Open for Murder, page 6
“Like yesterday was your lucky day?” asked Kaya. “Besides, we’re going to see the heads.”
Zo knew Kaya was referencing Mount Rushmore, one of the most visited tourist attractions in the Black Hills. Carved out of granite, the sixty-foot faces of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Lincoln greeted over three million visitors a year. Another popular face was that of Crazy Horse, a Lakota warrior. It would be even bigger when it was finished. Zo had seen both monuments about five thousand times, but that didn’t make them any less impressive. “If it gets late, don’t miss the lighting ceremony. It starts at nine with a short film and lasts about forty-five minutes.”
Allison motioned toward the dining area. “From the looks of it, it will be late. They’re not even finished with Justin.”
Zo gave her an encouraging look. “It won’t take long. Mine didn’t. Justin is a reporter. I think he’s asking them more questions than they’re asking him.”
“I don’t see why we have to talk to them anyway,” said Kaya. “It’s sad and all, but old people die every day.”
“Right?” Jennifer reclined again, her blond hair splayed over the couch cushions. “Even by dying, the old hag is causing problems.”
Zo agreed but kept quiet. Jennifer had no problem sharing her opinions. She might, however, after she talked to Brady Merrigan.
Across the room, Beth put another log on the fire. She dusted off her hands and gave Zo a wave. Zo excused herself from the group.
“You need help?” Zo asked.
“Vi has the kids, and Jack is doing cleanup,” Beth said. “As long as that log catches fire, I think I’m good.”
A murmur caught Zo’s attention, and she turned around. Griffin and Robyn were engaged in a conversation on the couch. Griffin rested his head on Robyn’s chest, looking as if he enjoyed the touch of her hand. Robyn was less content with her role as consoler. Death or not, she didn’t seem like the type who played the supportive role. She would want Griffin to take charge of his destiny now—and the family business as well.
Beth followed Zo’s gaze. “Does Griffin have any siblings? I know you said Enid was a widow.”
Zo shook her head. “None that I know of. I didn’t even realize he was Enid’s son. That has to make him Spirit Canyon’s most eligible bachelor—or did make him the most eligible bachelor,” Zo added. “I can’t believe he’s engaged to the same woman who nearly brought down Enid’s resort with a bad review.”
“Was it really that bad?” said Beth.
Zo nodded. “I remember it now. It was last fall. That’s probably how Griffin met her. Enid did all sorts of damage control afterward. At a town meeting, she handed out postcards of the resort and asked businesses to place them near their registers. She also placed ads quoting sparkling reviews in Canyon Views and put up that hideous billboard outside of town. It’s gigantic.”
Beth’s blue-gray eyes grew wide with curiosity. “I’ve seen it, and you’re right. It’s hideous. Why did townspeople go along with it?”
“They didn’t have a lot of choice.” Zo shrugged. “She had a ton of money. Besides, she wasn’t the type of person people confronted. Her own son seemed afraid of her.”
Beth walked to the reception desk, near the dining area. Zo followed. The area was more private, but Beth spoke in a hushed voice. “Do you think Brady is right? Do you think someone could have killed her for the twenty thousand dollars?”
“It’s a definite possibility,” said Zo.
“Like who?”
“It could have been anybody,” whispered Zo.
“Brady thinks it was me,” said Beth. “Why?”
“You went to her room late last night. You had motive and means to kill her.”
“But I didn’t do it!” said Beth, a little too loudly.
Finished talking to Justin, Brady Merrigan stood and crossed his arms, his police uniform stretching tightly across his chest. He blocked the little bit of light streaming in from the dining area.
Zo nodded toward the doorway. “Try convincing Brady Merrigan.”
* * * *
Happy Camper didn’t open until noon on Sundays, so Zo returned to Spirit Canyon in plenty of time to change before opening the store. She felt grubby driving home in last night’s capris and t-shirt and longed for a hot shower. It would help clear her mind, still whirling from the early morning events. A dead guest wasn’t the kind of publicity Beth had wanted for her grand opening, and Brady suspected foul play. Zo climbed the steps to her house. The lodge was open all right—open for murder.
