Murder Sliced to Perfection

by Zoey Kane

  Murder Sliced to Perfection

  Curvy Soul Mysteries - Book Two

  Zoey And Claire Kane

  Murder Sliced to Perfection

  Curvy Soul Mysteries Book 2

  Zoey and Claire Kane

  Copyright © 2018 Breezy Reads

  Cover by Molly Burton of Coverworks.wordpress.com

  BreezyReads.com

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  About the Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Special Note From The Authors

  Order Next In Series

  About the Book

  When Greenville's most beloved sandwich maker is stabbed to death in the back of his shop, Gia Rizzo returns to her new hobby of solving murder mysteries. With her old high school friend Tony Santino (now a mega beefcake on rye) by her side, she's anxious to find answers.

  1

  “Number 22!”

  “That’s us!” Jennie and Gia, first cousins and best friends, walked up to the counter. They had come to Danny’s Deli to pick up a couple of pastrami sandwiches. Gia, new to the town of Greenville, had a hankering for their famous deli creations. It would be great to feature the smoky meaty sandwich on her food blog Good Eatin’ for the Curvy Soul.

  “What can I get ya?” asked the bored clerk.

  Jennie answered, “Mustard, lettuce, tomato, provolone, and pastrami on rye, please.”

  “We’re out of pastrami.”

  “What deli would be out of pastrami?” Jennie replied, scrunching her brow. She was a tall, pretty blonde, afraid of commitment but not of being blunt.

  “This deli,” said the unfazed clerk.

  “Oh, really?” She placed a hand on her hip with attitude.

  Gia could see Jennie was getting riled up. This wasn’t going to end well. “Jennie, it’s not a big deal.” She touched her arm. “We can order salami—”

  “No. We came here for pastrami. And that’s what we’ll get!” Jennie narrowed her eyes at the clerk. “I bet there’s some in the back, and he’s just saving it for himself.”

  The clerk rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Jennie turned around and faced the long line of patrons waiting for their sandwiches. “PEOPLE OF GREENVILLE!” she yelled.

  The clerk turned white, suddenly panicked. “She wouldn’t.” He turned to Gia.

  “She would,” Gia said.

  “THIS MAN RIGHT HERE!” Jennie pointed to the now-sweating-profusely clerk. “CLAIMS THEY’RE OUT OF PASTRAMI!”

  Jennie’s audience didn’t like the news. Half of them were businessmen and women on lunch breaks, wanting to escape into sandwich heaven from their demanding jobs. And the other half was stay-at-home mothers who pictured tonight’s dinner to be large hunks of pastrami on freshly baked bread, with pasta salad on the side.

  Gia braced herself for the worst.

  “Now, wait, wait just a minute.” The clerk raised shaking hands. “Le-Let me go see if Gordy is slicing up a fresh batch. Here, have a complimentary pickle.” He handed one to Jennie on a napkin, then zipped through the back doorway. Customers let out their frustrations and protests.

  And a few obscenities.

  “You see? If you want something, all you gotta do is ask,” Jennie said nonchalantly, taking a bite out of the pickle, then passing it to Gia.

  “You didn’t ask,” Gia said, shaking her head in disapproval, brunette curls bobbing. “You practically unleashed a mob of angry-hungry customers on the poor man.”

  “Eh, tomato, tomahto,” Jennie shrugged.

  The clerk returned, his face the same shade as the pickle. He stumbled forward, reaching for the counter to steady himself.

  “So? Is Gordy slicing up the good stuff?” Jennie asked.

  “Gordy’s dead,” squeaked the clerk.

  A collective gasp escaped everyone in the deli. “On second thought, I’ll take salami,” Jennie said quietly.

  Once the police were called and confirmed that Gordy Fitzgerald—the deli’s best sandwich maker and butcher—was dead, Gia hoofed it back to her job at In the Box bistro, a small restaurant serving gourmet hot dogs, paninis, and sliders.

  “What a shame,” Greta said. She was a feisty older woman who baked the bistro’s flavorful oven fries. “I had an uncle who bit the dust after eating too much pastrami.”

