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 sort in Nashville, Tennessee—was “to die for.” yet she didn’t become aware of that intended actually… whilst Gwen learns she’s inherited Murray’s, the local New Yorker leaves her chaotic occupation and messy divorce in 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 shopper 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 assistance from 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 lifestyles.
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Extra resources for A Brisket, A Casket: A Deadly Deli Mystery
Crap isn’t a curse word,” I said. ” she interrupted before I could defile her sensitive buttercup ears. “Agnes Jean,” I muttered under my breath. J. ” I pushed through the doors into the dining room and found the place hopping, the mingled, mouth-watering scents of knishes, kasha varnishkes, and other delicacies filling the air. They instantly comforted me the way they had when I was a young girl visiting Uncle Murray—before he went off chasing one dream only to find another. J. was serving beers near the movable karaoke stage, her back to me, her Appalachian forest of blond hair spilling over her shoulders.
Tonight, she had on a huggy midriff blouse and low-rider jeans, the bare skin between them displaying most of a colorful tattoo that ran from just above her waist down to parts unknown. It looked sort of like an extraterrestrial serpent with butterfly wings, and undulated lengthwise as she swung her hips to the beat of “Oh Lonesome Me,” which right now was being giddily mauled by one of the Japanese auto executives. J. and tapped her shoulder. ” she said, turning to face me. ” I asked. She flashed an enormous lipstick smile, her drink tray in hand.
Lexington’s a long way from here. And Sergeant didn’t convulse at all. I hate to sound cold about it, but he just dropped dead. Turned purple and, boom, hit the floor. ” Cazzie looked thoughtful. She topped off her coffee, motioned toward my empty cup with her carafe. I shook my head, having already reached my two-cup limit for the morning. But I was admittedly ogling the cereal boxes again. ” she asked. ” “Then it’s possible the police here are only being extra cautious,” she said. “Did you ask if they noticed any parallels between the two deaths?