She hung her backpack on the hook and tossed her keys on the small kitchen table, glad to be home. She loved her story-and-a-half. It was older, built in the 1970s, but it suited her business and complemented its surroundings. The living room was decorated with odds and ends from the auctions she attended. Like the store, it was cozy and inviting. She thought of her cedar deck as an extension of her living space and arranged it with just as much care, investing in an outdoor fireplace and cushioned furniture. Enjoying a cup of tea or hot cocoa under the stars was the best part of her day.
After showering and towel-drying her hair, she pulled on a pair of jeans and Life is Good t-shirt. Donning her flower flip-flops, she grabbed her purse and store key. If she hurried, she could grab a sandwich to-go at O.K. Coffee Corral, a walk-up restaurant with a large outdoor dining area that, with imagination, looked like a livestock corral. Although the food options were limited, it was popular with tourists because it was fast and had a great view of the Black Hills. Even on days like today, with the sun just breaking through, everyone wanted to be outside enjoying the low humidity and clear mountain air.
Cunningham was in his garden again, and as she locked up, she remembered what she wanted to ask him. Like Cunningham, Allison was a professor at Black Mountain College. She wondered if he knew Allison or anything of her work there.
“Hey Cunningham,” she said from her deck. He glanced up in her direction, his straw hat tilting to one side. She waved and walked down the steps to where their lawns met. “I found my cat.”
“It’s not the finding part you have trouble with,” he said, returning to the new shoots. “It’s the keeping.”
She ignored the remark. George’s disappearances bothered her more than she liked to admit. Some days she worried she’d never have a significant relationship in her life, even with a cat. “Do you know Allison Scott? I met her last night. She said she teaches science at Black Mountain.”
“Science.” He put down his trowel. “That clarifies a good deal.”
“Come on, Russell,” she said. She didn’t have time for his word games today. She needed to open Happy Camper in forty-five minutes. “Do you know her or not?”
“Yes, I do.”
Zo took a breath. The man could be so trying sometimes. “Well, what’s she like?”
“She’s young and passionate, like you, but more level-headed,” said Cunningham. “A geoscientist, I believe. She’s quiet, perhaps still finding her way in academia. She has something to do with the research out at Homestake Mine.”
That reminded Zo of a thought. “What would a new professor make, approximately? In terms of money? It can’t be much.”
He set his straw hat on the ground, and ran his fingers through his snow-white hair. Despite his hat, his scalp was pinkening. “Certainly, she would be at the lower end of the spectrum as a new professor, but her work at the lab might compensate for her lack of tenure. Why do you ask?”
Zo explained Enid’s death and the missing money. Cunningham listened intently, which was why she liked him. Everything she said was a matter to be taken seriously—cats, cocktails, murder. All were equally worthy of his time.
“People have killed for less, certainly,” he said when she was finished. “One need only skim the surface of literature to find examples—”
“I’d love to hear them, but I’ve gotta run. Drinks tonight?”
“You bring the rum,” he said.
She laughed, gave him a wave, and started for downtown.
Chapter Eight
When Zo opened Happy Camper thirty minutes later, breakfast sandwich in hand, George ran out of the store before she could say hi or good-bye. Like an orange streak, he ran up the hill and disappeared into the tree that hung over her deck. Cunningham was right. It wasn’t the finding; it was the keeping that evaded her. Boyfriends, money, cats. But wasn’t the adventure in the pursuit? She flipped the door sign to Open. She hoped so.
The store had certainly been an adventure, a labor of love now filled with the things she loved. She turned on the Zenith radio, circa 1941, purchased at a recent auction. Bob Dylan’s “Tangled up in Blue” played on the local station. She liked antiques but didn’t always like selling them. She missed them when they were gone. They gave the store a vintage feel. So did the books. From birding how-tos to stargazing guides, she carried a little bit of everything. People loved to indulge when they were on vacation, buying things they wouldn’t otherwise. Why not brush up on the constellations while staking a tent?
