by J. C. Eaton
Then Rosalee spoke directly to her sister. “Next time you get chummy with one of those ladies from the Yates County Senior Center, run a background check!”
Marilyn kept muttering how sorry she was, all the while ingesting more cookies. I was tempted to try one but thought she might slap my hand.
Rosalee thanked me profusely and walked me to the door. “Good work, Norrie. I’m glad you’re back at Two Witches.”
Only temporarily! And if my sister and brother-in-law don’t find that damned bug, I’ll go down there myself and hunt for it!
By the latter part of the day, I had heard all about Erlene’s confession, this time from Bradley Jamison, who called to let me know that all charges against Kelsey Payne were dropped. We also set a time and place for dinner on Friday—Port of Call on the lake.
I wasted no time sharing the information with the guys from the Grey Egret and our staff. As far as everyone else was concerned, every news channel in the Finger Lakes had it covered by five o’clock.
At six thirty-nine, the phone rang again. This time it was Godfrey Klein. “I turned on the news a few minutes ago. Too bad that sheriff’s deputy got all the credit for solving the murder. You were the real sleuth, you know. I wanted to call to let you know that.”
“Not without your help. You literally saved me.”
It was funny, but I wanted to reach over the phone lines and hug him again. What on earth was going on with me? I had a date coming up with one of the hottest guys I’d ever come across and yet, there was something so compelling about this down-to-earth entomologist that made me wonder if I needed one of Glenda’s aura cleansings to figure out where I really stood.
At least I knew one thing—I was never, ever, going to go out on a limb to solve another murder. That was my plan on paper, anyway. I wanted to enjoy the rest of the fall season. The Federweisser would now continue to ferment and become Chardonnay. Its bubbly froth would mellow and, with it, the promise of a buttery wine that I hoped would never be laid to rest.
Meet the Author
J.C. Eaton, the wife and husband team of Ann I. Goldfarb and James E. Clapp, is the bestselling author of Booked 4 Murder, Ditched 4 Murder, and the Sophie Kimball mystery series. Ann has published eight YA time travel mysteries.
Visit their website at www.jceatonauthor.com.
Staged 4 Murder
While waiting for Norrie Ellington’s next adventure in the third book of THE WINE TRAIL MYSTERIES
(March 2019)
Don’t miss J.C. Eaton’s bestselling
The Sophie Kimble Mysteries!
STAGED 4 MURDER
Available now at your favorite bookseller or e-retailer
Turn the page for a quick peek!
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, and 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 wan
t 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.