  “You think that’s how Gordy died?” Gia wondered.

  “Well, how else? He was surrounded by all that meat, day in and day out. It’s hard to resist. Though, I wouldn’t say it’s a bad way to go.” Greta shook her head. “Still, Gordy was such a sweet young man. Always nice to everybody. A complete delight. I knew his mother, Martha.”

  “I can’t imagine how she’ll feel when she gets the call that her son is dead,” Gia said.

  “Oh, don’t get choked up over it. That old witch’s been dead for a while now.” Greta waved a hand.

  “Didn’t like the woman, huh?” Julian asked. The petite man was their supervisor and Greenville’s only Brony. His purple wave of hair proudly mimicked the glittering manes of My Little Ponies. He and Gia tied on aprons and began restocking the toppings station.

  “No one did. And the feeling was mutual with her, although she only truly loved Gordy,” Greta explained. “Can’t say the same for Brian.” Gia frowned.

  “Who’s Brian?” she asked.

  “Her oldest son. It wasn’t a secret she favored Gordy.”

  Around two o’clock, a heavy stream of locals poured into the bistro, all attracted to the day’s special. Julian had written on the chalkboard sign outside:

  SAY CHEESE!

  Pulled beef and sautéed onions and peppers with Swiss-cheese sliders

  Ham, artichoke, and lemon pesto with Parmesan paninis

  One local was Gia’s cousin, Jennie. Gia was happy to see her, and was ready to hear what crazy family drama her cousin came bearing.

  But that wasn’t the case. “Gordy was murdered!”

  Gia led her shaken cousin to a table.

  “Here hon, drink this.” Greta handed Jennie a glass of iced lemonade.

  “Caleb confirmed it?” Gia asked her. Caleb Evans was the town’s detective and one of Jennie’s dates. “Yeah. It won’t be long before the whole town knows,” she said, taking a sip of lemonade.

  “How was he killed?” Gia asked.

  “He was stabbed in the chest. His body was left in the big walk-in freezer.”

  Gia thought what a shock it must have been for the deli clerk to find Gordy.

  “That’s not all,” Jennie said as Julian joined the small group and leaned in to listen. “Caleb said the knife that was used is missing from the crime scene.”

  Gia sat back and considered. “So the killer could have brought his own knife,” she threw out. If that was the case, the killer had every intention of murdering Gordy that morning.

  “What if it was the heat of the moment?” Julian spoke up. “Gordy is a butcher. There’s probably tons of knives just lying around in the back of the deli. The killer could have just grabbed one.”

  Gia agreed with her supervisor. “That’s true. But why take it?”

  “Maybe he or she didn’t want to be identified,” her cousin stated.

  Gia nodded. “Possible. But let’s back up a bit. If Gordy was such a friendly guy to everyone,” she said, “
why was he murdered?”

  They sat silently, mulling it over. Above the front door, the little silver bell chimed. Gia looked over to see that it was Tony Santino, her childhood friend and owner of In the Box bistro.

  No amount of emphasis of the word friend could stop her heart from quickening at the sight of him.

  Handsome in a tight black T-shirt, showing off barbed-wire tattoos, he walked over to their table.

  “Gordy Fitzgerald?” he guessed.

  “Yep. I’m assuming the news is out,” Gia said. “In the air. On the ground. It’s everywhere. Harry Duncan was just telling me about it over at his hardware store.”

  “Is anyone mentioning who could have done it?” Julian asked, eyes bugging in interest.

  Tony shrugged. “Not from what I’ve heard. Just that Gordy was a nice guy. People are baffled that he was murdered.” He met Gia’s eyes, then jerked his thumb towards the back office. “I need a moment with you.”

  With the door closed firmly behind them, Tony turned to her. “I know that face.”

  “Of course you do. You’ve known this face since we were seven years old.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I know the look on your face when you’re on to something. Something that you won’t let go until you’ve figured it out. Like a dog with a bone.”

