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  Saddled Up 4 Murder

  Spring is in the air as Sun City West gears up for its annual Bye Bye Birdie festivities, when residents bid a fond farewell to the snowbirds and happily reclaim the town for themselves. But planning comes to a screeching halt when the town curmudgeon plummets to her death from the library bell tower and sheriff’s deputies suspect foul play. With the celebration on hold—and Phee’s mother worried that she won’t get her moment in the spotlight on a local TV show slated to cover the event—Phee is thrust into the role of sleuth once again to find the killer.

  As Phee soon discovers, there’s no love lost between the town and the unfortunate victim, and with the clock ticking and virtually everyone a potential suspect, she’s got her work cut out for her. Then a passel of horseflesh goes missing, and Phee starts to think the two crimes might be connected. With the town on edge and high noon approaching, she’ll have to wrangle with a band of daring desperados and lasso a lawbreaker who’s dead set on sending her to boot hill . . .

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Saddled Up 4 Murder

  J. C. Eaton

  Copyright © 2022 J. C. Eaton

  Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

  Beyond the Page Books

  are published by

  Beyond the Page Publishing

  www.beyondthepagepub.com

  ISBN: 978-1-954717-72-5

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Dedication

  In memory of Barbara Jordan, friend, confidante, and role model of how life should be lived.

  We will miss your wit, style, and humor. Nights at the Sun City West Dog Park will never be the same.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, Gale Leach, Larry Finkelstein (U.S.), and Susan Schwartz (Australia) for all you do to keep us on the straight and narrow. We count our lucky stars you’ve managed to stay with us so long!

  And to Margi (M.J.) Evans for inspiring us with her amazing Riding Colorado equestrian books.

  Without our agent, Dawn Dowdle, from Blue Ridge Literary Agency, none of this would be possible. You continue to amaze us every day.

  And to Bill Harris, our editor at Beyond the Page, all we can say is Wow! Your encouragement and support put smiles on our faces every day.

  Finally, we thank you, our readers, for embracing our looney characters and welcoming them into your lives!

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Books By J. C. Eaton

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Bagels ’n More

  Sun City West, Arizona

  “It’s only a matter of time,” Myrna Mittleson announced, “before someone loses it altogether and shoves that deli-witch from the library bell tower.” She patted her brunette curls and gave her head a shake. “And why that woman insists on running up and down those steep stairs is beyond me.”

  My mother reached across the table for the salt shaker and proceeded to add salt to the lox on her bagel. “It’s her exercise routine. She made a big deal of it when someone asked her about it at the deli.”

  I was used to my mother’s book club ladies and conversations that came out of nowhere, but this time, I was totally lost. “Deli-witch? Library tower? Will someone fill me in?”

  The ladies and I were seated at Bagels ’n More, their favorite haunt across the road from their retirement community in Sun City West, Arizona. It was early April, and while the weeds had begun to take over, the snowbirds were slowly departing for points north and east.

  Myrna took a deep breath, clasped her hands, and sighed. “The deli-witch is Billie C. That’s what her name tag from the supermarket says. Don’t know what the C stands for but everyone we know refers to her as the deli-witch.”

  “Try curmudgeon, cranky, crass, callous―”

  “We get the idea, Lucinda,” my mother said. “The woman’s a veritable nightmare.”

  I moved my head from left to right, making eye contact with Shirley Johnson, Lucinda Espinoza, Cecilia Flanagan, Louise Munson, and Myrna Mittleson, before looking directly at my mother. “If she’s so unbearable, then why do all of you use that deli? There are a zillion supermarkets around here and all of them have delis.”

  “Oh, honey,” Shirley replied, “it’s a matter of convenience. At our age we want to keep things as easy as possible. Once you figure out where everything is located, the last thing you want to do is switch markets. I’ve got those aisles memorized to the point where I could walk down them blindfolded.”

  I nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Louise reached across the table and grabbed three sugar packets. “Forget about the deli. I have to deal with that misery of a woman every time I do my cardio exercises on those stairs.”

  Lucinda gave her a funny look. “Why don’t you use one of the fitness centers? You’ve got a Rec card. You’re entitled to make the most of it.”

  “My doctor wants me to walk up and down stairs. Something about belly fat. Forget the stairs at Palm Ridge. Not many steps. Anyway, Billie takes over that tower as if it were hers alone. Last week she sideswiped me out of the way as she flew up the stairs. I was so incensed I called her every name in the book and then some.”

