by J. C. Eaton
“SO I GUESS THAT MEANS YOU’LL BE ON THE CASE, SO TO SPEAK.”
“Not a case. A favor for two elderly sisters. I’ve got Saturday off. I’ll drop by the Lillian senior living hotel and have a word with their director. There’s been some petty theft.”
“You’re a good soul, Phee. Just don’t get too deep in the mire. Makes it hard to wipe your boots.”
Just then the phone rang and Augusta grabbed it. “Uh-oh. Okay. Okay, I will.”
“What’s the matter, Augusta? What is it?”
“Looks like the mud you’re going to be wiping off your feet is waiting for you in Sun City West. That was Nate. Some guy has been found dead in his garage.”
Suddenly the corned beef sandwich I had eaten for lunch wasn’t settling too well. “Not anyone I know?”
“I don’t think so, but Nate wants you to call your mother and go over to her house.”
“My mother? Why? What’s she got to do with this?”
“The guy they found was holding a piece of paper with two names on it. Your mother’s was one of them.”
“Oh my God! Did he say who the other one was?”
Augusta shook her head. “No. All he said was for you to call your mother and go directly to her house. If she’s not home, wait there for him.”
“And here I thought the worst thing I was going to deal with today was a bit of filching.”
“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
Books by J.C. Eaton
The Sophie Kimball Mysteries
BOOKED 4 MURDER
DITCHED 4 MURDER
STAGED 4 MURDER
BOTCHED 4 MURDER
MOLDED 4 MURDER
coming in 2020:
DRESSED UP 4 MURDER
And from Lyrical Press:
The Wine Trail Mysteries
A RIESLING TO DIE
CHARDONNAYED TO REST
PINOT RED OR DEAD?
coming in 2019:
SAUVIGONE FOR GOOD
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Molded 4 Murder
J. C. Eaton
KENSINGTON BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
“SO I GUESS THAT MEANS YOU’LL BE ON THE CASE, SO TO SPEAK.”
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
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2019 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: 978-1-4967-1990-4
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1991-1 (eBook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-1991-3 (eBook)
To the Sun City West Clay and Ceramics Clubs,
this mystery is all yours!
Just be happy our characters are fictional and
not signing up to join you anytime soon.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks once again to Larry Finkelstein, Gale Leach, Ellen Lynes, Susan Morrow, Susan Schwartz, and Suzanne Scher. Without your support, this book would still be in a file somewhere on our computer.
Special thanks go out to our dog park friend, Jeannine Phelps, who walked us through the complex processes needed to create designs in clay. We hope we got it right. Or close enough . . .
Of course, none of this would be possible had it not been for our incredible agent, Dawn Dowdle, at Blue Ridge Literary Agency, and Tara Gavin, our amazing editor at Kensington Publishing. From stellar advice to hand-holding, you have always been there for us. Ross Plotkin, production editor at Kensington, you deserve a big shout-out, too!
We genuinely appreciate all of the dedicated and tireless copy and line editors who must wring their hands at our mistakes. Thank you for helping us bring a quality cozy mystery to our readers.
Most of all, we thank you, our readers, for welcoming Sophie Kimball into your world and joining the antics in Sun City West, Arizona.
Chapter 1
Office of Williams Investigations, Glendale, Arizona
Augusta, our receptionist/secretary at Williams Investigations, looked up from her computer and straightened her tortoiseshell glasses. “Hey, Phee, two ladies called while you were at lunch and wanted to schedule an appointment with you for this afternoon.”
“With me? Did you tell them I’m the bookkeeper and not an investigator?”
Augusta sighed. “They already knew that and said it didn’t matter. Said they met you on a plane a year or two ago. They couldn’t remember.”
Two years ago. That sounded about right. My mother was insistent I use vacation time from my job at the Mankato, Minnesota, police department and fly out to Sun City West, Arizona, because she was convinced the members of her book club were going to die from reading a cursed book. The only thing cursed was my trip.
I moved closer to her desk. “Oh my gosh, Gertie and Trudy from the Lillian. It’s a residential resort hotel of sorts. Very elegant.”
“Don’t know about that, but those were the names they gave. No last name.”
“I think it’s Madison. Did they mention what they wanted to see me about?”
“Theft. They said someone’s been pilfering things from their retirement complex. So much for elegance, huh?”