  Gia gasped and dramatically clutched her chest. “Tony Santino, are you calling me a dog?”

  “You get what I mean.” He laughed. “I’m saying there’s something brewing inside that pretty head of yours. And it has to do with Gordy Fitzgerald’s death.” Tony walked around his desk and took a seat. He suddenly became serious. “I lied when I said I didn’t really know what locals are saying about who the killer could be.”

  “Okay, who?”

  “Me.”

  In their hometown of JewelCove, Tony’s life had taken a devastating turn when his father, Mike Santino, had murdered Tony’s mother, Rose, ten years ago. Mike was dragged away by police and was now serving life in prison. Since then, Tony had been in the custody of his uncle, the former owner of the bistro, and had moved to the city of West Emily.

  Throughout the years, Tony had been in and out of trouble. And when he came to Greenville to take ownership of his uncle’s bistro, he was the number one suspect when a young woman was strangled to death.

  The town was convinced he had grown up to become his father. Gia helped prove it was the young woman’s husband who killed her, not Tony. Yet, Tony’s innocence still hadn’t erased some folks’ opinion of him. And it infuriated Gia.

  “It’s not like it was before,” she said, seeing the doubt in his eyes.

  “We still on for dinner this Friday?” he asked, changing the subject. Every Friday night, she and Tony had dinner together, either at his house or Gia’s apartment. This allowed them to rekindle the friendship they had lost years ago. And it gave their dogs, Petey and Jade, time to hang out.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” she smiled.

  2

  Later that evening, Gia logged on to her computer and saw the readers of her blog had responded positively to the breakfast dishes she’d posted earlier that morning. Lemon poppy seed pancakes and a breakfast naan. The smell of lemon zest and vanilla still lingered in her small apartment.

  The pancake recipe was courtesy of her mother. She and Gia’s dad owned a twenty-four hour breakfast diner in JewelCove. Breakfast had been Gia’s favorite meal ever since she started cooking alongside her parents at the age of six.

  You rock, Curvy Soul!

  My kids absolutely loved the pancakes. It was definitely a much-needed treat for them before they take their grueling exams today. :)

  -Karen

  Dear Curvy Soul,

  I just finished making the flatbread, and I may have let it bake a little longer than you recommended, but overall it turned out great. Keep posting!

  -Derek

  The mini breakfast naan was topped with chopped sausage, ham, mushrooms, spinach, and pepper jack cheese. After baking, Gia topped it with a sunny-side up egg. She replied to Karen, saying she was glad her kids enjoyed it, and fingers crossed they did well on their exams.

  You can bake the flatbread for as long as you need, Derek. My personal preference of baking is fifteen minutes.

  -Curvy Soul

  Hiya, Curvy Soul ;)

  Is it weird that the screen saver on my phone is the picture of the lemon pancakes you shared??:) - Jasmine

  Gia smiled at this. When the pancakes were done, she had put them on a white porcelain plate, added sliced lemons on top, and placed it on her small kitchen table where the lighting was good overhead. She placed her pro digital camera on a stand, set the timer, then slowly poured syrup over the golden-brown pancakes. Gia prayed her chubby Welsh corgi, Petey, didn’t wake up from his nap and bump into the table legs to see what she was doing.

  The end results were clear, close-up shots of the poppy-freckled pancakes, with a trail of syrup descending down each lemon slice and cake like a staircase. She didn’t consider herself a professional photographer, but she had to admit the picture looked pretty good.

  Hi Jasmine,

  It’s not weird at all! I think it’s important to have a picture of your favorite meal or snack close by (a reminder of the amazing taste and memory of whomever you enjoyed it with) to look at, in case you’re experiencing a bad day.

  -Curvy Soul

  Each time she clicked “Send” on a message, “Share” on a photo, and “Submit” on a post was another reminder that she was living her dream. Well, preparing to live her dream. She was determined to become a writer for West Emily’s popular food magazine Forks & Knives. She’d wanted to write articles for them since learning how to read.

