By Lynn Cahoon

  The Tuesday Night Survivors’ Club

  The Tourist Trap Mysteries

  Wedding Bell Blues

  Picture Perfect Frame

  Murder in Waiting

  Memories and Murder

  Killer Party

  Hospitality and Homicide

  Tea Cups and Carnage

  Murder on Wheels

  Killer Run

  Dressed to Kill

  If the Shoe Kills

  Mission to Murder

  Guidebook to Murder

  Novellas

  A Very Mummy Holiday

  Mother’s Day Mayhem

  Corned Beef and Casualties

  Santa Puppy

  A Deadly Brew

  Rockets’ Dead Glare

  The Kitchen Witch Mysteries

  One Poison Pie

  Two Wicked Desserts

  Three Tainted Teas

  Novellas

  Chili Cauldron Curse

  Murder 101

  Have a Holly, Haunted Christmas

  The Farm-to-Fork Mysteries

  Who Moved My Goat Cheese?

  One Potato, Two Potato, Dead

  Killer Green Tomatoes

  Deep Fried Revenge

  Killer Comfort Food

  Fatal Family Feast

  Novellas

  Have a Deadly New Year

  Penned In

  A Pumpkin Spice Killing

  The Cat Latimer Mysteries

  A Story to Kill

  Fatality by Firelight

  Of Murder and Men

  Slay in Character

  Sconed to Death

  A Field Guide to Murder

  The Tuesday Night Survivors’ Club

  A Survivors’ Book Club Mystery

  Lynn Cahoon

  LYRICAL UNDERGROUND

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Contents

  By Lynn Cahoon

  The Tuesday Night Survivors’ Club

  Contents

  Copyright

  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

  Recipe

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Copyright

  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.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2022 by Lynn Cahoon

  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.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: June 2022

  ISBN: 978-1-5161-1113-8 (ebook)

  First Print Edition: June 2022

  ISBN: 978-1-5161-1114-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To the nurse who taught me that I was enjoying reading cozy mysteries during my cancer treatment. Your bag of books that Sunday morning made all the difference.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Although this book/series is set in Sedona, and I used several real local tourist stops in the book, the story, characters, and settings (like the Next Chapter Bookstore) are my own creation and fictional. There are a ton of people who were in my life during my cancer journey that added to this story. Know that you made my life a little less crazy those days—including my own alpha hero who shaved his head the Sunday afternoon when I started losing my hair due to the chemo treatments. As far as writing this book, thank you to Esi Sogah and the Kensington team for picking the series out of the list of possible ideas. And as always, thanks to my agent, Jill Marsal.

  Chapter 1

  Rarity Cole was living and loving her second shot at life. If she’d been a cat, she would have eight left. Right now, she was just grateful to have this second chance after living through the breast cancer that had been almost too advanced. Now, in the bookstore she’d cashed in her corporate stocks to buy, she felt at home. She shelved the last book from the box that had arrived this morning into her new healing section. It still looked a little sparse, but she was determined to give others like her options when the C word was thrown around by the team of doctors who seemed to think they had total control over you and your body.

  Which reminded her, she still needed to find an oncologist in the area. The doctors from St. Louis had pressed how important it was to keep on the medical regimen they’d started her on, which meant not only taking a pill every day, but getting regular blood work and mammograms to make sure she was okay. She’d spent long enough pretending she wasn’t still recovering from the cancer treatments. It was time to check into her body again. She took the empty box back to the main counter and wrote the task on the to-do list that she kept on the counter.

  The air-conditioning blowing out of the nearby vent made her shiver, and she rubbed her arms before finding a sweater to put on. If she turned it down, she started to sweat every time someone opened the door to The Next Chapter, her new bookstore in downtown Sedona, Arizona. Her shop was positioned right between a fortune teller’s shop and a place that sold crystals. The crystal shop was owned by Rarity’s best friend from high school, Sam Aarons. Sam was the one who had talked her into moving here and away from St. Louis a few months ago.

  Honestly, she didn’t mind the new location. It was in keeping with the new her. When you rang the bell at the oncologist’s office, you tended to reevaluate your life. Gratitude for what you gained and what you currently have.

  Which was, in Rarity’s case, a few extra pounds around the middle and a need for a nap at least once a day. Eating right and exercise hadn’t stopped the ten-pound weight gain that had circled her waist. And stuck.

