Mining for Murder

Book 3: Happy Camper Mystery

by Mary Angela

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery

Synopsis

Zo Jones is enjoying the sunny season at her Happy Camper gift shop in Spirit Canyon, South Dakota—when a murder reminds her all that glitters isn’t gold . . .
 
The South Dakota Gold Rush might be long over, but Zo Jones feels like she’s hit the mother lode when she and her friends browse an estate sale, where a rare old book about the history of Spirit Canyon is causing quite a commotion. In addition to local stories and secrets, the book may even contain the location of a famous stash of gold—a treasure worth killing for.
 
Zo’s friend Maynard Cline wins the bid on the book, to the chagrin of many interested parties, including the historical society and college history department. But when Zo and Hattie head to Maynard’s mansion to borrow the book for a library event, the only thing they find is Maynard—at the bottom of the mountain.  The valuable book is gone. Zo knows this must be murder because there’s no way a germophobe like Maynard would have voluntarily dived into a pile of dirt. Now she’ll have to dig into a new case, and go prospecting for a perpetrator . . .
 

Release date: April 5, 2022

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 304

Sample

Chapter One

Zo Jones stood outside an estate sale on Mountain View Road, torn between a box of old keys and a box of old doorknobs. Really, she shouldn’t buy both. First, she didn’t know how well they would sell at her gift store, Happy Camper, and two, she didn’t know what she would do with them at her house. She picked up an ornate gold key, liking the weight and color of the metal. Still, they were small. If she didn’t use them, she could probably find somewhere to stash them…

“I struck gold!” exclaimed Hattie, who was one table over.

Zo joined her. Hattie Fines, Spirit Canyon’s head librarian, was, not surprisingly, looking at a small collection of books. What was unexpected was the books’ location—outside, exposed to the elements. Vera Dalrymple had been one of the most respected historians in the area. The sale boasted a fine assortment of books inside, including one volume that had grabbed the attention of several collectors. Their friend and fellow Zodiac Club member Maynard Cline was inside considering it right now. These paperbacks were either missed or unimportant. Based on the meticulous organization of the estate sale, Zo would guess the latter. “What did you find?”

Hattie turned over a paperback. Pulling down red reading glasses from her short gray hair, she scanned the texts. “Mysteries, romances, thrillers.” She looked up. “I’m taking them all.”

“Are you sure you need another box of books?” The lift in Zo’s voice matched the lift of her eyebrows.

Hattie shelved the spectacles on her head. “Are you sure you need two more boxes of doohickeys?” She nodded toward the box Zo had been browsing.

“They’re not ‘doohickeys’. They’re—” Zo glanced at the contents. “Fine, they’re doohickeys, but at a bargain price, how can I resist? You know I’ve been wanting to redo my dresser, and these glass knobs will go perfectly.”

“And the keys?”

“The keys…” Zo cleared her throat. “They’re so small. They won’t take up much room. Those books, on the other hand, they’re going to need a home, and if I remember correctly, you used up your last shelf on the Louis L’Amour purchase.”

“These are going to the library.” Hattie’s voice held a note of finality. “Crazy Days is coming, and patrons will snatch these up.”

“That’s that, then,” Zo said with a chuckle. “It sounds as if we’ve both made up our minds.”

Hattie gave her a nod and a smile, and they moved on, looking for their friend Julia Parker, Jules for short. The day was sunny, windy, and hot—a typical July day, but also the best kind of day because Zo was spending it with her friends at the estate sale. She couldn’t think of a better way to pass an afternoon.

She pushed her black Ray-Bans to the top of her head to keep her hair back. Though short, her blond, textured hair was flying in her face, making it hard to scan the crowd. Even with her hair problem fixed, however, Zo didn’t see Jules, who was hard to miss. At almost six feet tall, with a curvy figure and pink highlights, she stood out in a crowd.

“Let’s check inside,” said Hattie, reading Zo’s mind. “The auction’s going to start any moment.”

“Agreed.” Even Zo’s tie-dyed tank top was beginning to feel too warm. It would be nice to get into the air-conditioning.

Zo regarded the arched doorway, warm colors, and hardwood floors as she entered the historical house. Though she took pride in her small collection of antiques, her décor was an amalgam of old and new, shabby chic with a bent toward the West. Vera Dalrymple, however, was a true collector, and Mountain View Manor was one of the most remarkable houses in the area. A Spanish Colonial, it had been built in 1931 for the president of Black Mountain College, who also happened to be a Dalrymple. The house had been passed down through generations, and Vera inherited it many years later.

Zo scanned the entryway. Every piece of furniture looked authentic. From the guéridon table to the nineteenth-century bronze candelabras, the pieces would thrill art enthusiasts, not to mention book enthusiasts, who packed the next room.

Hattie noticed and tugged her elbow. “Here’s the library.”

