Sliced and Toasted With Murder (A Josie Rizzo Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by J R Pearson

  Sliced and Toasted with Murder

  A Josie Rizzo Cozy Mystery

  J R Pearson

  Copyright © 2016 J R Pearson

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Dedicated

  To Robert and Rochelle

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Number 22!"

  "That’s us!" Brad and Josie walked up to the counter. They had come to Danny’s Deli to pick up a couple of pastrami sandwiches. Josie, new to the town of Greenville, had a hankering for the town’s 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.

  "Mustard, lettuce, tomato, provolone, and pastrami on rye, please."

  “We’re out of pastrami."

  "How can a deli be out of pastrami?" Brad asked. Longtime friend of Josie's, Brad was tall, handsome, and romantically preferred the company of men.

  "This deli," said the unfazed clerk.

  "Oh, really?" Brad raised his brows. Josie could see he was starting to get riled up. This wasn’t going to end well.

  "Brad, it’s not a big deal. We can order salami—"

  "No. We came here for pastrami. And that’s what we'll get!" Brad narrowed his 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." Brad turned around and faced the long line of patrons waiting for their sandwiches. "PEOPLE OF GREENVILLE!" he yelled. The clerk suddenly looked panicked.

  "He wouldn’t." The clerk turned to Josie.

  "He would," she said.

  "THIS MAN RIGHT HERE!" Brad pointed to the now-sweating-profusely clerk. "CLAIMS THEY’RE OUT OF PASTRAMI!" Brad's audience didn't like the news. Half of them were businessmen and women on lunch breaks, wanting to escape their jobs to soak up their limited freedom in sandwich heaven.

  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.

  Josie 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." The clerk handed Brad a pickle on a napkin, then zipped through the back doorway. Behind Josie and Brad, customers let out their frustrations and protests.

  And a few obscenities.

  "You see? If you want something, all you gotta do is ask," Brad said, taking a bite out of the pickle, passing it to Josie.

  "You didn't ask. You practically sicced a mob of angry-hungry customers on the poor man," she said.

  "Eh, tomato, tomahto," Brad 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?" Brad asked.

  "Gordy's dead," squeaked the clerk. A collective gasp escaped everyone in the deli.

  "On second thought, I'll take salami," Brad said quietly.

  ***

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

  "What a shame," Greta said. 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?" Josie 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 was 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," Josie 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?" Brad said. He and Josie 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." Josie 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. The chalkboard sign outside read:

  SAY CHEESE!

  Pulled beef and sautéed onions and

  peppers with Swiss-cheese sliders

  Ham, artichoke, and lemon pesto with

  Parmesan paninis

  One local was Josie's cousin, Jennie. Josie 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!"

  ***

  Josie led her shaken cousin to a table.

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

  "Caleb confirmed it?" Josie asked her. Caleb Evans was the town's detective and Jennie's boyfriend.

  "Yeah. It won’t be long before the whole town knows," she said, taking a sip of lemonade.

  "How was he killed?" Josie asked.

  "He was stabbed in the chest. His body was left in the big walk-in freezer." Josie thought what a shock it must have been for the deli clerk to find Gordy.

  “But what's troubling..." Jennie waited for Brad to join the small group, and they leaned in to listen.

  "Caleb said the knife that was used is missing from the crime scene," she said. Josie 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 this morning.

  "What if it was the heat of the moment?" Brad 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." Josie agreed with her friend.

  "That's true. But why take it?"

  "Maybe he or she didn't want to be identified," her cousin stated. Josie nodded.

  "Possible. But let’s back up a bit. If Gordy was such a friendly guy to everyone,” she said, referring to Greta's earlier statement, “why was he murdered?"

  They sat silently, mulling it over. Above the front door, the little silver bell chimed, signaling someone had entered. Josie looked over to see 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," Josie 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?" she asked. Tony shrugged.

  "Not from what I've heard. Just that Gordy was a nice guy. People are baffled that he was murdered." He met Josie'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." He pointed to hers.

  "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." Josie 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 and 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, JewelCove (a half hour away), 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. Josie 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 Josie.

  "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 Josie’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.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Later that evening, Josie 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 Josie's dad owned a twenty-four-hour breakfast diner in JewelCove. Breakfast had been Josie'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, Josie 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

  Josie 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. Josie 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 doesn’t consider herself a professional photographer, but she had to admit the picture looked pretty damn 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.

  Josie couldn’t blame him. She felt the same way.

  ***

  Josie underhand-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.

  Josie took a minute to take in the peaceful scene.

  "JOSIE! HONEY! HI!"

  That didn't last long.

  Josie 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 a 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 to Petey. He lay on his back with his paws pointing straight up in the air. Josie 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." Josie wasn’t worried over Petey's state. It happened often. 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. Josie complied and brought him over to the group, where he let the sisters pet him.

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

  "Sadly, no. It's unfortunate. He was such a nice man." Aunt Kendra shook her head.

  "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 tha
t night," Aunt Kendra shared. Josie's mind replayed the conversation between her and Greta 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." Josie felt her brows rise.

  "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' bitch."

  "Molly! Language!" Polly chastised. Molly rolled her eyes. With every passing second, Josie liked the Anderson sisters more and more.

  "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."

  Healthy Beginnings was located off the main strip heading towards JewelCove. The name was confusing to most. The ones in charge thought the name assured the seniors, living their golden years, that staying there was a new beginning. Not a healthy ending.

  "I honestly think Martha was helped moving on to the hereafter," Molly brought up. “If you know what I mean.” Polly and Dolly waved it away. Aunt Kendra averted her eyes.

  For decades, Healthy Beginnings had been accused of neglecting its residents, and, in some cases, aiding in deaths. Countless investigations hadn’t turned up anything to prove the accusations to be true. Civil suits dropped like flies in a storm of bug repellent.

  Josie thought it was interesting no one commented further on the matter.

  "Did her death affect Gordy?" she asked.