  She reached for another sugar packet and my mother handed her the small tray. “I hope no one heard you, Louise.”

  “Everyone heard me. Herb Garrett was in the computer room and he told me my voice carried all the way in there. It doesn’t matter. That she-witch deserved a tongue-lashing.”


  Myrna propped her elbow on the table and leaned her head into her fist. “Like I said before, one of these days someone’s going to give her a shove and send her flying. We’ll know because the bells will be ringing something other than the Westminster Chimes.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” my mother said, “Herb was supposed to stop by and join us. I wonder what’s keeping him.”

  Common sense.

  “You don’t suppose he called that pinochle crew of his and invited them, do you?”

  Judging from the pained expressions on the ladies’ faces, I hoped that wasn’t the case. There’s only so much grousing and complaining I could take in one sitting.

  My mother looked around the room and continued. “He probably spotted some good-looking woman in the parking lot and he’s out there ogling her.” Then, she stretched her neck and pivoted in Shirley’s direction. “Have you told Phee about our idea for Streetman’s special wedding outfit?”

  At the mention of the words wedding outfit, I felt a sudden knot in my stomach. That instant, I wanted to talk about the deli-witch and every other witch from Salem to the latest Stephen King novel, but once the subject of my upcoming nuptial came up, there was no turning back.

  In less than two months, I’d be tying the knot with Marshall Gregory, my boss’s partner at Williams Investigations in Glendale, Arizona. This would be my second marriage, having failed miserably at my first with one exception―my daughter Kalese, who just began her teaching career in Minnesota, where I’m from.

  I’m Sophie Kimball, better known as Phee, and I’m the bookkeeper/accountant for Nate Williams, who, along with my fiancé, retired from the Mankato Police Department to start an investigative business in a state where snow is optional. I joined him on a temporary basis when he made me an offer that was too good to pass up, and before I knew it, I sold my house in Mankato and took up permanent residence in Peoria, a stone’s throw from my mother. Heaven help me.

  Once every month or so, when I’m not working on a Saturday morning, I have brunch with my mother and her friends at Bagels ’n More or the Homey Hut. If I’m lucky, I get to leave without indigestion or a headache.

  “Go on, Shirley, tell her,” my mother said.

  “I don’t believe in upstaging the bride, so I’m keeping it simple.”

  Oh, believe me, wedding outfit or no outfit, that neurotic little chiweenie dog of my mother’s will upstage everyone in the Glendale City Hall. And why I agreed to let him do a doggie dance is anyone’s guess.

  I swallowed a large gulp of coffee and bit my lower lip. “Okay, what’s Streetman going to wear?”

  Shirley steepled her hands and smiled. It was impossible not to notice how the lovely shade of iridescent aqua accented her dark skin. Meanwhile, I was content with a French manicure once in a while, since it never involved selecting a color that would or wouldn’t work for me.

  “Your mother and I thought perhaps the dog would wear a version of a cummerbund that matched Marshall’s tie, and in addition, we’d add matching ankle booties that wouldn’t interfere with his paws.”

  The last time I had to worry about matching cummerbunds was for my senior prom. Even Kalese’s date, if I recall correctly, didn’t bother to do that.

  “A cummerbund, huh? Okay. That sounds simple enough.”

  “Good,” Cecilia said. She looked down at her white cardigan and adjusted the buttons so that the white blouse beneath it was completely covered up. At least she wasn’t wearing black. Maybe because we were approaching summer. “If you must know, I found a way to avoid getting waited on by Billie. If she calls my number, I tell her I’m still thinking and she can go to the next person. Then, I get the other person at the deli, whoever that is.”

  “I still think you ladies should shop elsewhere, or at the very least, complain to the management.”

  “Complaining to management takes way too much time,” my mother said. “And it wouldn’t do us any good. We’ve got better things to do with our time, like figure out who’s going to man our Booked 4 Murder book club booth at the Bye Bye Birdie event at the end of the month.”

  Oh, no. Not another event. Please don’t tell me there’s another event.

  My mother went on. “I’ve got to juggle the Broadcast club booth and the clay club. Plus, I’m on the event committee.”

  “I’ll fit it in somehow,” Shirley said. “But I’m stretched as it is with the Rip ’n Sew and the Creative Stickers. Maybe Cecilia can add another slot.”

  “I’ve got the Rhythm Tappers, remember? You were the ones who insisted I join. What about Myrna?”

  “Hey, I’ve got the bocce club and the clay club.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Lucinda said, “I’m in charge of the clay club’s booth. What about you, Louise?”