Zo followed Hattie to the first room on the right, where six bookcases were enclosed behind glass, and the scent of paper and ink tinged the air. Many of the tomes were old, thick, or delicate. Others were leather bound and pristine. One in particular was encased in a special display box.

Zo inched closer, but not close enough to see well. Several collectors were in the way. So this was the book causing all the commotion. As a former newspaper journalist, she was glad words could still get people excited.

Maybe a little too excited.

A couple of men were bickering about the book, and she recognized Maynard Cline’s voice right away. A little bit nasal, a little bit pinched, it matched his personality. She peeked around a man in a blazer and confirmed it was him. Yep. Maynard wore creased gray slacks, a starched white button-down, and a perfectly trimmed mustache. There was no mistaking his fastidious dress.

“I plan to bid on this item, and I need room to examine it,” Maynard proclaimed. “I will not be hovered over.”

The comment didn’t surprise Zo, who knew Maynard was fussy to a fault. He was also a huge germaphobe who didn’t like getting too close to people.

A small man with round glasses interjected. He was dressed in a black, three-piece suit and a striped bow tie, despite the hot day. His name tag read Cedric Tracey, and it was clear he was with the auction company. “Please give Mr. Cline space. He has the right to an unimpeded view of the item.”

“You don’t understand,” pleaded another man, who was not as well dressed as the other collectors in the room. In his oversized jacket and baggy trousers, he even looked sort of shabby. “This book should not even be on auction. Vera Dalrymple promised Black Mountain College the entire collection. I’m the history chair at the college, and as you know, she retired from the same department.”

“The college?” fumed a woman in a straw hat. She stood on the balls of her feet to make herself more visible. “Vera was the historical society’s greatest benefactor. If anything, she would want it to come to us.”

The comment was met with a sneer from the history chair. “Lies!”

“That will be enough.” Cedric Tracey’s voice was curt. “We are not here to debate the items on sale. If you wish to bid, you will remain civil or be escorted out. The bidding will begin shortly.”

The room fell silent as bidders gathered last bits of information. Oblivious to spectators or even his friends, Maynard carefully studied the book. His mustache twitched with concentration. Zo decided not to interrupt him.

“My Journey West.” Hattie read the title out loud. “It sounds familiar.”

Zo smiled. “You say that about every book.”

“Because it’s true,” Hattie said. The town librarian for over twenty years, she had a sweeping knowledge of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry.

“We’d better find Jules,” Zo suggested. “You heard that guy. They’re starting soon.”

They walked around the living room, where many of Vera Dalrymple’s antiques, including a sizable blue, red, and yellow Louis XV–style tapestry, were displayed. Zo zeroed in on an ancient map of Spain, framed in gilded gold. She loved maps of other places. Maybe it was her own wanderlust, which was always strongest in the summer, or maybe it was the travelers who came here on vacation, who always had stories to share about other places.

Nestled in the heart of the Black Hills of South Dakota, Spirit Canyon was the tourist destination for people who wanted to visit Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and Devil’s Tower, just across the state border. Hikers, campers, and wildlife lovers flocked to the area to get lost in nature. There was no better place to forget one’s troubles than Spirit Canyon. Besides the colorful canyon itself, the town was an eclectic mix of souvenir shops, specialty stores, restaurants, and ice cream parlors. On any given day, tourists strolled through the downtown area, eating taffy, popcorn, and homemade fudge. Though summer was Happy Camper’s busiest season, Zo wouldn’t have it any other way. She loved meeting people from different parts of the world. It was the next best thing to taking a vacation herself, which usually didn’t happen until later in the year.

Along with a married couple, Zo and Hattie entered the dining room, painted a faint terra-cotta color. The large Persian rug had the same orange hue but also a navy-blue design that made for a striking contrast. The table was heavy and oak, made for formal dinners, and Zo wondered whether Vera Dalrymple had entertained often. She could imagine the history professor inviting the department for dinner and discussing The Iliad or perhaps a bit of local trivia. Zo liked imagining how a person lived, piecing together a story one room or item at a time. It was one of the reasons she went to so many estate sales. That, and of course, the doohickeys, as Hattie would say.

The woman next to her must have been considering entertaining opportunities, also, for Zo overheard her tell her husband they could have his entire family over for the holidays if they purchased the house. Zo smiled and kept walking. The house was too big for her budget. Besides, she didn’t have a family to entertain, though her next-door neighbor Cunningham’s Thanksgiving dinners were getting larger and larger. Last year, he had twenty people stuffed into his tiny house. This year, she’d promised to plan Christmas, and truth be told, she could hardly wait.

Zo didn’t know her true birthdate, but she always celebrated it on Christmas Day since she’d been found at the police station in December. The celebration would double as a birthday party.

