Grilled 4 Murder

  Sun City West is abuzz with the news that the Food Network is sponsoring a local barbecue cook-off and that Phee’s friends from the pinochle club are in the finals. But the mood soon darkens when the county planning committee announces a plan to situate a new garbage transfer station on the town’s edge. With tempers flaring and rumors of corruption swirling, it comes as little surprise when the committee’s chair, who happens to be a finalist in the cook-off, is found murdered.

  When Phee’s friends are named as the most likely suspects, she knows the accusation stinks to high heaven. As she navigates a world of politics and payoffs, she discovers there are any number of community members, along with the committee itself, who had a reason to want the chair dead. With the barbecue contest in full swing and celebrity chefs on hand to judge, Phee will have to sniff out the clues, no matter how noxious, to catch a killer . . .

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Grilled 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: 978-1-958384-82-4

  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 Streetboy (Streets), our little chiweenie, who was the inspiration for Streetman in our Sophie Kimball Mysteries. We took your antics and gave them a whole new meaning in our books. Your spirit will always live on in print. And please, don’t snap at anyone in Heaven! At least wait until we meet you over the Rainbow Bridge.

  Acknowledgments

  Wow! This is the tenth novel in our Sophie Kimball Mysteries, and if it wasn’t for Susan Schwartz in Australia, who has been editing these quirky mysteries since the first one came out in 2017, we would never have gotten this far. Susan, your editing prowess continues to amaze us and we are so grateful for your time, energy, and enthusiasm!

  Authors in the Cozy Mystery Crew, we are so appreciative of your time, advice, and support! Thank you, Libby Klein, Linda Reilly, Becky Clark, Esme Addison, Tina Kashian, Vicki Delany, Elizabeth Penney, Shari Reynolds, Raquel V. Reyes, Ellen Byron, and Olivia Matthews.

  When it comes to technology, we are complete dunderheads, but thanks to Larry Finkelstein and Gale Leach, whose understanding of all things technical has saved us numerous times, we are exceedingly grateful.

  We still shake our heads that we have such an amazing agent, Dawn Dowdle, from Blue Ridge Literary Agency. Her guidance, knowledge, and patience have carried us through this book and all of our cozy mysteries.

  Cover artist Dar Albert, from Wicked Smart Designs, deserves a special kudos for the spectacular cover that really captures the essence of the story.

  And to our extraordinary editor, Bill Harris, at Beyond the Page Publishing, we thank you for your sense of humor and for appreciating the weird writing world we inhabit.

  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

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Books By J. C. Eaton

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Williams Investigations

  Glendale, Arizona

  “Welcome Back, Mrs. Gregory!” Augusta announced the second I walked through the door of our office. “How was the honeymoon? I already got your husband’s version before he rushed off to Sun City to see a client.”

  “Fantastic! An entire ten days in Maui without any frantic phone calls from my mother or the book club ladies. Of course, she made up for it the minute we arrived home yesterday. How brave Streetman was during the Fourth of July and something about Herb and a barbeque cook-off. I let it waft over me.”

  “Her neighbor? Pinochle-playing Herb Garrett from across the street?”

  “Who else? He and those wacky cronies of his are always up to something. No worries. Whatever it was, I’m sure she’ll repeat it. Oh, and before I forget, I’m still keeping Kimball as my professional name. I’m now Sophie Kimball Gregory.”

  “Sounds like one of those trust-fund babies.”

  “Ha. We should be so lucky. Marshall and I will have to earn our money the old-fashioned way by working for it. Hmm, I don’t hear Nate’s voice. Is he out?”

  “Yep. In your favorite neck of the woods, Sun City West. Had a meeting with Deputy Bowman to finalize some paperwork on prior cases. By the way, I thought I’d seen everything until your aunt Ina walked into your wedding ceremony wearing that bizarre paisley caftan with the long ropy train. Best part was when your mother’s dog attacked it. Wouldn’t let go of the rope.”

  “Aargh. Don’t remind me.”

  “And the dog dance at the conclusion. Whoa. That was a first. Quite a wedding ceremony. Never expected anything like it in my life.”

  “What part? My aunt’s attire or the dog? And by the way, that was one of her more subtle outfits.”

  Augusta widened her eyes. “I meant the dog.”

  “I think the staff at the Peoria City Hall are still in shock. My mother just had to bring him in her tote bag along with a recording of that ‘Pizzicato Moonbeam’ song the dog likes. At least she drove him home before the reception.”