  “All right, Petey. How about we go play a game of catch at the lake?” she asked her furry friend. He was on his back, sprawled across her thighs, underneath her laptop. He liked when her computer warmed up his belly.

  “Come on. If you still want to continue eating chicken treats, you have to exercise too. There’s gotta be a balance.”

  His ears twitched when hearing “treats,” but after hearing “exercise” he shut his eyes and began to snore.

  Gia couldn’t blame him. She felt the same way and tossed a bright blue ball for Petey to chase on the lake’s thick lawn.

  The Greenville lake was as wide and long as a football field. Big and beautiful. It was the perfect view for people who were staying in the Greenville Inn, yards away. In The Box bistro, Book Nook, Green Spa, and a stone fountain sat in the inn’s cobblestone courtyard. The evening was warm and cozy, with residents relaxing, eating, and reading on the many benches in the courtyard and by the lake.

  Gia took a minute to take in the peaceful scene. “GIA! HONEY! HI!”

  That didn’t last long.

  Gia greeted her Aunt Kendra (Jennie’s mother) with a hug. Behind her aunt waved three older women. Fraternal triplets, Polly, Molly, and Dolly, the Anderson Sisters, who ran the town’s hair salon, The Cut ‘n’ Curl. They were all part of Aunt Kendra’s duck-watching group. If you wanted to know anything about ducks or geese, you just had to ask Aunt Kendra and the Anderson sisters. And if you wanted to know whose spouse was cheating, who in town filed for bankruptcy, or who’d been spending too much time at the liquor store.

  Just ask Aunt Kendra and the Anderson sisters.

  “Oh, heavens! Is that dog dead?” Polly shrieked, pointing at Petey. He was sprawled out on his back with his paws pointing straight up in the air. Gia could clearly see he was breathing.

  “Seriously, Petey? Get up. I threw the ball two times. Two times.” She rolled her eyes, then turned to Polly. “He’s just tired.” Gia wasn’t worried about Petey. He acted like this a lot. The day when he passed out after five tosses instead of two was the day she would be one proud mama.

  And just like clockwork, Petey began to whine. It was his “I’m pooped, how dare you make me chase that stupid ball, get over here and carry me” whine. Gia complied and
brought him over to the group, where he let the sisters pet him.

  Tapping into the town’s vein of gossip, Gia asked her aunt if any more was being said of Gordy’s murder.

  “Sadly, no.” Aunt Kendra shook her head. “It’s unfortunate. He was such a nice man.”

  “Very nice,” Polly agreed. “He always used to cut my honey-glazed ham just the way I liked it.”

  “Mine, too,” Molly nodded.

  “Every Sunday morning, Gordy had the perfect roast ready for me to pick up for dinner that night,” Aunt Kendra said wistfully.

  Gia’s mind replayed the information Greta had shared about Martha Fitzgerald. “Did you know his mother, Martha?” she asked. The Anderson sisters screwed up their faces and voiced their opinions of Mrs. Fitzgerald.

  “Dreadful woman.”

  “Harsh.”

  “Cold-hearted to anyone who had a pulse.” Molly said. “Even her older son Brian. I’m sure that woman wished she never gave birth to him.”

  “Molly!” Polly frowned at her.

  “Oh, open your eyes, Pol.” Molly put a hand on her hip. “Martha was always horrible to him. I think it was because he looked just like his father who ran out on her forty years ago.”

  Gia’s brows went up over that tidbit.

  “Wow. How did Brian react to his mother’s behavior?”

  “He’d laugh it off. Said she had a tough exterior and that he was used to it.” Molly snorted. “Seems to me he was afraid to come right out and say she was a mean ol’ B-word.”

  “Molly! Language!” Polly chastised.

  Molly rolled her eyes.

  With every passing second, Gia liked the Anderson sisters more and more. They were good entertainment. “What about when Martha died? Was Brian upset?” she asked.

  “Can’t say,” Dolly mused “He put Martha in a senior living home, Healthy Beginnings. He was living in West Emily when word surfaced she had passed away in her sleep two months ago.”