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  PRAISE FOR J.C. EATON

  Staged 4 Murder

  “An eclectic cast of entertaining characters that will keep you wondering whodunit!”—Nicole Leiren, USA Today bestselling author, Danger Cove Mysteries, Heroes of the Night Series

  Ditched 4 Murder

  “The wedding from hell embroils a bookkeeper with a talent for solving puzzles in several murder cases . . . A hoot.”—Kirkus Reviews

  “Sophie ‘Phee’ Kimball has a lot on her plate in this captivating whodunit, but this feisty, take-charge heroine is definitely up for the challenge. Fun characters, a touch of humor, and a great mystery, the perfect combination for a cozy.”—Lena Gregory, author of the Bay Island Psychic Mysteries and the All-Day Breakfast Café Mysteries

  Booked 4 Murder

  “A thoroughly entertaining series debut, with enjoyable, yet realistic characters and enough plot twists—and dead ends—to appeal from beginning to end.”—Booklist, starred review

  “You’ll chuckle all the way through this delightful romp through Sun City West, as Phee and her mother unravel the mystery behind the sudden deaths of several book club members. It’s so cleverly written, you won’t guess the perpetrators until the very end.”—Mary Marks, award-winning author of the Quilting Mystery Series

  “Booked 4 Murder is a witty adventure that will leave you laughing out loud. Join Phee as she tussles with her wily mother, a cursed book, and a host of feisty retirees in this entertaining and charming cozy.”—Stephanie Blackmoore, author of the Wedding Planner Mystery Series

  “Booked 4 Murder, set in an Arizona retirement community full of feisty seniors, is a fast-paced mystery with a mother/ daughter pair of sleuths who will keep you laughing until the last page. It will also make you think twice before choosing your next book club selection—THE END might come sooner than you think . . .”—Kathleen Bridge, author of the Hamptons Home and Garden Mystery Series

  Books by J.C. Eaton

  The Sophie Kimball Mysteries

  BOOKED 4 MURDER

  DITCHED 4 MURDER

  STAGED 4 MURDER

  BOTCHED 4 MURDER

  (available January 2019)

  And from Lyrical Press:

  The Wine Trail Mysteries

  A RIESLING TO DIE

  CHARDONNAYED TO REST

  (available September 2018)

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Staged

  4 Murder

  J.C. Eaton

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  PRAISE FOR J.C. EATON

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by J.C. Eaton

  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.

  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.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-0859-5

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0860-1

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-0860-1

  To community theater companies everywhere,

  with a special thanks to the Dryden Footlighters

  in Dryden, New York, and the Penn Yan Theater Company

  in Penn Yan, New York, for letting us take center stage

  once in a while. You gave us great memories.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  We thank our lucky stars for our incomparable “pit crew” who are always there to answer the call. From double checking our manuscripts to handling all of our computer crises, you’ve never shied away. A big shout out to: Beth Cornell, Larry Finkelstein, Gale Leach, Ellen Lynes, Susan Morrow, Susan Schwartz, and Suzanne Scher.

  Without our amazing editor, Dawn Dowdle from Blue Ridge Literary Agency, and our phenomenal editor, Tara Gavin, at Kensington Publishing Corporation, none of this would ever have come to fruition. We are so honored and appreciative.

  For our dear friend, Michaele Gardella McGrath, who left us way too soon, we never forgot those stories you told us about your mother’s horrid mink stoles. Thanks for inspiring us.

  And to the stellar Kensington staff, we applaud all you do for us! Karen Auerbach, Robin Cook, and Ross Plotkin, you’re the best!

  Chapter 1

  Sun City West, Arizona

  The wet sponge that hung over the Valley of the Sun, sapping my energy and making my life a misery for the past three months, wrung itself dry and left by the end of September. Unfortunately, it was immediately replaced by something far more aggravating than monsoon weather—my mother’s book club announcement. It came on a Saturday morning when I’d reluctantly agreed to have breakfast with the ladies from the Booked 4 Murder book club at their favorite meeting spot, Bagels ’N More, across the road from Sun City West. I arrived a few minutes late, only to find the regular crew talking over each other, in between bites of bagels and sips of coffee.

  “Who took the blueberry shmear? It was right in front of me.”

  “It still is. Move the juice glasses.”

  “I hate orange juice with the pulp still in it.”

  “If it didn’t have pulp, it’d be Tang.”

  Cecilia Flanagan was dressed in her usual white blouse, black sweater, black skirt, and black shoes. Don’t tell me she wasn’t a nun in a former life. Shirley Johnson looked as impeccable as always, this time with a fancy teal top and matching earrings, not to mention teal nail polish that set off her ebony skin.

