Revved Up 4 Murder

  The seniors of Sun City West are celebrating again, this time over the news that Wayne from the pinochle club finally has a chance to restore his classic car. Phee goes along for the ride, but her thoughts are on her agency’s latest case—a priceless artifact that’s missing from the local museum. It’s an antique doll supposedly filled with treasure—but also carrying a curse for whoever possesses it. Then a dead body is found under Wayne’s car, along with signs of foul play, and Phee is coaxed into helping get him off the hook.

  It’s clear to Phee that the victim was killed by sabotaged machinery, but the garage attracts so much foot traffic that narrowing down a list of suspects will be nearly impossible. Harder still will be keeping her mother’s gaggle of friends from meddling in the case, especially after they throw a wrench into the works by trying to locate the missing doll. Soon Phee and the whole group are careening toward a head-on collision with a thief, a killer, and a cursed doll, and she can only hope they don’t drive her insane—or worse—make her the next victim . . .

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Revved Up 4 Murder

  J. C. Eaton

  Copyright © 2024 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: 978-1-960511-51-5

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  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.

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  Acknowledgments

  We owe so many thanks and appreciation to the folks who gave generously of their time and expertise to ensure Revved Up 4 Murder would keep our readers laughing and guessing whodunit.

  Thank you, Regina Kotokowski in Sun City West, Arizona, and Susan Schwartz in Coorparoo, Australia, for scrutinizing our manuscript and catching everything from scene inconsistencies to logistics and pesky grammar mistakes. You are both godsends!

  To Larry Finkelstein and Gale Leach, thank you for keeping our technology running and everything else you’ve done related to our book. You’re incredible!

  And to the following members of the Sun City West Automobile Restoration Club, we are certainly in your debt. Not only did you walk us through that amazing garage, but you taught us so much about automobile restoration. This book could not have been penned without you. Kudos to: Pete Bowman, Evelyn Burrier, Paul Burrier, Don Holman, Dan Kahl, and Tom Jones.

  Of course, none of this would have been possible without our tireless and wonderful agent, Dawn Dowdle, from Blue Ridge Literary Agency, who passed too soon. We were so blessed. And she will be so missed.

  To our editor, Bill Harris, and the phenomenal staff at Beyond the Page Publishing, we are genuinely appreciative of all you do.

  Finally, we thank you, our readers, for bringing our acerbic and quirky characters into your lives!

  Dedication

  To Evelyn and Paul Burrier, who gave us the idea to stage a murder in their favorite place—The Sun City West Automotive Restoration Garage. We were mesmerized the first time you mentioned it!

  Chapter 1

  Office of Sophie Kimball

  Williams Investigations

  Glendale, Arizona

  No sooner did I slip off my lightweight fall sweater and boot up my computer when I heard Augusta. For an office secretary, she sounded more like a longshoreman at times. “Pick up the phone, Phee! It’s your mother. I transferred the call as soon as I recognized her voice.”

  “I’m on it, Augusta!”

  “Good! I don’t think she or one of her friends found a dead body like the last time because she’s not that frantic.”

  Wonderful. That means she’s about to invite me to one of their brunches. Or worse.

  “Thanks. This should make my day.”

  Sure enough, my mother was as chipper as all get-up-and-go. “Wonderful news! The book club ladies and Herb’s pinochle crew will be celebrating at the new Boyer’s Bakery in Sun City this Saturday. Everyone wants you to join us.”

  No. Everyone wants me to get indigestion.

  “Um, what exactly are you celebrating? Usually, the guys go to Curley’s Bar.”

  “Not this time. Oh, don’t get me wrong. They’ll probably order a pitcher later on in the evening, but we all decided to have breakfast at Boyer’s.”

  “You still didn’t tell me the reason for this joyous occasion.”

  “Wayne’s car was selected to be next at the Sun City West Automotive Restoration Club. They’ll be restoring that old eyesore of his. The 1965 Ford Mustang that he bought at an auto auction last year. His name finally came up on the November list. If that’s not cause for celebration, who knows what is!”

  I tried to be enthusiastic and not snarky. “Terrific news. Not sure I can make it. I—”

  “You’re off work that morning. And besides, their raspberry cobbler and double fudge brownies are spectacular.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Or not.

  “Okay, let me know. Hang on a minute, Streetman and Essie want to say hi!”

  Before I could object, I heard my mother call out to the dog and cat. “Say hello to your sister.” Then a soft meow and what sounded like a half yowl, half bark.

  “Give them my regards, too, Mom. Gotta run. Catch you later.” And before she could respond, the phone was back in the cradle.

  “I heard that!” Augusta called out. “Did she make you speak to the pets?”

  I stepped into the outer office and smiled. “No, only listen. I hung up before she had the chance.”