After counting out money for the register, she turned on her computer and waited. She noticed the sun was starting to peek through the clouds, creating a rainbow and signaling the passing of last night’s storm. If Enid’s death wasn’t plaguing her thoughts, it would have been the perfect start to a Sunday morning. Even so, it was pretty darn good.
She unwrapped her breakfast, a flatbread sandwich with egg, veggies, and pepper jack cheese. It smelled spicy and delicious. She’d only taken one bite, however, when the first customer arrived. A mom in her late forties with two teenagers in tow needed a new tent.
“My tent didn’t hold up under last night’s rain,” she said. Her eyeliner was smudged, and her sweatshirt hung off one shoulder.
“We slept in the car,” said her son, who was at least five inches taller than his mother. He seemed to enjoy making the comment.
Since hers wasn’t an outdoor store, Zo only had one tent, but it was good quality and would fit a family of four. A floor model was set up in the corner, with a pretend campfire, cookware, and skewering sticks. She led the family to it.
“It’s not large, but it will work,” she explained. “And most importantly, it will keep you dry.”
“It’s two hundred dollars!” said the woman.
“You saw what ninety-nine dollars got us, Mom,” said the girl, not looking up from her cell phone, where she texted busily with both thumbs. “Come on.”
“I do have a Memorial Day sale going on right now,” said Zo. “Ten percent off all camping gear.” She heard another customer enter the store. “I’ll let you think it over.”
Seeing the person, she realized it wasn’t a customer; it was Melissa Morris from across the street. She worked at the visitor center, handing out maps, brochures, and information to tourists. A few years older than Zo, Melissa had grown up here, too. They’d attended school together and worked the odd jobs of a tourist town: funnel cake maker, balloon blower, and face painter. Now Melissa was a mom of three girls and worked part-time at the center. She said she didn’t care where she worked, as long as it got her out of the house for a few hours a day. But the job was a good fit. She knew everyone in town.
“Did you hear?” said Melissa. “Enid Barrett died. It was on KRSO news.”
Zo nodded and walked to the register to finish her breakfast. “I did. I was there.”
“What?” Melissa followed her. “You were there?”
“Uh huh. My friend owns Spirit Canyon Lodge.” She took a bite of her sandwich.
Melissa swiped at her straight bangs. The rest of her hair was curly, and the cut framed her face nicely. Most days she wore a high ponytail. She was a busy mom and liked it out of her eyes. But today she wore it down. “Why was she staying there anyway? She lives up the hill.”
“To get information on the lodge,” said Zo.
“Dirt, you mean?” Melissa, who was a gossip herself, rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t surprise me. Tell me everything.”
Zo relayed as many details as she was comfortable sharing.
“I wonder what will happen to the business now,” Melissa mused after Zo finished.
“Businesses, right?” asked Zo. “She had another resort.”
Melissa nodded. “One here and one by Lead—Serenity Falls. I’m sure Griffin will take charge of them, as much as he can take charge of anything.” She picked up a few of the business cards Zo had on the counter. Multicolored, they had the Happy Camper logo on them. “We’re out of these at the visitor center.”
“I only met him this weekend, but I can’t see him running two resorts,” said Zo. “There’s nobody else?”
“Nope,” said Melissa. “Enid had a good manager, though. He’s been there for years. He’s probably the reason why Serenity Hills has done as well as it has. I’m sure he’ll continue doing everything.”
Melissa had info on everyone. She was a mom and volunteered—a lot. Zo couldn’t think of a person or business that she hadn’t baked for, donated to, or raffled on behalf of.
“Do you know him, Henry Miller?” Melissa continued.
“The name sounds familiar.” Zo took the last bite of her sandwich.
“You’ve probably seen him at town meetings. He did a lot of legwork for Enid.”
“Oh, I know who you’re taking about,” said Zo. “Tall guy, soft spoken, gray hair. Always wears a suit jacket?”