A familiar voice interrupted Zo’s premature planning, and she waited a moment, listening for the voice again.

“That’s Jules,” confirmed Hattie. “Come on.”

Jules was near the center island in the kitchen, talking to a man who could only be Cedric Tracey’s brother. He also had on a three-piece suit and was even shorter than his brother. Or his smaller stature was an illusion caused by Jules’s height, which was emphasized by her messy top bun.

“I apologize, ma’am,” the man said. “It is the way it’s done.”

Zo tilted her head. At thirty-four and thirty-five, respectively, she and Jules were too young to be called ma’am, weren’t they? She hoped so.

Jules was just as surprised by the comment. Her brown eyes went from milky to dark chocolate in a matter of seconds.

“The way what’s done?” asked Zo. “Hi, Jules.”

“The estate,” said the man. “We won’t open for bids on the house until tomorrow.”

Zo was confused. Why would Jules be asking after the house?

Jules must have seen the consternation in her face because she pulled Zo and Hattie aside. The man turned to the married couple, who’d followed them into the kitchen.

“I’m putting in a bid on the house,” Jules informed them. “You heard the man. I’m not getting any younger, and I have the money. This is the one.”

Zo blinked. “He called you ma’am. He didn’t call you old.”

“Same thing.” Jules set her chin.

“It’s your choice,” Hattie said. “I love it, but it’s big. The carriage house alone has to be a thousand square feet.”

“It’s the perfect size.” Jules’s eyes didn’t waver. Once she made up her mind, it was done. Heaven or earth couldn’t change it. “Have you guys seen the wine cellar?”

“Not yet.” Zo couldn’t wait to investigate, though.

“It’s climate controlled, so I can store additional merchandise there. It’ll save me almost…three hundred dollars a month.” She glanced above Zo’s head, as if pulling numbers from the air. “Not to mention the reduction in my electric bill and insurance.”

One thing Jules knew was business. If she said a historical manor would save her money, Zo believed it. Jules owned the incredibly profitable Spirits & Spirits, a liquor store that doubled as a voodoo shop. When not selling wines or specialty brews, Jules did tarot card and palm readings. Tourists went bonkers for the place and so did locals.

Since they were kids, Jules had come up with moneymaking ideas that played off the town’s name and history. The canyon was said to be a haven, of sorts, for spirits. If tourists felt a little eerie hiking the hills, they blamed it on the famed star-crossed lovers, who were separated by a rock avalanche. To this day, the lovers’ spirits wandered the paths, looking for each other in the netherworld. No wonder tourists didn’t miss a visit to Jules’s store. She had everything from specialty brews to ghost beads to help them make their adventures successful.

“What about your house?” Even to her own ears, Zo sounded more practical than usual. She just didn’t want to see her friend get caught up in the excitement of the sale, which she’d done several times herself. An oversized bird painting that hung in her bedroom reminded her of her own zealousness every morning. Since purchasing it, she made herself set a budget before going to an auction.

“I’ll sell it in a week,” said Jules without a blink. “Everyone wants a house on Main Street. It’s the perfect size and location.”

“True,” agreed Hattie.

The couple interrupted their conversation, coming together in a showy embrace.

“Can we, dear? I’m so excited!” The woman’s French-manicured nails clutched his shoulders tightly.

“We’ll talk to the bank today,” proclaimed the man into her hair.

Jules crossed her arms, leveling a glare at the couple.

“It looks like you have competition,” Hattie pointed out.

“Fine by me,” said Jules. “I’ve never fought a battle I didn’t win.”

Zo smiled. Jules always got what she wanted, and if Mountain View Manor was her target, woe be to the man, woman, or both who stood in her way.

A bell announced the start of the auction, and they hurried outside, where small items, like Zo’s doohickeys, would go for a few dollars. She, in fact, bought her box for five dollars, while Hattie bought hers for seven. Jules wasn’t interested in collectables, so it was a long wait for larger-ticket items to go, including the rare My Journey West. They were all interested in seeing if Maynard would acquire the text.

Cedric Tracey opened the bidding on the book to much fanfare, describing it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to own a memoir of one of Spirit Canyon’s original settlers. According to him, it was written by the businessman and mercantile owner Charlie Clay, who had ties to the first gold prospectors in the area. Although hand-bound, the book was in solid condition, with few torn or missing pages, and would be a wonderful addition to any book enthusiast’s collection.

Paddles went up immediately, and Zo, Jules, and Hattie had a hard time standing still as they watched their fellow Zodiac member continue to raise his, even as the bid reached five thousand dollars. At seven thousand, Zo held her breath. At ten, she practically hyperventilated. When he received the bid at sixteen thousand, she thought she would pass out from excitement.

Maynard, however, acted as if it was a pittance to pay for the item. He collected the item with all the aloofness of a cat, shrugging off their congratulations with a mild “Thank you.”

