By Delia Rosen
Murder’s at the menu during this savory debut. Gwen (nee Katz) Silver heard the brisket at her uncle’s Jewish deli, Murray the Pastrami Swami—the just one of its variety in Nashville, Tennessee—was “to die for.” yet she didn’t observe that intended actually… whilst Gwen learns she’s inherited Murray’s, the local New Yorker leaves her chaotic profession and messy divorce at the back of to begin over in Nashville. however the enterprise turns out doomed from the beginning. Murray’s taken his recipes and mystery record of foodstuff providers to the grave with him, and ruthless genuine property developer Royce Sinclair will cease at not anything to attempt and sandwich Murray’s into his already overstuffed portfolio. Then, on Kosher Karaoke evening, longtime client Buster Sergeant bites into his brisket…and bites the airborne dirt and dust. The coroner says foodstuff poisoning, yet Gwen’s now not confident. Now, with the aid of hunky police detective Beau McClintock, “Nashville Katz”—as Gwen is instantly nicknamed—will locate herself including “private investigator” to her resume—and a brand new like to her existence.
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Extra info for A Brisket, A Casket: A Deadly Deli Mystery
Immature, yep. Prone to recurrent bouts of self-absorption and madly in love with his mirror, check. But I didn’t know anybody who was quicker to do me a favor…and his staying behind to close the place had been a huge one. “I don’t think cylinders really ache,” I said contritely. ” “I’ll explain later.
He’s back on an international track…Memphis, Chicago, London,” Cazzie said. “It’s a week-long trip sequence. Eight days to be precise. ” She paused. ” I shrugged. Her husband was a commercial airline pilot, and he’d been on a domestic routine when we first met. But the airline had done some reshuffling because of employee cutbacks. “I don’t need to be psychic,” I said. ” Cazzie raised her cup, took a sip of coffee. ” I nodded. “Hard on me too,” she said. I nodded again. Caz sighed. “Whiny, whiny,” she said.
Maybe ’cause the speed limit on the pike’s just forty-five miles an hour. ” I blinked. Under normal circumstances, I was a methodical, rational person. Back in my old life, I’d made a successful career out of being methodical and rational. How could I not have thought to simply one-touch Luke’s number and ask him what was up? I punched it into the phone, waited. He answered after three rings. ” “In my wheels with the pastrami,” he said. ” This time I guarded against becoming too reassured. ” “I ain’t,” Luke said.
A Brisket, A Casket: A Deadly Deli Mystery by Delia Rosen