  Rarity blamed the chocolate. She’d eaten a lot of chocolate, and ice cream and fast food during her year of treatment. Then the visits had just stopped. She had seen her doctor once since she’d been “cured” and once before she’d left St. Louis. They’d drawn blood to check to see if the cancer had returned. Or worse, if the treatment was now killing her instead of the disease. Doctor visits were always a barrel of fun.

  The bell over the door sounded, and she watched someone walk toward the counter.

  “I’m here for the meeting tonight?” A fiftyish woman stood in front of the counter. “I know I’m early, but I was so excited when I read about your new book club in the Sunday paper. I’m Shirley Prescott. I rang the bell after completing treatments two years ago. Although, I’m still going to my oncologist every six months. They call it a well-baby checkup. And I’m rambling. George always says I ramble, and since having cancer, I’m worse. I guess I want to get out all my words before something else happens because tomorrow’s not promised.”

  Rarity took an instant liking to the woman. Shirley’s chattering was refreshing after hanging out in a quiet bookstore and then going home to an empty house. “I’m Rarity Cole, owner of The Next Chapter, and I’ll be leading the group tonight. I’m almost at a year. Survivor. I always hated that term. But you work with what you’re given, right?”

  “I feel like I should have done something heroic to be called a survivor. Like survived a month in the desert or walked away from a plane crash. I just went to every appointment and did what they told me. Well, except for losing weight. I started baking again, and George doesn’t eat sweets. So there’s that.” Shirley glanced around at the area by the fireplace. “I see you found Annie’s Bakery. She bakes the best cookies in town. Well, besides me.”

  “Go grab a drink and a few cookies.” Rarity looked at the clock. It was almost seven, and Shirley looked like
the only participant in the book club. Rarity had needed books when she went through treatment, but maybe having a group called the survivors’ book club was off-putting. Like what Shirley said. “We’ll get started in a few minutes.”

  Shirley handed her a piece of paper. “Before I forget, George wanted to know if you could order these books for him. They’re all on World War I or maybe II. I forget what he’s currently researching. He makes planes and boats and stuff. You should see our basement, it’s filled with his models.”

  “Sounds like a fun hobby.” She glanced at the list. “I don’t think I have any of these in stock, but I can have them for next week’s meeting. I’ll just need a credit card to charge them on.”

  Shirley dug in her tote and pulled out a wallet. She handed over a card. “Set me up a tab because I’m going to be your best customer. George hates driving into Flagstaff to get supplies. And when I was going through treatment, he’d complain for a week after I had chemo about how long the drive was.”

  “I bet you were glad for the company.” Rarity thought about how Kevin hadn’t come once to her treatments, saying that hospitals made him sick.

  “Yeah, as much as he griped, he’d bring games and cards. We had fun.” Shirley smiled at the memory. “Which I know sounds totally weird. Anyway, I’ll go get settled. You do what you need to do, don’t worry about me.”

  It was already ten after seven, so Rarity ordered George’s books, set up a contact file for Shirley and George, and then took the credit card back to where Shirley was sitting. She had taken out a pile of pink yarn and a crochet hook and had started working on the project in her lap. Rarity held out the card. “Here you go. That’s pretty.”

  “It’s for my granddaughter. Karen and her husband are expecting. I’ve been working on this off and on for a month. I need to get it done, but it’s so hot. Sometimes I wish we still lived in Idaho. Getting through the winters there, I needed a project on my lap.” Shirley tucked the card into her wallet. “I’m sorry we didn’t get more of a crowd. I’ll bring someone next week. I promise. I hope you’re not thinking of cancelling the club.”

  “No, there’s no need to cancel. It takes time to build a group.” Rarity sat next to the pile of books she’d chosen for possible discussions. “Have you read any of these?”

  Shirley shook her head. “During treatment I didn’t read anything but cozy mysteries. I could lose myself in the plot or the setting. I’m looking forward to expanding my reading choices.”

  Rarity moved the cozy mysteries she’d pulled into a side pile. “Okay then, I’ll take these off the list.”

  “Maybe someone else will want to read those,” Shirley protested.

  Rarity glanced around at the empty chairs. “I don’t hear anyone complaining. Let’s look at the women’s fiction. I wanted to start with a book that didn’t talk about cancer, but instead dealt with a woman struggling with other problems.”

  They discussed the books until there were only five left on the table. Rarity heard the clock chime eight thirty. “We did a lot of work tonight.”

  “We didn’t even choose a book.” Shirley pointed to the table. “We still have five up for contention.”

