Pizza Parlor Box Set: Books 1-4

By Rosie A. Point

Four murders, four different flavors of pizza, and one determined sleuth...

When down on her luck consultant, Gina Romano, returns to her home town of Lake Basil, New York, the last thing she expects is to find a dead body in her uncle's pizzeria. Or that she'll be one of the main suspects in the case. And when her uncle's pizzeria is closed down by the mean sheriff, she knows what she has to do. Save Romano's Pizza Parlor and solve not one, not two, but four mysteries.

Join Gina on four cozy culinary mystery adventures, and see if you can figure out if you can solve the mysteries before she does. Grab your copy of this box set from USA Today bestselling author, Rosie A. Point, today!

Books in this collection include:
Slice of Murder
Murder Boxed Up
Hold the Murder
Dough Not Murder

Recipes are included! This is a completely clean cozy mystery series of novellas with zero profanity and a hint of wholesome romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie A. Point
• Release date: Sep 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215785881

Book preview

The Pizza Parlor Mystery Box Set

The Pizza Parlor Mystery Box Set

BOOKS 1-4

ROSIE A. POINT

Contents

You’re invited!

Slice of Murder

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Uncle Rocco’s Recipe Book Excerpt 1

Murder Boxed Up

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Uncle Rocco’s Recipe Book Excerpt 2

Hold the Murder

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Uncle Rocco’s Recipe Book Excerpt 3

Dough Not Murder

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Uncle Rocco’s Recipe Book Excerpt 4

Craving More Cozy Mystery?

More for you…

The Pizza Parlor Mystery Box Set: Books 1-4

---

Copyright © 2022 by Rosie A. Point.

www.rosiepointbooks.com

All Rights Reserved. This publication or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored, distributed, or transmitted in any form—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise—except in the case of brief quotations for review purposes.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons alive or deceased, places, or events is coincidental.

---

Copyright to author Rosie A. Point 2019

Join my no-spam newsletter and receive an exclusive offer. Details can be found at the back of this book.

---

Cover by Mariah Sinclair | TheCoverVault.com

Vellum flower icon Created with Vellum

You’re invited!

Hi there, reader!

---

I’d like to formally invite you to join my awesome community of readers. We love to chat about cozy mysteries, cooking, and pets.

---

It’s super fun because I get to share chapters from yet-to-be-released books, fun recipes, pictures, and do giveaways with the people who enjoy my stories the most.

---

So whether you’re a new reader or you’ve been enjoying my stories for a while, you can catch up with other like-minded readers, and get lots of cool content by either…

---

Signing up for my mailing list.

Joining our awesome reader group.

---

I look forward to getting to know you better.

---

Let’s get into the story!

---

Yours,

Rosie

Slice of Murder

A PIZZA PARLOR MYSTERY BOOK 1

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 make a sound until I had paid and accepted the paper cup.

You shouldn’t have come back, Brittany said.

Don’t worry, I replied, I don’t intend to stay. I was visiting, taking the time to get back on my feet before I rebounded and started my own business. I wasn’t sure what it would look like yet, but the point was, this was temporary.

Good, Brittany said. Because you don’t belong here.

I lifted my coffee cup in greeting, acting unfazed by her meanness, then left the store trying not to let the sadness creep in.

Two

I sat in my car, sipping the dregs of my coffee—it was as bitter as Brittany’s attitude, but refreshing in a way she could never be—with my gaze fixed on the front of Uncle Rocco’s pizzeria. This place had been a second home for me during my childhood. I’d grown up toddling between the cute wooden tables, spent my middle school years doing my homework at the plastic coated countertops, and helped bus tables as a teenager.

Growing up in Romano’s Pizza Parlor had instilled a passion for food in me. It was probably the reason I’d gone into big business in the hospitality industry in the first place.

The restaurant wasn’t open yet, even though it was past 08:00 a.m.. Weird. Uncle Rocco liked to open early, and he’d always come in at this time to start the prep work for the day or talk to the other chefs. Or write in his favorite recipe book—he planned on publishing it some day.

So where was he? Better yet, where were the other chefs?

I put the paper cup in the holder, and studied the restaurant with a fresh set of eyes—the critical kind.

The sign above the door was the same as it had been when I’d left, but it wasn’t lit up yet in red, green and white. The door was shut tight. The windows were… grimy? They looked as if they needed a clean. And the red, white, and green awning over the right side window was torn.

