Slice of Murder: A Pizza Parlor Mystery, #1

By Rosie A. Point

In this small town, eating the last slice of pizza is murder…

 

After being kicked out by her cheating fiance, Gina Romano decides to return to her hometown of Lake Basil, New York. She needs a break from the city, and her uncle, Rocco, could use the help with his bustling pizza parlor.

 

But when Gina arrives expecting a warm, cheesy welcome, she finds the pizzeria on the brink of closure instead. Desperate to help, Gina takes over and is forced to fire the head chef who refused to do things the "authentic" way.

 

Until he winds up authentically dead.

 

Outside the pizza parlor.

 

With a slice of Uncle Rocco's pizza clasped in his cold hand.

 

With the cops closing in, Gina has to figure out who killed the head chef and save her uncle's pizza parlor before it's too late.

 

Can she solve the case in time? Find out in the first in a brand new cozy mystery series by USA Today bestselling author, Rosie A. Point.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie A. Point
• Release date: Sep 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215578087

Book preview

One

I stepped out of my Honda Accord and into a puddle on the sidewalk. It wasn’t exactly the kind of welcome I’d expected upon my return to my home town, Lake Basil, New York. But dipping my favorite pair of suede ankle boots into a puddle of water was a perfect metaphor for how things were going at the moment.

Cheating ex-fiancé? Check. Unemployed thanks to said ex? Check. In financial dire straits? Check.

It was safe to say that life was not going as I’d hoped. Or expected. Or needed it to.

I shook off my boots, stepping onto a drier patch of concrete, then squinted up at the heavens. Thick rain clouds hung turgid in the sky, and at 06:35 a.m, the sun had only just started its ascent. Now was as perfect a time as any to grab a cup of coffee to celebrate my return to Lake Basil. Besides, my uncle’s restaurant wouldn’t have opened yet, and Uncle Rocco was probably still asleep.

Thunder rolled overhead, and I buried my nerves about being back in town, hurrying for the front door of the coffee shop—Cara’s Coffee. The bell over the door tinkled as I entered. The place was empty except for one customer who stood at the counter.

I took my place behind her, stripping off my gloves and trying not to let the squelch of water in my boots bother me too much.

Just another setback. You’ll figure it out.

I studied the interior of the store while I waited—the quaint leather backed armchairs next to tables, the bookcases stocked with books from the secondhand store next door. Jazz music tinkled from the speaker in the corner of the room. Everything was just as it’d been when I’d left here—it was as if the entire town was stuck in a time capsule.

—I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, Matilda, the barista said, in a voice that was chillingly familiar.

Brittany, the customer said, there’s no need to cause a scene. I can run back to the bakery and get my purse, I hoped that I could—

—take me for a ride? The barista, Brittany, the one with the familiar voice, was about my age—inching toward her forties—and had her bottle blonde hair tied high in a ponytail. She wore several rings, and her apron was tied so tight it accentuated her curves.

A bucket of cold dread cascaded over me.

Brittany Brown. What was she doing here? I’d heard through the grapevine—Aunt Sofia—that she’d married one of the richest men in Lake Basil and was a kept woman. Brittany was the last person I’d expected to run into this morning. And the last person I’d wanted to.

I’m not trying to take anyone for a ride, the customer continued.

You do this every morning, Brittany said waspishly.

Brittany. The head cheerleader at Lake Basil High School. The most popular girl in the entire school back in the day. And my bully.

Ridiculous. She’s not a bully any more. She’s a grown woman now. What do you think she’s going to do to you? Take your lunch money?

I know, Matilda, the customer with silver-gray streaks in her dark hair, wrung her hands. I couldn’t see her face, but her voice was tortured. I’m forgetful at the best of times. I’ll run back right away.

Outside, lightning flashed, coloring the interior of the coffee shop white for a split second. Rain pattered against the windows.

You’d better. You’re not getting this coffee until you do. Brittany held up the paper cup as if Matilda was a dog jumping for a treat. Hurry up.

Matilda turned and nearly ran into me. Her blue eyes flashed with alarm for a moment, and she offered me an apologetic smile. So sorry.

I took hold of her arm and offered her a warm grin in return. That’s OK, I said. Let me get your coffee for you.

What? Matilda blinked rapidly. I didn’t recognize her from my earlier years in Lake Basil. She had to be a newcomer. In Lake Basil, newcomers were people who’d lived in the town for ten years or less. After ten years, you became a part of the community. Like adding another piece of furniture to the collection in an attic.

I’ll get your coffee, I said.

W-What? Are you sure? Matilda was stunned. I can run back for my purse. I keep forgetting it. I need to write it down on the back of my hand or something.

It would wash off in the rain. I laughed. It’s no big deal. You don’t want to run all the way back to your bakery in the rain anyway. It’s miserable out. Besides, by the time you get back, your coffee will be cold. I released her and stepped up to the counter, burying my nerves over seeing Brittany again. I removed a few dollars from my purse. How much?

Brittany wore an expression like I’d wafted fresh manure under her nose. Five bucks.

I paid for the coffee.

Brittany didn’t hand over the cup, still holding it out of Matilda’s reach. I wouldn’t rely too much on the kindness of strangers if I were you, Matilda. Next time, bring your purse.

I reached over the counter and removed the cup from Brittany’s grasp—I had a couple of inches on her height wise. How about you spare her the lectures, I replied, and serve her coffee instead.

Brittany stared at me in slack-jawed disbelief.

I handed Matilda the coffee. Tomorrow will be a better day, I said.

Matilda gave an awkward giggle that verged on terrified, glancing past me at Brittany. She mouthed something indistinct.

What? I asked.

Nothing, nothing. Thank you for your kindness, uh, what was your name? Sorry. I should have asked.

You’re good, I said. I’m Gina. Gina Romano.

Matilda Dingle. She shook my hand hastily. I guessed she was a couple of years older than me at the most. She looked tired. Maybe she wasn’t a morning person? Or maybe that was just the wear and tear that came with dealing with Brittany every morning.

Cara’s Coffee Shop was the only one of its kind in Lake Basil. Naturally, the place made a killing.

You’re welcome, I said.

Stop by Dingle’s Bakery when you get a chance, she said. I’ve got a box of eclairs with your name on it—free of charge. She cast a harried glance at Brittany before exiting into the rainy street.

I turned to the counter, forcing down that well of dread.

Brittany glared at me. Gina Romano? As in ‘Pizza Face Romano’?

That’s Ms. Pizza Face to you, I said, trying to lighten the mood. I hadn’t liked Brittany back in the day, and if what I’d just witnessed was anything to go by, the evidence showed my old nemesis hadn’t changed much over the years.

What are you doing back in Lake Basil? Brittany asked. I thought you ran off to The City and caught yourself a big executive.

I despised how she’d put it. First, Larry had been an executive on the same board at a hotel franchise. We’d been equals when we’d fallen in love. Second, I hadn’t run off anywhere. I had left in an orderly, relieved fashion.

And I heard you married Patrick Murphy, I said.

He’d been the star quarterback on the football team, and he’d had exceedingly wealthy parents.

I did. Brittany was temporarily distracted from her ire by the opportunity to gloat. She held out her left hand and twiddled her ring at me. He’s perfect.

I nodded. I’ll take a regular coffee to go, please.

Brittany pursed her lips and set to work fulfilling my order. She didn’t