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  Praise for the Books of J.C. Eaton:

  “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, on Booked 4 Murder

  “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, on Booked 4 Murder

  “Filled with clues that make you go ‘Huh?’ and a list of potential subjects that range from the charming to the witty to the intense. Readers root for Phee as she goes up against a killer who may not stop until Phee is taken out well before her time. Enjoy this laugh-out-loud funny mystery that will make you scream for the authors to get busy on the next one.”

  —Suspense Magazine on Molded 4 Murder

  “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 All-Day Breakfast Café, on Ditched 4 Murder

  “This novel is a perfect blend of suspense and fun!”

  —Carlene O’Neil, author of the Cypress Cove Mysteries, on Chardonnayed to Rest

  Also by J.C. Eaton

  The Sophie Kimball Mysteries

  Broadcast 4 Murder

  Dressed Up 4 Murder

  Molded 4 Murder

  Botched 4 Murder

  Staged 4 Murder

  Ditched 4 Murder

  Booked 4 Murder

  The Wine Trail Mysteries

  Sauvigone for Good

  Pinot Red or Dead?

  Chardonnayed to Rest

  A Riesling to Die

  Broadcast 4 Murder

  J.C. Eaton

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Praise

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1 - Harriet Plunkett’s House, Sun City West, Arizona

  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

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  END NOTES

  Teaser chapter

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 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.

  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.

  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: 978-1-4967-2456-4

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2459-5 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2459-3 (ebook)

  For the KSCW-LP 103.1 radio station and the Sun City

  West Broadcast Club

  Keep those tunes and chatter coming!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  We’re always on the lookout for new staging grounds for murder, so when KSCW’s Keith Fowler suggested using Sun City West’s radio station, we were literally “all ears.” We thank Keith, along with George Kuchtyak, Jr. and Chuck Mulcahy for giving us a behind-the-scenes look at local broadcasting.

  And to Paul Hiler, whose lake fishing photos and late evening anecdotes in the dog park inspired us to create a fictitious fishing aficionado, we are eternally grateful. To the late Brandy Smidt and her little Chiweenie, Johnny, we thank you for helping bring Streetman to life and joy to the four-legged kids in the park.

  Of course none of this would be possible without our incredible team of readers and techies. A tremendous thanks to Larry Finkelstein, Pam Grumbles, Gale Leach, Susan Morrow, and Susan Schwartz from “Down Under.”

  Not a day goes by that we don’t appreciate the efforts and dedication of our amazing literary agent, Dawn Dowdle, from Blue Ridge Literary Agency, and our incredible editor, Elizabeth May, from Kensington Publishing. We’ll never know how we got so lucky!

  Production editor Rebecca Cremonese deserves a big shout out for ensuring our novel is of the highest quality for readers. Along those lines, we thank the staff at Kensington Publishing for the amazing job you do. From the art department to the marketing team, you’re top-notch all the way!

  Most of all, we extend our heartfelt thanks to you, our readers, for joining the looney world of Phee, Harriet, Streetman, and “the book club ladies” in Sun City West.

  CHAPTER 1

  Harriet Plunkett’s House, Sun City West, Arizona

  Myrna Mittleson, all five-foot-nine of her, charged out of my mother’s house and nearly bumped into me on the walkway. “Oops! Sorry, Phee! I’m in a rush to get to the beauty parlor. God bless the state of Iowa!”

  It was a Saturday morning in late January, and I was returning a large salad bowl I had borrowed for a neighborhood dish-to-pass party. Before I could utter a word, Myrna blew past me and raced to her car, a nondescript beige sedan. God bless the state of Iowa? I knew my mother’s Booked 4 Murder book club friends leaned toward the eccentric side, but for the life of me, I had no idea what Myrna was talking about.

  The door to the house was still ajar and my mother stepped outside.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked. “Iowa? I thought she was from Brooklyn.”

  My mother ushered me inside. “She is. But right now we’re enamored with the state of Iowa.”

  “Huh? Why? I don’t get it.”

  “Quick! Come in. Close the door behind you before Streetman runs out. I think I heard a bird chirping and he’s likely to run after it.”

  I looked around the room and spied the little Chiweenie sitting on the couch, trying to tear off what looked like a Christmas tree plastered to his back.

&nbsp
; “Um, I don’t think so. And what’s he wearing? Is that supposed to be a Christmas tree with a hoop skirt under it?”