Lugging her box to her car, Zo wondered if he was right. Maybe sixteen thousand dollars was a small price to pay for a piece of history.

For if it was truly the first book about Spirit Canyon, who knew what secrets it held? And how much they would be worth to the right reader.

Chapter Two

The next day, Zo returned to Mountain View Manor on her red Kawasaki motorcycle. She’d promised to meet Jules before the start of the house auction, which gave her fifteen minutes. Luckily, Spirit Canyon was a small town, and she zipped into a parking spot with ten minutes to spare. Shaking out her hair, she tucked the helmet under her arm and followed the signs through the backyard gate.

Jules was seated in the front row of white folding chairs, and Zo gave her a wave. About forty people were gathered on the lawn, and Zo wondered if they were bidding or browsing. Mountain View Manor was one of Spirit Canyon’s oldest properties. Some of the attendees—okay, most of them—were nosy and wanted to know how much it went for. The minimum bid was two hundred thousand dollars, and it would certainly reach a higher amount.

Scooting in next to Jules, Zo hoped her friend won the bid. The more she gazed at the Spanish abode, the more she thought Jules was the perfect owner for the house. She had the money and talent to take care of the historic property, not to mention the wine cellar. If Zo could share a glass of wine in the vintage vault, life would be good.

“There are quite a few people here.” Zo settled into her folding chair. “Are you ready?”

Jules smoothed her bright yellow maxi dress. “Absolutely. I consulted my tarot cards this morning, and the Ace of Pentacles appeared. I am buying this house today. Count on it.”

Zo tucked her helmet under her seat. She had no idea what the Ace of Pentacles was, but if Jules saw it as a sign, she would follow it, come hell or high water. Though Zo had little faith in Jules’s psychic abilities, she had a lot of faith in her business savvy. If she said she was going to do something, she did it, and often made money in the process. Zo doubted Mountain View Manor would be any exception.

The young couple from yesterday was across the aisle, and Zo pitied them a little when she saw the hopeful look in the woman’s eye. Behind them was Russell Cunningham, her neighbor and good friend. She recognized his bushy head of white hair. “Cunningham!” she called. Spotting her, he returned the wave. Zo turned to Jules. “I wonder what he’s doing here?”

“Vera Dalrymple was a professor at Black Mountain College,” said Jules. “Doesn’t he work there?”

“He teaches English—I mean, literature.” Cunningham had corrected her enough times for her to remember. His grading complaints were cemented in her skull. She would never forget the spelling of Edgar Allan—with an a!—Poe again.

A man walked up the aisle, and the crowd quieted. It was the Tracey brother who had called Jules ma’am. He said his name was Sean. After explaining the rules of the auction, Sean opened the bid at two hundred thousand dollars.

His brother Cedric was already up front, seated next to a young woman, about twenty-five, whom Zo heard was Dalrymple’s niece. Like the Tracey brothers, she wore upscale attire, which included a designer shirt and miniskirt. Her sunglasses alone cost five hundred dollars. Zo knew because she’d browsed a pair online. She remembered thinking, Who would pay five hundred dollars for something that could fly off your face? Now she had her answer. But the woman probably didn’t ride a motorcycle, and Vail, Colorado, where she lived, was not Spirit Canyon, South Dakota.

The price of the house went up quickly, and soon Jules and the couple were the only ones bidding. Zo glanced at her friend; she’d never seen Jules so steady in her resolve. Okay, she had, but just once during a séance. Shoulders back, eyes straight ahead, Jules was determined to keep going. The young couple realized it and relinquished the bid, much to the wife’s dismay.

Zo and Jules celebrated with a hug, and Cunningham joined in the congratulations.

“Well done, Julia. It’s good to know Vera’s property will be well taken care of.” Cunningham put his hands in his blazer pockets. He’d paired a blue jacket with jeans and dress shoes. It was a change from his normal summer attire, which included Hawaiian shirts and loafers. “She was a respected scholar and wouldn’t want the house going to pot.”

Jules thanked him before being ushered away by Cedric Tracey to complete some paperwork.

“Did you know Vera well?” asked Zo.

“Fairly well,” Cunningham answered. “We collaborated on a few events at the college, and she was an avid historian and book collector.” He squinted over her shoulder, the wrinkles around his eyes growing more pronounced. “That must be why Jeffrey Davis is here.”

She turned to follow his gaze, recognizing one of the men from the library. “Jeffrey Davis. He was here yesterday. Who is he?”

“A history professor at Black Mountain.”

“That’s right.” Zo studied him from afar. “He mentioned the college.”

Jeffrey was talking to Dalrymple’s niece. He, like Cunningham, wore a blazer, but on his thin frame, it hung like a sack. He was pointing a finger at her, and she was lean. . .