(4/23/2025)
Lottie Jones is not your typical retiree. She plays bingo, prepares stuffed chicken roll for the church potluck, and critiques bridal gowns over text. She's also a former serial killer. These days, her biggest concern should be choosing a retirement home—but unfortunately, her past isn't finished with her yet.
Told in Lottie's sharp, first-person voice, this novel is a darkly funny meditation on aging, guilt, and reinvention. The humor is biting—after one early killing, she wakes up with "a bit of regret," noting, "I don't use that term lightly, because regret is one of the most insidious things out there. Arthritis is a close second."
Surrounding Lottie is a wonderfully nosy supporting cast: Glenda, who judges her for bringing store-bought spinach dip to bingo night; Bonnie, who spikes the punch from her flask; Sheila, who teaches her to cook; and her son Archie, whose upcoming wedding to a much younger woman with questionable fashion sense gives Lottie plenty of material for commentary.
Woven between church drama and family dysfunction is a thread of quiet menace—Lottie is still tying up loose ends, and people are still dying. The less said about that, the better.
This genre-bending book defies easy classification. Part mystery, part black comedy, part character study, it also reads like a coming-of-age novel—just one centered on someone in her seventies. Lottie isn't discovering who she is for the first time; she's deciding what she can live with, and what (or who) she needs to erase to get there.
Whether you're here for the blood or the bingo, this story delivers both—with a wry smile and a body count.