Mystery, Hijinks, & Murder in a Seniors' Home -- I'm Not the Only Murderer in My Retirement Home Book Review

I’ve never been one of those people who say they can’t wait to “grow old”.

I couldn’t wait to “grow up”, but old? No way.

And yet, as I suspect most of my fellow Gen Xers—and probably all Boomers, out there—have gradually come to realize, is that doing so beats the alternative.

So maybe it’s time to reframe how we look at aging.

If we do our best to maintain our health, stay as fit as possible, keep our brains active, and hang onto our friends, then getting old...er... doesn’t sound like such a scary and dreadful future, right?

Not convinced? (I’m still trying to convince myself, here; this is a work in progress.) Do yourself a solid and pick up a copy of Fergus Craig’s delightful I’m Not the Only Murderer in My Retirement Home, and see if reading that doesn’t put your mind at ease a bit.

 

 

After spending too many decades in prison, just-released ex-serial killer Carol feels like she’s suddenly landed in the middle of a dream, getting to live out the remainder of her “golden years” in luxury at Sheldon Oaks—the poshest-of-posh retirement homes in London.

She’s excited by the prospect of starting a new life—one where, just maybe, she can actually make some friends, and enjoy “normal” stuff.

(Not that she regrets any of the several murders she committed—erm, was convicted for, no need to talk about any as-yet-undiscovered ones—since they were clearly necessary, but still... now in her mid-70s, a less-murder-y life sounds a right treat.)

Of course, that dream promptly goes straight down the tubes, when one of her fellow residents—an ex-police-commissioner, no less—plunges from the rooftop to his untimely demise... which is, in short order, deemed not an accident.

In other words, he was murdered... and just like that, Carol’s heretofore-secret past is exposed to all and sundry.

She’s immediately hauled in for questioning.

Only problem is, Carol knows she most definitely isn’t the killer (this time)... but she’s dying to find out who is.

After the police begrudgingly release her—“not enough evidence...yet”—and another person at the retirement home is gruesomely murdered—someone whom Carol couldn’t possibly have killed (but, of course, will likely still be blamed for)—she realizes it really is up to her to figure out whodunnit.

But, unlike her years of killing all alone, she’ll finally have some help—a little crew of friends-turned-elderly-sleuths (each, interestingly, some variety of justice-seeking professional, when in their primes... but now, regarded merely as doddering and “old”).

At least, Carol tells herself, no one will need to be killed.

Probably...

 

 

Going back to what I said earlier, I’m Not the Only Murderer in My Retirement Home is an absolute delight.

It could easily have skewed “cozy”—a genre which, without doubt, has a vast number of fans (though not me, for the most part)—but it didn’t. 

Instead, it combines wit and charm with... spunk. Chutzpah. A little sexy (even briefly skirting around the edges of geriatric raunchiness, if that’s a thing!). 

It’s hilarious... and it also feels real. No one—no matter their infirmities or abilities—is mocked, here... yet nor do any of the characters do something it would be nigh impossible physically for them to do.

Rather, author Craig respects, understands, and enjoys his characters, allowing them to be as funny (intentionally and not-so), audacious, obnoxious, anxious, vain, shy (and every other thing each of us, at any age, can feel or be), and plays off of that. 

The characters talk and act like older people, sure... but they’re not dead yet(!), nor do they act it. 

Is I’m Not the Only Murderer a clever mystery? It is—I didn’t quite know where it was going, until the grand denouement. Is it laugh-out-loud funny, at times? Absolutely. Would I love to see some of these characters again, in another book? You betcha.

[The million-dollar question: Am I the teensiest bit less scared of “growing old”? Maybe even that. (Maybe.)]

Bottom line, just put I’m Not the Only Murderer in My Retirement Home in your cart—physical or virtual—stat. Because no matter how young, old, or anywhere in between you are (or feel), you deserve a fun read... and this one delivers in spades on that front.

~GlamKitty

[Thanks to Penguin Random House and Berkley Publishing Group for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are, as always, entirely my own.]