suspicious death. Fortunately, Zo isn’t afraid to put her investigative skills to work and prove her friend’s innocence. To start digging for information, she appeals to Max Harrington, a local Forest Ranger and unlikely ally. Though they’ve argued about Happy Camper’s tours, in this case they agree on one thing: Beth isn’t a murderer. Stranger things have happened than their collaboration. After all, this is Spirit Canyon. But as the list of suspects grows, Zo will have to keep her guard up if she doesn’t want to be the next lodge guest to check out . . .
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Books by Mary Angela
Open for Murder
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Open for Murder
A Happy Camper Mystery
Mary Angela
LYRICAL UNDERGROUND
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Contents
Books by Mary Angela
Open for Murder
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Zo Jones’s S’more Bar Recipe
Acknowledgments
Meet the Author
Copyright
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
LYRICAL UNDERGROUND BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Mary Honerman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.
Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: November 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-1069-8 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-5161-1069-2 (ebook)
First Print Edition: November 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-1072-8
ISBN-10: 1-5161-1072-2
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
To my mom, for all the stories.
Chapter One
Zo Jones pulled open the door to her deck, convinced she’d seen her cat, George, sauntering along the back fence. My cat—right, thought Zo. If he was my cat, he’d come home. The orange-and-white fur ball had been a menace ever since she’d adopted him from the shelter six months ago. First, he shredded her one good chair, then contracted an expensive ear infection, and after he was cured, he took off at the first sign of spring. Zo was starting to think he didn’t like her. Pausing in the warm sunshine, she couldn’t completely blame him. The nice weather was giving her spring fever, too. Like the tourists, she wanted to be outside, enjoying the canyon.
In the heart of Black Hills National Forest, the canyon was the reason most tourists came to Spirit Canyon, the small town named for the landmark. They filled up on food, gas, and souvenirs before taking the twisty drive into one of the most beautiful byways of the hills. Zo had been here so long she could have been numb to its beauty. But she wasn’t. Mornings such as these still had the ability to move her, and she stood for a while staring into the distance. Like a paintbrush dabbed in gold, the sun moved across the treetops, highlighting the jagged forest cutting along the bright blue ridge of sky.
Hearing a sound at the fence, Zo walked down the deck steps into her tiny backyard, her flip-flops slapping against her feet. As the owner of Happy Camper, an eclectic gift shop, she had no need to dress up. She wore short shorts, a long sweater, and silver earrings that hung past her shaggy inverted bob. She also wore a lovely blue scarf, one of many she splurged on at the local Cut Hut. Today’s creation, tied into a headband, fell to her shoulders, brushing the Archer tattoo on her right shoulder. She was a Sagittarius.
The gate creaked as she pushed it open. If George had been there, he’d heard her and was gone. Instead, Dr. Russell Cunningham, an English professor at Black Mountain College, greeted her. Bent down near the side of his house and wearing a straw hat and leather gloves, he looked a little like a garden gnome, wrinkled but in a cute way. Unfortunately, this garden gnome talked—a lot.
“Lost your cat again, Zo?” he said. His voice was like sandpaper, rough from overuse in lectures.
“I’ve decided he’s not really my cat. He’s the neighborhood’s cat.” She dislodged a rock from her sandal. “Have you seen him?”
“He’s been here.” He pointed a leather-gloved finger toward a struggling patch of green. “Obviously.”
She shrugged. She didn’t see anything except Cunningham’s poor attempt at a garden. He thought all English professors should garden in the summer, probably because of something he read or something a dead author said. What he was good at was drinking, late and often. He made the best rum cocktail—he called it The Hemingway—she’d ever tasted. “I thought you were giving up gardening after last year’s fiasco.”
Squinting into the sun, he readjusted his straw hat so he could see her better. “Those were bad seeds. Ms. Mork sold them to me on purpose. She’s always been keen on me.”
Cunningham was under the delusion that all women in Spirit Canyon over the age of fifty-five had a crush on him. He was handsome, in an eccentric sort of way. He had a lot of white hair and crystal blue eyes full of expression. “If that’s true, why would she sell you bad seeds?”
“So I’d come back, naturally,” said Cunningham, smiling.
“Naturally.”