  “For which the Renaissance Hotel is eternally grateful, I’m sure.”

  We both laughed. I grabbed a K-Cup of dark roast and put it in the Keurig. “Well, no sense putting it off,” I said. “Those invoices aren’t going to pay themselves. Not to mention the billing.”

  “Relax. You’ve got the entire week to get back into your routine. No earth-shattering cases going on. Only the usual stuff. Maybe the worst thing we’ll have to put up with this summer is the heat.”

  As I opened the door to my office, I prayed Augusta was right. Ever since I arrived at my job as the bookkeeper/accountant for Williams Investigations, it was one murder after another. And all of them courtesy of my mother’s senior retirement community in Sun City West.

  Augusta is our office secretary and I’m Sophie (Phee) Kimball, oops, Kimball Gregory now. A former divorcée in my forties with a now-grown-up daughter, I moved out here from Mankato, Minnesota, at the beckoning of my friend, former police detective Nate Williams, who retired to start his own investigative business in Glendale, Arizona. Essentially, he made me one of those “offers you couldn’t refuse,” but really it was emotional blackmail. He reminded me of the time I kissed the icy pavement in a Target parking lot compliments of the Minnesota snow and ice.

  True, Glendale is practically spitting distance from my mother’s retirement community, but Nate promised we’d keep it that way. He lied. Williams Investigations got dragged into more cases out there in the past three years than Gibbs ever saw on NCIS. The one truly good thing to come out of it was the fact Nate hired another detective, Marshall Gregory, whom I just married eleven days ago.

  Like Nate, Marshall retired from the Mankato Police Department but wasn’t quite ready to quit working. As long as that work meant living in a climate where snow was optional. I later found out that Marshall took Nate up on his offer because he knew I had relocated here as well. It turned out we both had secret crushes on each other back in Mankato but never acknowledged it.

  Now, settled into a comfortable rental home in t
he neighboring community of Vistancia, Marshall and I were coming to grips with what it was like living in a place where people referred to a hundred and three degrees as “warm.”

  The blue light flashed on the Keurig and within seconds I inhaled the aroma of my dark roast. “Yell if you need me,” I said to Augusta and trotted off to my office. It felt good to boot up the computer and attack the small pile of bills that Augusta had thoughtfully placed next to the keyboard. Thank you, Augusta.

  About an hour or so into my morning, I heard a familiar clarion call from the outer office. “Phee! Your mother’s on the phone. Said she didn’t want to monkey with your cell number. She sounded frantic.”

  If she didn’t sound frantic, then I would be concerned her pulse stopped.

  “Thanks.” I picked up the phone. So help me, if this was about Herb’s barbequing, I may have screamed.

  My mother’s voice did sound a bit more anxious than usual. “Phee! Thank goodness I reached you.”

  I’m in the office, not trekking the Andes. Of course you reached me.

  She continued before I could utter a syllable. “Streetman grabbed something from one of those bushes they never trim a few doors down from Herb Garrett and the dog won’t let go of it. I think it’s some sort of animal. All I saw was dark fur. It could be anything. He ran under the bed as soon as we got inside and I can’t get him out. It could be a rat or worse. Can you drive over here? We need to move the mattress and box spring from the bed. It’s too heavy for me to lift and Herb’s not home. He and Wayne are trying out bacon renderings at Wayne’s house for the Master Grillers contest.”

  “Mom, I’m at work. Work! I can’t stop what I’m doing and drive over there. Did you try the book club ladies?”

  “It’s Monday morning. Shirley went shopping with Lucinda. Cecilia has a meeting at her church, Myrna’s with the bocce club and Louise isn’t answering her phone.”

  Good for Louise.

  “And forget about my sister. Ina’s been way too wrapped up with the Phoenix Opera Company’s summer schedule.”

  “Streetman probably found a piece of old cloth. The wind blows everything around.”

  “It’s not an old cloth. It could be a rat. My God, Phee! The poor dog could get bitten.”

  “Hold on a second, will you?”

  I pushed the door open wider and called out to Augusta. “Didn’t you say Nate was in Sun City West with one of the sheriff’s deputies?”

  “Uh-huh. At the posse station. Been there awhile.”

  Before she could continue, I grabbed my cell phone and tapped Nate’s number. “Sorry to interrupt your meeting but my mother is having some sort of catastrophe with the dog and I’m not about to drive over there, so I wondered—”

  “If you could convince me to check it out?”

  “Yeah. Please.”

  “You’re in luck, kiddo. We finished up a few seconds ago and I’m about to get into my car. I’ll swing over there. She’s only a few blocks away.”