“Pretty much the exact opposite of Enid, and he’s been there forever. Can you imagine?” Melissa shivered. “Working for her your whole life? Not this girl.”
“When Harley punches in, I should take something out there,” said Zo. “Offer my condolences.”
“Like bake something?” said Melissa, raising her eyebrows. They disappeared under her bangs.
Zo nodded. Although she wasn’t a baker, it would provide her a reason to get inside the resort. She hadn’t been there in years and wanted to learn more about Enid and her businesses. It might prove helpful later. She knew how quickly a story could change.
“Well knock yourself out,” said Melissa. “I wouldn’t waste one chocolate chip on Enid Barrett’s passing.”
The mother and teens approached the register with the packaged tent, and Melissa said good-bye so that Zo could take care of her customers. Zo rang the item, but her mind wasn’t on the tent or even the decent sale. It was on Henry. She wondered why Henry remained an employee at Serenity Hills for so many years. He always had a kind word for business owners at town meetings and was the first to volunteer. Maybe he was a good PR person. Or maybe he just needed a good job.
Enid was wealthy and might have paid well, and it wasn’t easy to find employment in a trendy town like Spirit Canyon. Even college grads ended up working retail just to be close to the skiing, hiking, and the other outdoor activities in the area. Still Zo was curious enough about Henry to bake cookies. She perused her limited snack aisle: marshmallows, chocolate chips, and graham crackers. Or at least s’more bars.
* * * *
Serenity Hills was located on the last street in town, nestled into the foothills of Black Hills National Forest. A good location, it provided tourists with access to shopping and a buffer from street noise. The surrounding acres had lots of trees and even a nice view of Spirit Canyon’s waterfall, pictured on many postcards. Though it was a lovely home and lovely location, Zo decided it looked more like a bed and breakfast than a spa or resort. Even the drive was gravel, and her Outback flung up rocks as she pulled into the lot.
Despite being Memorial Day weekend, plenty of open spots remained, and Zo wondered if the resort wasn’t struggling more than she realized. She’d always assumed, probably because of the airs Enid put on, that the resort was the crème de la crème of lodging establishments, but glancing at it now, Zo decided it looked like a relic—almost out of place in the hip town of Spirit Canyon.
Grabbing the plate from the passenger seat, she noted the bars were still warm. The treats, which she’d baked between customers, made her car smell like a mixture of chocolate and marshmallows. She would be thinking of campfires for the next few days, which was okay with her. Nothing made her happier than a cozy fire and a sweet treat.
She hurried up the front steps, admiring the swing on the wraparound front porch. She could get used to spending time on the veranda, but the house was too formal to fit her style. It was a towering three-story Victorian, complete with ornate turret and a decorative front door. Inside was a small gift shop with all sorts of lotions and rubs that promised rest, relaxation, and rejuvenation. Zo glanced at a price tag: sixty-five dollars! She put down the bottle. For sixty-five dollars, it would have to make her aches—and her laundry—disappear.
No one was at the mahogany front desk, so Zo waited for a moment, listening to the sounds of a piccolo tinkling over the speakers. She took a deep breath, deciding the spa music had the desired effect. It was relaxing—for about thirty seconds. Then it got on her nerves. She was more of a classic-rock kind of girl.
“Hello?” she said and rang the service bell.
She heard footsteps somewhere within the oversized house. A moment later, Henry appeared, looking disheveled. Even though he wore a suit jacket, half of his button-up shirt was un-tucked, and his face was ashen.
“I apologize for the wait,” said Henry. “How may I help you?”
“Hi Henry, I’m Zo Jones. I own Happy Camper.” She placed her plate of s’more bars on the counter. “I wanted to offer my condolences to you and the staff. I understand you were close to Enid. I’m sorry for your loss.”
His face relaxed, clearly glad for the friendly visit. “Oh…well, thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at first. I think I’ve seen you at a few town meetings. It’s been a trying day.”