“That sounds like something they should be taking up with the Lillian’s management company, not me.”
“I got the feeling there was more to it. Anyway, I scheduled an appointment for two thirty. They want to be back at their place in time for the four o’clock seating for dinner.”
“Four? That’s almost as bad as my mother’s five thirty. What is it with thes
e people and their obsession about eating at a certain time? Sure, I’ll see them, but only as a courtesy. Geez, when Nate retired from the police force in Minnesota and started this firm, I came on to do the books, not the investigations.”
“And yet . . .”
“I know. I know. Things sort of happened.”
“Uh-huh. By the way, Nate got called a little while ago to confer with the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office on a recent homicide. They didn’t come right out and say ‘homicide, ’ but you know that’s what it is or they wouldn’t have insisted he rush over to Sun City West.”
“Sun City West? Yikes! That’s where my mother lives. I’m surprised she hasn’t called. She usually gets that news long before it reaches us.”
“Yeah. About that . . .”
I let out a groan and waited for Augusta to continue.
“She called all right. I was just about to get to it. Good thing I remembered my shorthand from high school. Here goes. ‘I left you more than one voice mail, Phee. Arlette from the Cut ’N Curl is going on vacation for three weeks. She didn’t say anything to me when I was in last week. Myrna found out about it this morning when she went in for a trim. Three weeks! Who’s going to touch up my hair? Are there any good salons near you in Vistancia? I refuse to have Cecilia drag me to one of those cheap seven-dollar haircut places. God knows what kind of color I’d wind up with. Call me. And don’t forget to mark your calendar for the Creations in Clay on June thirtieth.’”
Augusta read the entire message without pausing to take a breath. For that matter, I didn’t take one, either. I expected to hear some awful news that would link Nate’s possible murder case to someone my mother knew. The last time that happened, my mother and her friends hired Nate to investigate because the sheriff’s department was “moving like geriatric slugs.” I prayed to the gods that whatever Nate was called to consult on wouldn’t involve my mother or the Booked 4 Murder book club.
“So that was it? Hairdresser on vacation and the Creations in Clay?”
“Yep. That’s all she said. You can breathe again. So, if you don’t mind my asking, what on earth is the Creations in Clay? Some sort of exhibit?”
“Sort of, with tentacles. The Creations in Clay is the annual pottery and clay event in Sun City West. It always takes place right before the summer heat kicks in. It includes a juried art show and lots of booths where the clay club members sell their creations.”
“That sounds nice. I didn’t know your mother was interested in juried art.”
“Up until a few months ago, she wasn’t. Then one of her book club ladies read this article about people whose artistic talents don’t begin to show up until they’re in their seventies or eighties. Like Grandma Moses. Or that lady from the seventeen hundreds who discovered decoupage. Anyway, one of my mother’s friends convinced her to join the clay club because, and I quote, ‘Molding clay could be the conduit to our hidden artistic talents.’”
“Really? She said that?”
“Actually, if you want to know the real reason, I think my mother intends to make dog bowls for Streetman. Don’t ask.”
Augusta tried not to snicker, but we both started laughing.
I finally caught my breath. “It’s only May, so she has lots of time to make that spoiled Chiweenie of hers a complete place setting. Well, I’d better get back to my accounts before Gertie and Trudy get here. And especially before Marshall returns from that missing person’s case in Buckeye. I don’t want him to think I stand around gabbing all day.”
“So, how’s it going between the two of you?”
“Geez, you’re beginning to sound like my mother. Seriously, for someone dating in her forties, it’s going great.”
It was hard not to smile and get all dreamy eyed. I didn’t want to jinx anything by saying it out loud, but boy, was I glad Nate hired him. Imagine, Marshall and I worked all those years for the Mankato Police Department and neither of us knew we were both interested in dating each other. Maybe Nate figured it out all along and that was why when it came time to hire another investigator for his firm, Marshall was his first choice.
“Glad to hear it.” Augusta clicked the mouse and looked at her computer screen. “I’d better get back to work, too.”
Within seconds, I was working on my billing and filing. The time went by so quickly I hadn’t realized it was two thirty until Augusta knocked on my door frame.
“The ladies who called are here to see you. Do you want me to send them right in?”
I stood up and followed her out. “I’ll get them.”