  Judging from Lucinda Espinoza’s outfit, I wasn’t sure she realized they made wrinkle-free clothing. As for Myrna Mittleson and Louise Munson, they were both wearing floral tops and looked as if they had spent the last hour at the beauty parlor, unlike poor Lucinda, whose hair reminded me of an osprey’s nest. Then there was my mother. The reddish blond and fuchsia streaks in her hair had been replaced with . . . well . . . I didn’t even know how to describe it. The base color had been changed to a honey blond and the streaks were now brunette. Or a variation of brunette.

  The only one missing was my Aunt Ina, an
d that was because she and her husband of four months were in Malta, presumably so my aunt could recuperate from the stress of moving into a new house.

  “You look wonderful, Phee,” Myrna announced as I took a seat. “I didn’t think you’d ever agree to blond highlights.”

  My mother nodded in approval as she handed me a coffee cup. “None of us did. Then all of a sudden, Phee changed her mind.”

  It was true. It was a knee-jerk reaction to the fact my boss, Nate Williams, was adding a new investigator to his firm. An investigator that I’d had a secret crush on for years when I was working for the Mankato Minnesota Police Department in accounting.

  “Um . . . gee, thanks. So, what’s the big news? My mom said the club was making an announcement.”

  Cecilia leaned across the table, nearly knocking over the salt and pepper shakers.

  “It’s more than exciting. It’s a dream come true for all of us.”

  Other than finding a discount bookstore, I couldn’t imagine what she was talking about.

  My mother jumped in. “What Cecilia is trying to say is we have a firsthand opportunity to participate in a murder, not just read about it.”

  “What? Participate? What are you saying? And keep your voices low.”

  “Not a real murder, Phee,” Louise said. “A stage play. And not any stage play. It’s Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap, and we’ve all decided to try out for the play or work backstage. Except for Shirley. She wants to be on the costume and makeup crews.”

  “Where? When?”

  Louise let out a deep sigh. “The Sun City West Footlighters will be holding open auditions for the play this coming Monday and Tuesday. Since they’ve refurbished the Stardust Theater, they’ll be able to use that stage instead of the old beat-up one in the Men’s Club building. All of us are ecstatic. Especially since we’re familiar with the play, being a murder and all, and we thought in lieu of reading a book for the month of October, we’d do the play.”

  I thought Louise was never going to come up for air, and I had to jump in quickly. “So . . . uh, just like that, you all decided to join the theater club?”

  “Not the club, just the play,” my mother explained. “The play is open to all of the residents in the Sun Cities. Imagine, Phee, in ten more years you could move to one of the Sun Cities, too. You’ll be fifty-five.”

  I’d rather poke my eyes out with a fork.

  “She could move sooner,” Myrna said, “if she was to marry someone who is fifty-five or older.”

  “That’s true,” Lucinda chirped in. “There are lots of eligible men in our community.”

  I was certain Lucinda’s definition meant the men were able to stand vertically and take food on their own. I tried not to shudder. Instead, I became defensive, and that was worse.

  “Living in Vistancia is fine with me. It’s a lovely multigenerational neighborhood. Lots of activities . . . friends . . . and it’s close to my work.”

  Louise reached over and patted my hand. “Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure the right man will come along. Don’t make the mistake of getting a cat instead. First it’s one cat, and then next thing you know, you’ve got eleven or more of them and no man wants to deal with that.”

  “Um . . . uh . . . I have no intention of getting a cat. Or anything with four legs. I don’t even want a houseplant. I went through all of that when my daughter was growing up. Now she can have pets and plants in St. Cloud where she’s teaching.”

  The women were still staring at me with their woeful faces. I had to change the subject and do it fast.

  I jumped right back into the play. “So, do all of you seriously think you’ll wind up getting cast for this production?”

  My mother nodded first and waited while the rest of the ladies followed suit. “No one knows or understands murder the way we do. We’ve been reading murder mysteries and plays for ages. I’m sure the Footlighters will be thrilled to have us try out and join their crews.”

  Yeah, if they don’t try to murder one of you first.

  “Well, um . . . good luck, everyone. Too bad Aunt Ina won’t be able to try out. Sounds like it’s something right up her alley.”

  My mother all but dropped her bagel. “Hold your tongue. If we’re lucky, she and your Uncle Louis will stay in Malta until the play is over. It’s bad enough having her in the book club. Can you imagine what she’d be like on stage? Or worse yet, behind it? No, all of us are better off with my sister somewhere in the Mediterranean. That’s where Malta is, isn’t it? I always get it confused with the other one. Yalta. Anyway, leave well enough alone. Now then, where is that waitress? You need to order something, Phee.”