  “We can make the decision next week. I’ll put these on the counter with a flyer about how we’re going to choose one to read next week. Maybe that will draw some more people into the group.” Rarity could already see the flyer in her mind. She’d make it first thing in the morning.

  “You’re really good at this marketing thing.” Shirley tucked her blanket into her tote bag. “I’m happy you moved here and opened your shop. I’ve missed being part of a book club.”

  “I’m glad I did as well.” She glanced around at the old building with high ceilings with tin plating on them. She didn’t know what the utility costs would be to keep this place cool, but she loved the look of the old brick and the warm wood floors. “It’s beginning to feel like home.”

  * * * *

  Wednesday morning, Rarity made the book club sign and display and then went about what was becoming her normal routine. She’d worked as a business analyst at a large corporation before leaving St. Louis, and she’d thought her days were busy then. She had quickly found out that owning the bookstore meant no day was the same. She needed to start setting up some systems. She liked systems.

  Sam Aarons came into the shop with two cups of coffee in her hand. Sam believed in dressing for the part, wearing flowy skirts and white peasant blouses. Her long, curly red hair topped off the look. She came up to the counter and handed one of the drinks to Rarity. “Hey, neighbor. How did your book club go last night?”

  “Didn’t your crystals already tell you?” Rarity took a long sip of the coffee. “This is just what I needed. Why is coffee from a shop so much better than what you brew at home?”

  “Because Annie brews it with love. At least that’s what her sign above the coffee bar says. And my crystals don’t tell the future. For that, you need to go to Madame Zelda’s next door. She’d be glad to tell you what’s going to happen in your future. I just give you the gems to protect yourself from bad juju. Like the clear quartz I sent you when you were diagnosed. It’s a master healer stone.”

  Rarity reached up for the necklace she still wore. “I love it. Even if it didn’t cure me.”

  “You of little faith. Anyway, is the fact that you have a display up for the group a good sign? Lots of attendees?” Sam picked up one of the books and glanced at the back.

  Rarity shook her head and held up a finger.

  “Why do you want me to wait?” Sam set the book down. “Why can’t you tell me now?”

  Rarity silently took a drink and waited for Sam to get the message.

  “Oh, I get it. But you have got to be kidding me. One person showed up? What a waste of time.” Sam nodded to the chairs. “Can we sit for a bit? These boots are new and horribly uncomfortable. My feet will be killing me long before I close the shop today.”

  “What we do for our image. Sorry, of course we can sit.” Rarity crossed over and sat in the same chair she’d occupied last night. “It wasn’t a complete waste of time. The woman who came brought in a big order, so at least there’s that.”

  “Are you doing okay with the store financially? Walk-in traffic will start picking up soon. Summers can be a little slow. People don’t realize it’s not going to be as hot as they think here.”

  Rarity nodded. Business had been slower than she’d hoped, especially since it had taken longer to remodel the building than she’d planned. She’d only been open a few months. “I’ll be fine. Tell me about your date last night. How did it go?”

  “Do I have to?” Sam groaned and then sipped her coffee.

  Rarity giggled. “That bad?”

  “We met at the restaurant in Flagstaff because he couldn’t drive all this way on a work night. Then he was almost an hour late. He was all Brooks Brothers suit and tie. And he insisted on splitting the bill. Just so no one would feel obligated for anything après dinner.” Sam rolled her shoulders. “I’m never going to find Mr. Right. I should just give up the search.”

  “You’re perfect the way you are, and if there’s a Mr. Right in your future, he’ll find you.” Rarity leaned back. “Or we could ask Madame Zelda.”

  “You are so bad.” Sam leaned her head back and closed her eyes. When she spoke, she let her voice waver, imitating the fortune teller. “You will meet a man where you least expect to meet him. He will be tall, dark, and handsome. Please hand over your credit card for payment.”

  The bell over the door sounded, and Madame Zelda walked into the store.

  Rarity stood and hit Sam’s arm to alert her as she hurried past. “Madame Zelda, so nice of you to visit. What can I help you with?”

  Madame Zelda narrowed her eyes and stared at Sam, who was now also standing but by the fireplace. “I came in to see if you had a flyer for your survivors’ club. I have a client who might be interested in some social interaction around the subject matter. She’s very timid, though, and I might not be able to get her to come.”

  “We’re a small group so,” Rarity added of two silently, “so she should feel comfortable.” She picked up a flyer from the counter, writing the book list on the front. Then she handed it to the fortune teller. “I’m sure she’d enjoy the discussion. These are the five books that we’re considering reading.”