Gertie and Trudy were facing the window and turned when they heard my footsteps. Their hairdos looked a bit different from the last time I saw them. Short silver curls with hints of blue. Perfectly styled. Same could be said for their identical outfits. It almost looked as if the two of them were standing at attention.
I rushed over immediately. “Hi! It’s nice to see you again. Can I get you some coffee or tea?”
Gertie shook her head. “No thanks. We’ll be eating soon and we don’t want to ruin our appetites. The Lillian has a marvelous master chef and tonight is tilapia night.”
“It’s always tilapia night, Gertie,” Trudy said. “They have that on the menu every night.”
Augusta, who had returned to her desk, sat bolt upright and gave me one of her unmistakable looks.
I turned the other way and ushered the sisters into my office. “Please, take a seat.”
There were two chairs in front of my desk, and I moved my chair to the right of the computer so it wouldn’t obstruct anyone’s view as we spoke. “So, tell me. What’s going on regarding the thefts? I understand that’s why you came to see me.”
“It is,” Gertie said. “It most certainly is. You show her the list, Trudy.”
Without wasting a second, Trudy opened a large floral handbag and took out a folded piece of paper and began to read it.
“Mildred Kirkenbaum, one spool of purple yarn, Emily Outstrader, two cans of tuna, Warren Bellis, one jar of olives. The green ones without those red things in them. Mabel Leech, one fountain pen and some paper clips, Norma O’Neil, a five-dollar bill, Sharon Smyth, a small clay jar she bought from the last clay club art show, and Clive Monroe, a box of tissues and his lifelong membership pin to the Elks.”
“Uh, is that it?”
Trudy nodded as she handed me the list. “As far as we know. And we’ve been asking. From the minute Mildred told us about the purple yarn.”
“What about you and your sister? Are any of your items missing?”
“Not that we know of,” Gertie said. “But sometimes you don’t know if something’s missing until you go to use it.”
I had to agree with her on that one. I’d spent entire afternoons looking for stupid things like razor blades, the extra packet of dental floss I swore I had, and my reward card for a local restaurant that I only frequented once in a while. Most of the time the items in question turned up days, weeks, or months later, in places I never expected. I wondered if the same could be said for the residents of the Lillian, but I didn’t want to sound as if I was dismissing the two sisters who had made a point of coming to our office.
“Is this the first time something like this has happened? Or the first time people felt it should be reported?”
Gertie and Trudy glanced at each other before Gertie spoke.
“The first time. We’re certain. Those residents, who happen to be friends of ours, have lived there much longer than my sister and me. That’s why we’re so concerned.”
I edged forward in my chair. “A theft is a theft no matter how small or valuable the item is, so why didn’t your friends report it to the management?”
“They didn’t want to get anyone in trouble,” Trudy said.
Gertie gave her sister a poke in the arm. “Tell her the real reason. Go on.”
Trudy started to fiddle with the strap on her handbag. “If we reported it, the manager would think the thief was one of the staff
members. I mean, they have keys to our apartments in order to clean them and change the linens. Not to mention the regular maintenance. The staff members do all sorts of extra things for us like helping us put groceries away if we go shopping or move furniture around. Some of them even help residents with their hair if they have time. All of that will come to a stop if they get hauled in by the residence director.”
“My sister’s right,” Gertie said. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say the staff plays favorites, but those of us who remember them during the holidays or tip them once in a while get better attention, if you know what I mean.”
I bit my lip and waited for a second. “Is it possible these thefts were committed by another resident and not a staff member?”
The sisters shrugged simultaneously.
“Maybe, if someone was careless enough to leave their door open or unlocked. That happens sometimes. But the people we mentioned, the ones on the list, were all insistent they locked up whenever they left their apartments, even if they were only going down the hall to get their mail,” Gertie said. “And it isn’t as if any new residents have moved in lately. The last one was Florence Shiver, and she moved in at least nine months ago.”
“Well,” I said, “this is troubling. Look, as you know, I’m the office bookkeeper and accountant, not an investigator, but I would be willing to speak discreetly with your residence director, without letting on you were the ones who called me. I’d be doing this unofficially. As a friend. Would that be okay with you? For all we know, maybe the director is aware of something going on.”
“Do you have to show her the list of names?” Trudy asked.
I shook my head. “No. I’ll type up a list of the items and go from there. How does that sound?”
Gertie opened her handbag and took out a twenty-dollar bill. “We’re willing to pay you.”