  “You’re a lifesaver. Call me when you get there.”

  Seconds later, I resumed my conversation with my mother. “Nate’s on his way over. He was at the posse station. Does Streetman sound like he’s in distress?”

  “It sounds like he’s licking something. He could be wounded and whatever he grabbed could be running loose around here. I’m unlocking the front door so I don’t have to waste time when Nate gets here.”

  “Okay. Sounds good. Talk to you in a bit.”

  “What was that all about?” Augusta asked. She was now standing in the doorway to my office.

  “Don’t ask. The dog found something in a bush during his walk and my mother’s convinced it’s alive. He wouldn’t let her get near him and now he’s under the bed.”

  “Um, what exactly is Nate going to do?”

  “Move mattresses, I think. Frankly, I’m not too worried. That dog gets attached to all sorts of things, and so far they’ve all been inanimate.”

  “Hope you’re right.” She turned and walked back to her desk.

  I pictured the dog latching on to an old piece of stinky material or someone’s discarded lunch bag. Of course, my mother did say it was furry, but that didn’t mean anything. Her imagination was right up there with most fantasy writers’. Not wanting to waste another second, I returned to the bills and continued working until the next phone call came in.

  This time it was Nate. “Not a rat. It was a kitten.”

  “Was? Oh, how awful. Streetman killed a kitten. That’s horrible.”

  “Oops. Wrong word choice. Is a kitten, but he may lick it to death. He’s enamored with the little thing. And from the looks of it, the kitten likes him, too. He or she’s been crawling all over that dog.”

  “Did you have to remove the mattress and box spring to get to him?”

  “No, by the time your mother let me inside, the dog was next to the couch with the kitten at his feet. Here, I’ll let you talk with your mother.”

  “It’s a cat, Phee. A cat! What am I supposed to do with a cat? And you know how territorial that dog is, he won’t let it out of his sight. I can barely get that fleece thing away from him when it needs to be washed. And now, a cat of all things. What am I going to do with a cat?”

  “The same thing you do with the dog. Feed it, give it water, and get it a litter box. It’s a kitten, for crying out loud, not a Bengal tiger. Besides, chances are it belongs to someone in your neighborhood and they’re probably frantic to find it. Especially with all the coyotes roaming around. You said it was found a few doors down from Herb. Have him ask his neighbors when he gets back. Put Nate on. I’ll call you later.”

  “It’s fine, kiddo. I could hear your voice. Look, I’ve got a few minutes. I’ll scout out those houses and see if anyone’s lost a kitten. Catch you later.”

  In the background, I could hear my mother moaning, “A cat . . . a cat . . . what am I supposed to do with a cat?”

  Miraculously, I was able to get caught up with my billing before the next interruption a couple of hours later. This time it was Nate and the knock on the doorjamb caused me to jump.

  “Whoa. Didn’t realize you were that engrossed. I’ll make it quick. I scoped out the houses that were near the bush your mother described and all of them are locked up for the summer. Then I ran into a lady from across the street who was picking up her paper and she confirmed it. Said, and I quote, ‘the tiny weeds by the sidewalk are a dead giveaway the snowbirds have flown the coup for the summer. Sissies. They didn’t even wait till it hit a hundred and eight degrees. Nope. Out of here when it reached ninety-nine.’”

  “Did she have any idea whose kitten it was?” I asked.

  “Nope. Said two of the neighbors had ‘fou-fou’ dogs but no cats as far as she knew. What the heck’s a ‘fou-fou’ dog?”

  “I think the opposite of Streetman. Not size, mind you, but temperament. You know, sweet, cuddly, and neuroses-free.”

  “So, a small, normal dog, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “I stopped back at your mom’s place and told her to post some signs around the neighborhood. The dog was still licking the kitten when I left.”

  “That’s encouraging.”

  Nate shook his head. “Did I mention your mother was still seated with her head in her lap? All I could hear amid the groaning was, ‘What am I going to do with a cat?’”

  “Oh, brother.”

  Chapter 2

  At a little after four, I phoned my mother and suggested she contact one of the pet rescue places. Needless to say, I wasn’t prepared for her response.

  “What???” she bellowed. “You want to take Streetman’s cat to a shelter? That will destroy him. Have you gone crazy?”

  Me? That gives new meaning to the expression “turn on a dime.”

  “First of all, it’s not Streetman’s cat. Not yet anyway. Have you at least tried to put up a few posters in your neighborhood?”