“If I see your cat,” he said, “I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Cunningham.” She kept walking down the hill, to the front of her story-and-a-half cedar cabin, which also functioned as her business. Happy Camper, distinguishable by its sign showing a Volkswagen van and colorful peace symbol, was below her upstairs living quarters. She sold locally made gifts, souvenirs, and memorabilia. She also rented mountain bikes and kayaks and, with advance notice and an additional charge, even gave tours, much to the chagrin of Max Harrington. Max was a local forest ranger who thought all guides should have a degree in forestry. He said a shop owner had no business dabbling in the adventure industry. But Spirit Canyon had lots of stores that were multifunctional, and Zo’s was no different. Besides, no one knew the area better than she did. As far as she was concerned, she had all the expertise she needed to introduce newbies to the area.
She unlocked one of the bikes from the key on her coil bracelet. After this weekend, renters would have first dibs on the equipment. It was the Friday before Memorial Day, which meant the official start of tourist season. Though she looked forward to the increase in business, what she was really excited for was seeing her childhood friend, Beth Everett. Beth had just relocated to the canyon with her family. Her aunt Lilly had died a year ago and left her Spirit Canyon Lodge, a premier hotel in the canyon. This weekend would be their first chance to spend time together since the funeral, and Zo couldn’t wait. She’d spent lots of summers with Beth at the lodge. Now, twenty years later, she would spend another.
But she wouldn’t be able to survive the holiday weekend without coffee, and she was completely out. She put on her black Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses, tossed a leg over the bike, and sailed down the hill, the crisp pine-scented air providing the wakeup call that caffeine hadn’t.
She applied the brake as she approached downtown Spirit Canyon, a mere block away. It was the prettiest little mountain town she’d ever seen, and now, one of the trendiest. Nature lovers of all ages flocked to Spirit Canyon for its granola vibe. Although small, the town had all the amenities of a larger city: three coffee shops, two bookstores, several restaurants, a wine bar, and even an opera house with a thriving theater company.
Parking her bike at Green Market, the downtown grocery store, she took a moment to peruse the fresh produce outside. The enormous watermelons would entice more than a few weekend shoppers, but not Zo, who only bought for one person. She selected a bunch of grapes and a ripe, red apple before entering the store.
“Good morning, Zo,” said a woman standing behind one of the three checkouts. It was the owner, Virginia Palmer, whose store aisles were well stocked and her employees well versed on healthy food.
“Good morning.” Zo pushed up her sunglasses. “Outta coffee.”
“How’s business?”
“Good,” said Zo. “You?”
“Can’t complain.” Virginia shrugged.
Zo nodded and kept walking to the organic pasta aisle. Virginia was a smart woman; she knew her customers appreciated organic, GMO-free options. There wasn’t a noodle, lo mein, or vegan alternative she wasn’t willing to order. Zo counted five pasta varieties just passing through.
Since it was early, shoppers were sparse but filled in quickly as the minutes passed. Memorial Day weekend was fast approaching, and that meant picking up supplies for weekend barbeques and events. Zo stopped at the meat counter, which was running a special on hamburger, and requested a single patty. It was only slightly humiliating, she decided. She was thirty-three and temporarily out of boyfriends. Chances were, she’d be eating alone this holiday.
She put the hamburger in the cart and kept walking. She might not even need it. Beth had invited her to the lodge for the grand opening. They might grab something to eat on the holiday. Still, it’d been five years since the lodge was open to guests. Even with the renovations completed, Beth might have her hands full.
A woman with chestnut brown hair rummaged through the low bins in the spice aisle, and Zo stopped, wondering if it was Beth, or if she’d been thinking about her so much that she imagined it was. As if feeling Zo’s eyes on her, the woman looked up, and Zo knew it wasn’t her imagination.
“Beth!” Zo rushed to greet her, practically bowling her over in excitement. “I didn’t think I’d see you until tomorrow.”
Beth stood, and they hugged for a full minute. Beth was tall and slim with a pretty style, simple but chic. And flowers! She’d loved flowers since they were kids. She always wore something floral—a scarf, a barrette, or earrings. Today it was her Vera Bradley handbag covered in purple wildflowers.