  “It’s one of Shirley’s designs. We’re getting an early start for the Christmas in July program.”

  “Good grief! The holiday event was only a few weeks ago.”

  “You have to plan early in these retirement communities.”

  “Your dog is planning early. Look! He pulled off one of those dangling ornaments.”

  My mother groaned, walked over to Streetman, and removed the costume. “We’ll try later,” she said to the dog.

  I shuddered. “Anyway, here’s your salad bowl, and for heaven’s sake, please tell me what’s this business with Iowa. Not another retirement community you’re looking into, I hope.”

  “Good grief no! I’m not leaving Arizona. I love Sun City West. Best thing I did was get out of those Minnesota winters. Same deal with Myrna, only she’s from New York.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes and nodded as my mother continued.

  “Last night Myrna and I got the most wonderful news about Vernadeen Stibbens. Sit down and I’ll tell you all about it. I was going to call you, but I knew you’d be stopping by on your way to work.”

  I was totally lost but used to the way my mother’s conversations circumvented the main idea until boomeranging back to the point. I plopped myself down on a floral chair so as not to disturb the dog’s position on the couch. God forbid I upset that neurotic little ball of fur.

  My mother put the salad bowl on the coffee table, grabbed the chair next to mine, and leaned toward me. “Vernadeen Stibbens was asked to be one of the judges for the sewing contest for the Iowa State Fair, and she’ll be on the homemaking committee as well. She still has her condo in Davenport, so technically she’s a resident there. She was one of the judges for that contest back in 1995. Can you imagine? She’ll be reprising her role once again.”

  “And you and Myrna are doing cartwheels because someone you know is going to be on a committee? Or worse yet, judging someone’s stitching? I don’t get it.”

  “If you’d let me finish, Phee, I’d explain. Vernadeen Stibbens has her own live radio show on KSCW, the voice of Sun City West, every Tuesday morning. Sewing Chats with Vernadeen. Of course, they tape it and run it over and over again during the week.”

  “I’m still—”

  “Shh! I’m not done. Anyway, Vernadeen will be gone most of the spring and summer because of her role at the state fair. That means Sewing Chats will no longer be on the local airwaves.”

  “And that’s a cause for celebration?”

  My mother shuffled in her chair and the dog immediately jumped down from the couch. “Isn’t that adorable? He thinks Mommy is going to give him a treat. I can’t disappoint him. Hold on a second.”

  My mother walked to the kitchen and returned with a dog biscuit. The dog immediately devoured it.

  “Now,” she said. “Where was I? Oh yes, Vernadeen’s show. It was deadly. Topics like nuances of double stitching and harmonious hemming with cross-stitches. Herb Garrett from across the street said he recorded it for nights when he had insomnia. When he found out she had been one of the state fair judges, he asked how many people she put to sleep with her commentary.”

  “I’m still not sure why you and Myrna are so overjoyed.”

  My mother patted the dog’s head as she grinned from ear to ear. “Myrna and I are rejoicing because we’ve been asked to take over Vernadeen’s slot on the radio with our own show.”

  My jaw dropped and I had to remind myself to breathe. Heaven help us. “Ah-ha! And now the real reason! But what show? What are you and Myrna going to talk about? You don’t sew and Myrna wouldn’t know a cross-stitch from a straight stitch. Now, if you said Shirley Johnson, I could understand. She’s a talented milliner and teddy bear maker, but you and Myrna? Seriously?”

  “Oh for goodness’ sake, Phee. We’re not going to have a sewing program. We’re going to have our own murder mystery show! No one knows more about mysteries than our Booked 4 Murder book club. Cozies, forensic, hard-boiled. . . You name it, we’ll talk about it. Myrna even has her own little segment planned for elements of suspense.”

  “The only element of suspense I can think of is when Aunt Ina finds out.”

  “Oy! Don’t remind me. I’d better give my sister a call before she hears about it from the grapevine. You know how people around here can gossip.”

  Intimately. I know this intimately. “Um, when do you and Myrna get started?”

  “Tuesday morning we’re going over to the radio station to meet with the station manager to find out what’s involved. It can’t be all that hard. If I have any questions, I can always ask Herb.”

  “Herb Garrett?”

  “Of course Herb Garrett. How many Herbs do I know? He and his pinochle buddies have their own show on Thursday nights: Pinochle Pointers. Once our show gets underway, Myrna and I will have guest speakers from our club. Cecilia and Shirley are already chomping at the bit to do a program about household poisonings as they relate to murder mysteries.”