  The next forty-five minutes were spent discussing the play, the auditions, and the competition. It was ugly. Like all of the book club get-togethers, everyone spoke at once, with or without food in their mouth. I stopped trying to figure out who was saying what, and instead concentrated on my meal while they yammered away.

  “Don’t tell me that dreadful Miranda Lee from Bingo is going to insist on a lead role.”

  “Not if Eunice Berlmosler has any say about it.”

  “She’s the publicity chair, not the director.”

  “Miranda?”

  “No, she’s the lady who brings in all those plastic trolls to Bingo.”

  “With the orange hair?”

  “Miranda?”

  “No, those trolls. Miranda’s hair is more like a honey brunette. Perfectly styled. Like the shimmery dresses she wears. No Alfred Dunner for her. That’s for sure.”

  “Hey, I wear Alfred Dunner.”

  “You’re not Miranda.”

  “Oh.”

  “What about Eunice?”

  “I don’t know. What about her?”

  “Do we know any of the men who will be trying out?”

  “I’ll bet anything Herb’s going to show up with that pinochle crew of his. They seem to be in everything.”

  I leaned back, continuing to let the discussion waft over me until I got pulled in like some poor fly into a vacuum.

  “You should attend the auditions, Phee. Go and keep your mother company.” It was Cecilia. Out of nowhere. Insisting I show up for the Footlighters’ tryouts.

  “You can scope out the men, Phee. What a great opportunity.”

  Yep, it’ll be right up there with cattle judging at the state fair.

  In one motion, I slid the table an inch or so in front of me, stood up, and gave my best audition for the role of “getting the hell out of here.” “Oh my gosh! Is it eleven-thirty already? I can’t believe the time flew by so quickly. I’ve got to go. It was great seeing all of you. Good luck with the play. I’ll be sure to buy a ticket. Call you later, Mom!”

  As I raced to my car, I looked at the clear blue sky and wondered how long I’d have to wait until the next monsoon sponge made its return visit to the valley. Weather I could deal with. Book club ladies were another matter, and when they said they were going to participate in a murder, I didn’t expect it to be a real one.

  Chapter 2

  I was applauding myself for delicately balancing two iced coffees and two toasted bagels from Quick Stop when the phone caught me off guard, and I nearly spilled everything onto my desk. It was Thursday morning, and Augusta, our part-time secretary, wouldn’t be in for another hour or so.

  “Nate! I’m back with your iced coffee,” I shouted. “Got to grab the phone.” The voice at the other end, although not totally unexpected, made me jump. At least I managed to get four words out first. “Good Morning, Williams Investigations.”

  “Is this the infamous Sophie Kimball, who’ll stick bamboo shoots in our fingernails if we lose a receipt?”

  “Marshall? I . . . um . . . didn’t expect to hear your voice so soon.”

  “So soon? It’s been what? Almost a year? How are you doing? Wait! You can tell me everything as soon as I get there.”

  “There? Here? You mean you’re in Arizona?”

  “Unless hell decided
to bake Mankato, I’m in Arizona. I can’t wait to see you and Nate. Talk about a dream retirement job. Anyway, I’m at baggage claim at Sky Harbor and should be at your office in an hour. Got directions from Nate, plus the rental car will come with GPS.”

  “Super. I’ll let Nate know. We can’t wait to see you, either.” And I’ll personally strangle your buddy for not telling me you were arriving today. “Keep cool.”

  “Keep cool?” That was how I ended the call? That was the best I could come up with? What was I going to do when I actually saw him face-to-face? I reached for the small mirror I had tucked in my desk and studied my hair. It was okay. The blond highlights hadn’t suddenly faded, and I looked all right. Then I had second thoughts and quickly added some blush to my cheeks, in case I didn’t have enough color from the sun. If that wasn’t enough, I applied lip gloss and sat staring at the computer like a seventeen-year-old girl who was just invited to the prom by the captain of the football team.

  Nate sauntered into my office and reached for his iced coffee. Black. No cream. No sugar. He’d barely gotten it to his lips when the words flew out of my mouth.

  “That was Marshall Gregory. He’s here. In Arizona. At the airport. Marshall Gregory.”

  “Uh-oh. I knew I forgot to tell you something. Well, it’s not like we have to pick him up or anything. Guy’s renting a car. He’ll lease one or buy one as soon as he’s settled. I wasn’t expecting him until next week, but he was able to get everything taken care of in Mankato and didn’t want to hang around. Damn, it’s going to feel good having another investigator here. Oh, and before I forget one more thing, you got a message from your mother while you were at Quick Stop. Want me to read it? She insisted I write it down verbatim, and I wasn’t about to argue with her. Remind me to increase Augusta’s hours. That’s what she gets paid to do.”