  “Couldn’t help but overhear you. Your mother’s friends are celebrating the fact that an old car is getting restored? Isn’t that kind of, well, odd?”

  “In their circle, not at all! Last month they celebrated Myrna Mittleson losing five pounds. They all went to the Homey Hut for their pie special, where Myrna, I’m sure, gained those five pounds back plus a few more. She ordered ice cream to go with it.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “That’s nothing. In the past few months, they’ve celebrated Louise spotting an eagles’ nest near the dog park, Cecilia making a meat loaf that didn’t taste or resemble a brick, and Kenny finally getting a spare when he bowled.”

  “Got to admit, they give retirement a whole new meaning in Sun City West.”

  I sauntered to the Keurig machine and popped in a dark roast K-Cup. “Yeah, I have to agree. It’s not at all what I expected when I moved out here a few years ago. But then again, there were plenty of warning signs.”

  I’m Sophie Kimball Gregory, better known as Phee, bookkeeper/accountant for Williams Investigations in Glendale, Arizona. I was first dragged into the “Valley of the Sun” on a wild-goose chase for my mother when I was working in accounts receivable for the police department in Mankato, Minnesota. She and her book club ladies were convinced a cursed novel was killing them off. Don’t ask. I flew out here on a whim and vowed I’d never return. Ha! That was before my good friend Detective Nate Williams retired and opened an investigative agency not far from my mother’s community. With an endless amount of persuasion, he convinced me to take a year’s leave and help him with the business end of things.

  As it turned out, my sojourn to the Southwest resulted in a permanent move and a reconnection with detective Marshall Gregory, who, like me, left the Mankato Police Department to work with Nate. One thing led to another and before I knew it, I was Mrs. Sophie Kimball Gregory. Who says book curses don’t lead to romance?

  “Think your mother will bring the dog to the bakery?”

  “As long as Vera Bradley keeps making bigger and bigger tote bags, she will. Ugh. The dog. I try not to think about Streetman. At least the cat’s not as neurotic as that chiweenie. And I swear, that dog picks up a new neurosis each day. Now it’s certain fabrics he doesn’t like. Barks or tears at them.”

  Augusta chuckled. “That’s the trouble with little dogs. They have a Napoleon complex. Give me a Rottweiler or a Doberman any day of the week.
”

  “Who’s getting a dog?” Nate asked. He stepped out of his office and made a beeline for the coffee machine. As he plunked the lid over the K-Cup he looked at Augusta.

  “Not me, Mr. Williams. Grew up on a dairy farm. Don’t need to be reminded.”

  I shook my head. “We always have to babysit for my mother’s darlings. That’s enough to scare anyone away from four-legged friends.”

  “Speaking of scaring away, we picked up a doozy of a case. In fact, that’s where Marshall is right now. Seems a priceless artifact from the Phoenix Art Museum was discovered missing early this morning. It’s an eighteenth-century wooden doll said to have a cipher built into it. If anyone smashes the doll, the treasure inside it will be destroyed. The cipher has to be solved to unlock and release the treasure. Go figure.”

  I took a sip of my coffee and furrowed my brow. “Yeesh. That is a doozy. Of all things. A treasure trapped inside a doll. I thought those museums had state-of-the-art security systems.”

  “They do.” Nate retrieved his cup and took a gulp. “Unfortunately, the doll is on loan to the Phoenix Unity Council for its upcoming cultural celebration and is no longer in the museum. Too bad they didn’t request something else. Like a nice handkerchief. Good thing that event is a few weeks from now.”

  Augusta cocked her head. “I don’t understand why they didn’t call the police department. Not that you and Mr. Gregory aren’t top-notch, but you come with a fee.”

  Nate laughed. “The actual jurisdiction where the doll was last seen was outside city limits so the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office got the call.”

  “Uh-oh.” I tried not to roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me it’s a Bowman and Ranston thing?”

  “With all the pomp, circumstance and fanfare that go with it.” By now, Nate had finished his coffee and started making a second cup.

  “Which one is the one who looks like a grizzly bear?” Augusta tried to keep a straight face. “I get him mixed up with the short guy who could pass for a Sonoran Desert toad.”

  Nate choked on his coffee and all but spat it out. “You didn’t hear this from me. The shorter detective is Ranston. The larger, taller one is Bowman. And let’s keep this conversation to ourselves.”

  I nodded. “I take it their office is mired under so we were asked to consult.”

  “Short answer—yes. It’s part of our continuing contract with the sheriff’s office. At least we’re not dealing with loonies, kidnapping, or murder.”

  Yet.