  “Gee, I’m surprised Louise Munson doesn’t have one planned about parrots that kill. Especially given the one she owns.”

  “Don’t give her any ideas. Those things bite. I suppose Ina will want her own segment, too. I can just see it now. She’ll be rattling off about obscure authors from countries none of us have heard of.”

  “Er, um, yeah. I suppose. Look, Mom, I’ve got to get going. I’m working from ten to noon this morning and it’s already nine twenty. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for the salad bowl.”

  I made a beeline for the door before she insisted I pet Streetman or, worse yet, give him some “kissies.” Besides, he seemed perfectly content back on the couch.

  “I’ll call you later. On your real phone. I hate when that cell phone of yours goes to voice mail. It always cuts me off.”

  “Okay, fine. Later. Love you!”

  I was out the door and buckled up in my car just as Cecilia Flanagan pulled up. Her old, black Buick was unmistakable. Yep, word did travel fast, especially with my mother at the other end of the phone line. I imagined Cecilia had stopped by to get all the juicy gossip about Sun City West’s latest radio show. I beeped the horn and waved as I pulled away from the curb and headed to Williams Investigations in Glendale, where I’m employed. I have my own office and appropriate door sign that reads, “Sophie Kimball, Bookkeeper/Accountant,” even though everyone calls me “Phee.”

  Nate Williams, the owner of the detective agency, was a longtime friend of mine, and like me, had worked for the Mankato Police Department in Minnesota. When he retired as an investigator, he moved out west and convinced me to take a leave of absence from my job in accounts receivable to do his accounting. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse, and one that got better the following year, when another detective from the Mankato Police Department, Marshall Gregory, also retired and joined the business.

  I’d had a crush on Marshall for years and, unbeknownst to me, he felt the same way. Maybe Nate figured that out all along and pulled the right strings. Now, almost two years later, Marshall and I were sharing a house together and slowly broaching the subject of marriage. Slowly, because I was still in shock, following my Aunt Ina’s nearly catastrophic wedding ceremony to three-time divorcé Louis Melinsky. Besides, as my friend Lyndy put it, “You’re both in your forties and consenting adults. What else do you need?” Even my daughter, Kalese, a teacher in St. Cloud, agreed when I called to tell her about my living arrangements. I figured it was because she wanted me to be as relaxed about her living arrangements if and when the time came for her to drop a bombshell like that.

  I chuckled as I watched Cecilia exit her car. Still the same black skirt and white blouse. Uh-huh. I know a former nun when I see one. Even if my mother says it isn’t so. I figured that by five this evening, the Greater Phoenix community would know that my mother and her book club would be hosting Murder Mysteries to Die For, or w
hatever title they decided to give the show. As long as she didn’t invite me to be a guest, I would be in the clear.

  Augusta, our secretary, was at her desk, coffee cup in one hand and fingers furiously hitting her computer keyboard with the other, when I breezed into the office.

  “I don’t know how you can type with one hand,” I said.

  “Hey, good morning to you, too, Phee. I learned how to do that when I had carpal tunnel surgery a few years ago. I take it Marshall’s still on that case in Florence, huh?”

  “Oh yeah. He left at an ungodly hour. He got a new lead on the whereabouts of that not-so-deadbeat dad. Can you imagine? The guy absconded with their four-year-old in the middle of the night. The wife thinks they may be with friends of his somewhere near Apache Junction.”

  “Why didn’t she just go to the sheriff’s office and have an Amber alert issued?”

  “According to Marshall, the woman’s madly in love with the guy and thinks he’ll eventually return. She didn’t want to sully his name. Can you believe it? Still, she wanted him found. That’s why she hired us.”

  Augusta groaned and took a sip of her coffee. “Nate’s downtown, by the way, with the office manager at Home Products Plus. I don’t expect him to come up for air any time soon.”

  “Yeesh. That’s a snarly case for sure. The manager’s convinced someone’s got a rogue operation going since their inventory dwindled without explanation.”

  Just then the phone rang, and Augusta picked up, but not before adjusting her tightly sprayed bouffant hairdo.

  “I’ll catch up later.” I walked to my office. At least my work was clear-cut and reasonable: invoices to send and a few bills to reconcile. Since Marshall was out on a case, I decided to stick around and grab lunch with Augusta, something I did once in a while because our office usually closed at noon on Saturdays.