  Louise Munson shook her head. “I’ve got the Sunshine Animal club. The bird group, to be precise.”

  Then, everyone looked my way and I felt like the proverbial deer in the headlights. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I don’t even live in this community. I’m only in my forties.”

  Shirley gave me a pat on the wrist. “Phee’s right. The poor girl has enough on her plate as it is. We’ll figure out a schedule and go from there.”

  Without thinking, the words slipped from my mouth. “What’s the Bye Bye Birdie event? I don’t seem to remember it.”

  “That’s because you were too busy with your aunt Ina’s wedding the last time they held it,” my mother said. “Which reminds me, everyone, Ina says to give you her regards. She and Louis are at some cockamamie meditation retreat in the Catalina Mountains near Tucson.”

  I tried not to laugh. My aunt Ina was a hippie long before the word was even invented. I suppose “free-spirited” might be a better way to describe her, but my mother’s label of “artsy-fartsy” was the one most family members used, including her own son, my cousin Kirk from Boston.

  “Oh, yes. What did you say, Phee? Something about the Bye Bye Birdie event?”

  “She wants to know what it is, Harriet,” Lucinda said before glopping more cream cheese on her bagel.

  My mother turned to me, and without pausing to catch a breath, gave me the complete rundown on the “end of the snowbird season” in Sun City West. “It’s a giant send-off,” she said. “Think of it as a Bon Voyage party where all the partygoers are happy to see the guests leave.”

  I chuckled. For the past couple of years all I heard were complaints about overcrowded restaurants, congested roads, and drivers who didn’t know how to use turn signals.

  “Yes,” Louise added. “All of the clubs have booths and sell their handmade items in case the snowbirds want to bring something back to their home states. The other clubs sell foods and treats, so it’s a real moneymaker. Each year a different club performs. Cecilia’s off the hook since the Rhythm Tappers performed last time. I think the Westernaires singing group is on for this celebration.”

  Then, a chorus of “tell her about the send-off” followed.

  Louise gave a nod and continued. “The event begins at two in the afternoon and concludes at dusk, at which time giant balloons are released from the top of the library bell tower. The snowbirds purchase the balloons in advance and write their names and home states on them. Very touching.”

  Myrna motioned for the waitress and pointed to her empty coffee cup. “Too bad someone couldn’t release the deli-witch. There’s one send-off I wouldn’t mind seeing.”

  I watched as the waitress went around the table topping off everyone’s coffee. “She can’t be that bad, can she?” I asked.

  Just then, the waitress spoke. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help overhear you. And yes, if it’s the same woman, Billie C., she can and is that bad. Yesterday after my shift, I went to the supermarket for cold cuts. They’ve got a new system there with numbers that indicate how you want your meat sliced. One is for shaved and five is for thick. You get the idea. Well, this poor man kept asking for a half pound of low-salt ham, when that miserable woman kept yelling at
him, ‘What number? What number?’ The man, obviously flustered, kept replying ‘a half pound.’ So, what did she do? Screamed even louder. I pulled the man aside and explained to him that the chart on the deli counter had numbers to indicate the thickness. After that, he said ‘three,’ and she stormed off to get his ham. Can you imagine? I’m surprised they still have customers.”

  I gulped. “Whoa. Remind me to stick with salads.”

  The waitress chuckled and walked over to another table. “Seriously,” I said, “someone needs to register a complaint.”

  “Don’t worry, honey,” Shirley replied. “She’ll get what’s coming to her. I’m a strong believer in what goes around, comes around.”

  Myrna gave her a nudge. “If you must know, I’m a strong believer in putting marbles on that library stairwell. That’ll teach her.”

  “Marbles? How about if someone lets a few bats loose in there?” Lucinda asked.

  “Bats? What about . . .”

  And for the next five minutes, the Booked 4 Murder book club wrote its own script for murder. I did at least four mental eye rolls before thanking my lucky stars I shopped in Peoria and Glendale.

  “Well, as much as I enjoyed getting together with all of you,” I said, “I really need to get home and defrost something for dinner. We ate out last night so I promised Marshall a home-cooked meal, even if it was prepared eons ago.”

  “Ask him what color tie he plans to wear for the ceremony,” my mother said. “Two months is not that far off and Streetman needs to be prepared.”

  God forbid I upset the dog’s social calendar.

  “I have a better idea,” Myrna said.

  My mother turned to her. “About Phee’s civil ceremony in Glendale?”