  “The museum and the sheriff’s office want to keep this as low-profile as possible so don’t expect any media coverage. Museum employees are under a gag order as well. We also touched base with the museum’s insurance company. It’s one we’ve dealt with before so we’ll be sharing information and conferring as needed. They seem to be comfortable with the arrangement. At least for now.”

  “Too bad we can’t put my mother and that book club of hers on a gag order. Not to mention the pinochle guys. And by the way, Wayne’s old 1965 Ford Mustang is going to be restored. Right now that’s the big news.”

  Nate grabbed his coffee cup and started for his office. “Good. Anything to keep that crew from getting embroiled in their usual quagmires. Hmm, funny that a car restoration would be cause for excitement.”

  “Not excitement,” Augusta said. “More like a reason to eat out.”

  “That, and a reason to keep the rumor train running on track. And don’t worry, I’m not about to breathe a word about that doll to anyone. Last thing I need is for those women to insist we unlock the treasure. Next thing you know, she and her entourage will be camped out at my mother’s place, poring over information on decoding puzzles. By the way, what’s the story behind that thing? Just in case.”

  Nate reached in his pocket and pulled out a crumbled piece of paper. “Got the gist from Bowman. The handmade wooden doll was carved from a tree in Virginia where a notorious thief was hung in 1790. The thief supposedly carved the doll and hid a priceless treasure in it. Ironic, huh? The doll was given as a gift to the daughter of a plantation owner but after three days, the little girl died from a mysterious illness.”

  Augusta shrugged. “Doesn’t sound that unusual. Back in those days people succumbed to all sorts of diseases.”

  Nate looked up from the piece of paper. “Hold on. There’s more. Once the girl was buried in the family cemetery, members of her family began hearing her voice and, even stranger, noticed the doll had moved from the girl’s bedroom to the butler’s pantry.”

  “That’s easy,” I said and laughed. “The butler did it.”

  “There was no butler and the doll didn’t remain in the pantry. Long story short, the family believed the girl’s spirit was trapped inside the doll, along with the treasure.”

  “Then what?” Augusta gave her bouffant hair a few pats and widened her eyes.

  “According to Bowman’s notes, the mother passed away the following month as a result of a fall down the stairs. And the girl’s father was killed when he was thrown from his horse.”

  “A whole lot of coincidence if you ask me.”

  “I agree with Phee,” Augusta said. “And a whole lot of hooey.”

  Nate flattened the note and put it back in his pocket. “Hooey or not, that doll created a whirlwind of public interest and somehow accrued value. It was rediscovered after the Civil War and remained in the possession of one Germaine Webb, a descendant of that family.”

  “Don’t tell me she died from some bizarre circumstance.” I took another sip of coffee, this time a larger gulp.

  “Yep.” Nate’s smile grew wide. “Germaine was bitten by a spider in the late 1930s and never recovered. The doll went into the possession of a local museum and from there, grew in notoriety until it was purchased by an art museum in New York and later the Phoenix Art Museum. According to Bowman, ‘If we don’t find the darn thing, it will be blamed for every death and accident in the valley.’”

  “Better tell your husband to work fast,” Augusta said.

  I nodded and retreated to my office, coffee cup in hand. As I pulled up the monthly expense spreadsheet on my computer, I was hit with the most awful realization regarding the Phoenix Unity Council. I narrowly avoided knocking over my coffee and raced back to Augusta’s desk.

  “Shh! Not a word, but Nate and Marshall’s investigation is in deep, deep trouble.”

  “Huh? So soon? You were gone less than ten minutes.”

  “Not a word.” I moved closer and leaned over. “I remembered something. Something awful.”

  Augusta’s eyes got wide as I continued. “Cecilia Flanagan and Louise Munson from the book club are on that council. It didn’t dawn on me at first but as soon as I sat at my desk and went to work on a spreadsheet, I remembered. Holy cow! This is awful. They’re bound to know about the missing doll. The missing ‘trapped soul inside of it’ doll that kills off anyone who comes in close contact with it. If we thought the book curse was bad, this will make it look like child’s play. And once word gets out to my mother, there’ll be no telling what’s next.”

  “Just keep your fingers crossed that Wayne’s car restoration takes center stage.”

  “Ugh. Looks like I’d better go to that breakfast at Boyer’s after all. Someone’s got to keep that news about the doll under wraps.”

  “I thought they were under a gag order.”

  “The museum employees, not the members of the unity council. Good heavens! Even if they were, do you honestly think Cecilia and Louise could keep their mouths shut? A gag order wouldn’t mean anything to them.”

  “Look on the bright side. It’s not a homicide. Not yet anyway. Only a missing doll. With a dead soul inside.”

  “Thanks, Augusta. That’s very encouraging. I’ll think of that when I pull back the covers and try to go to sleep tonight.”

  She smiled and winked. “Anytime.”