“Oh, my gosh,” said Beth. “It’s great to see you. I’ve been thinking about you for days, and here you are.”
Zo laughed. “Same. It’s like I pulled you out of my imagination.”
“You’re planning on coming to the grand opening on Saturday, right?”
“Of course,” said Zo. “I’m going to write about it in my column.” The Curious Camper, which ran every week in the Canyon Views newspaper, was a short column related to all things in the area. Since Zo had been a writer for the Black Hills Star before opening her store, it was a natural fit. Plus her shop kept her up-to-date with area trends. Zo indicated out the window. “Do you have time to grab a quick cup of coffee across the street? I open at ten.”
“If it’s quick. I have guests coming this afternoon. Let me just check one thing.” Beth scanned the spices one last time. “Dang. No turmeric.”
“Don’t worry,” said Zo. “The bike shop up the street probably sells it. Spokes and Stuff. They have an entire section of spices.”
“Really? The bike shop? I wouldn’t have guessed. Thanks.”
Zo nodded. Spirit Canyon was unique, modern, and diverse.
They approached the cashier, and Zo paid for her groceries, then waited as Beth checked out. “You haven’t changed,” said Zo. Even as a girl, Beth wore leggings and flats, the same attire she had on today.
“You haven’t either.”
Zo chuckled. “My hair is way different. I cut it off a few months ago.” It was the day she broke up with Hunter, who used to say how much he loved her long blond hair. Turned out, he loved it more than she did.
“I noticed,” said Beth. “I love it.” She paid the cashier, and they walked out the door with their grocery sacks. Zo gave Virginia a wave good-bye.
“This is me,” Beth said as they approached a red SUV, where she placed their perishables in the cooler. Zo noted the items in the trunk were arranged by size and purpose. No wonder she’d been an event planner at a famous Chicago hotel. She was meticulously organized.
“Have you been to Honey Buns?” asked Zo.
Beth shook her head and relocked the SUV.
“It’s new.” Zo gestured to the store. “It has great coffee and a bakery.”
“Perfect,” Beth agreed. “I’ll need all the carbs I can get to finish my shopping list.”
Zo led her across the two-way street. She pulled open the door, and the bell buzzed like a bee.
Beth grinned. “How fun!”
It really was a fun new store. The croissants, scones, and muffins tasted as good as they smelled. Zo should know; she’d tried them all. Behind the display case were buns, bagels, and specialty breads. Pumpernickel was her favorite, this week anyway.
The shelves on the opposite wall were filled with jars of chokecherry, blackberry, and rhubarb jams, as well as several variations of South Dakota’s state product, honey. Looking like a tourist, Beth browsed the shelves, and after a few minutes, approached the register with an armload of merchandise. A few items spilled onto the counter as she ordered pain au chocolate and espresso. Zo ordered the same, and they selected a table as they waited for their drinks.
Beth picked up her pastry. “I don’t know if chocolate is the best choice for breakfast.”
Zo waved away her concern. “It’s the perfect choice for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Trust me. You’ll love it.”
Beth took a bite. “You’re right. It’s heavenly.”
The barista brought out their espressos, served in tiny cups decorated with pictures of beehives. Zo took a sip, letting the brew awaken her senses. No matter how many healthy smoothies she tried, they couldn’t replace good old-fashioned caffeine.
“So what have you been up to?” asked Beth.
“Mostly working—and looking for my cat, George. I see him stalk by the window late at night sometimes.” She took another sip of her coffee. “It’s pathetic.”
Beth frowned. “He won’t come in?”
“Every time I try to grab him, he dodges me. He’s as quick as lightning for a fat guy. He still comes home to eat.” She shrugged. “I guess that’s something.”
“You know how cats get in the spring,” said Beth. “They want outside, constantly.”
“Do you have a cat?” Zo tried to imagine Beth rolling her clothes with a lint roller. Nope, she couldn’t picture her dealing with cat fur.
Beth shook her head. “How is the store?”
“The store is great,” said Zo. “I have a full-time employee in the summer, Harley Stiles. You have to meet her. She’s been with me since the beginning.”
“It looks adorable,” said Beth. “I’ve been meaning to stop in, but getting the lodge ready for this weekend has taken all of my time.”