Something wasn’t right here.

Uncle Rocco would never have let dirty windows or torn awnings fly back when I’d lived in Lake Basil. So why now? He’d gone through a period of ill health a few years ago, but he was right as rain now, wasn’t he?

A figure strolled down the sidewalk, carrying an umbrella. A chef, skinny and wearing a coat over his chef’s whites, stopped in front of the restaurant and tried the front door.

I got out of my car and went over, rain dribbling down the back of my neck. I greeted the chef—I didn’t recognize him. He had a nose that looked as if it had been broken and healed improperly.

Sorry, the chef said, we’re not open yet. You’ll have to wait until eleven.

Uncle Rocco had always opened at least an hour earlier than that. Are you the head chef? I asked.

Nah, I’m the new sous chef.

What’s your name?

The chef arched a dark eyebrow at me. Vinny. Who’s asking?

Gina Romano, I replied. This is my uncle’s pizza parlor. Where is he?

Vinny’s skepticism faded. He straightened, offering me his umbrella.

I’d already positioned myself under the untorn half of the awning—it wasn’t great at shielding the rain, but it was something. I waved away the offer of shelter. Where’s Rocco?

The old man don’t come in that much, Vinny said, shrugging.

Then who opens the restaurant? I checked my watch.

That would be Chef Nico, he replied.

When will he be here?

Your guess is as good as mine, Vinny said, tugging his coat closer to his body. Nico does what he wants, when he wants. He’ll get here when he gets here.

Gets here when he gets here? I asked. You’re kidding, right?

I’m not the kidding type. Vinny removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and played with them nervously. Look, lady, I’m just the sous chef. I don’t got the keys to the place, and I’m dumb cold. No point asking me questions when—

A rust bucket of a car pulled up to the pizzeria and parked haphazardly behind mine. The door slammed and a chef with a round middle and a pink, sweating face sauntered up to the front doors of the restaurant. He barely spared me a glance and didn’t bother greeting Vinny.

I stepped up beside him as he unlocked the doors. You’re Chef Nico.

Whoa, lady. The chef stumbled, the keys jangling in his hand. A waft of alcohol reached my nose, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. This was not OK. Where was Uncle Rocco?

Chef Nico? I repeated stiffly.

Yeah. What? He squinted at me, shook his head, then tried to insert the keys into the door a second time. He missed the keyhole.

Vinny took the set of keys from the man and unlocked the restaurant doors.

Hey, what the heck? Vinny, what are you—? Nico stumbled forward, trying to grab for the sous chef but missing.

Cut it out, Nico, Vinny said, schvitzing because I was basically the boss’s daughter. Uncle Rocco had raised me, and he didn’t have kids of his own.

I grabbed the front of the head chef’s coat and jerked him around with all my might. I wasn’t exactly a strong woman, but the guy was already on the verge of tumbling over. I brought his face as close to mine as I dared. You’re drunk, I said. Drunk at work.

You good? Nico glared at me.

No, Nico, I am not good. I am the furthest thing from good I could possibly be. Why are you late for work, firstly, and second, drunk on a Monday morning?

Look, my nephew, he had a little problem that he needed help with, Nico said. You know? Couldn’t let the kid deal with it on his own. You do for family.

Unless you had to fish your nephew out of a vat of bourbon, I don’t see how that’s relevant.

Who are you? Nico frowned.

Gina Romano. Rocco’s niece. Anger built inside me. I had worked my way up in the hospitality industry. I had climbed the ladder and lost it all, and this chef was effectively disrespecting my uncle’s business in the worst way possible.

Look, Nico said, pulling out of my grasp and holding his hands up, this isn’t a big deal. Everybody makes mistakes. He patted me on the back then swayed past, entering the pizzeria where Vinny hovered, looking like he was about to bolt.

I took one step inside the restaurant and everything that was wrong with the place jumped out at me. Floors dirty, chipped countertop, cash register grimy, windows dirty, tables in disarray, chairs stacked haphazardly. The lights—Vinny had switched them on—flickered and clicked overhead. It was like entering a nightmare version of my childhood.

I ground my teeth. Nico.

Huh? He spun toward me.

You’re fired. Have you lost it? This is not your restaurant. But if Uncle Rocco wasn’t going to take these young gentlemen in hand, then who would? This place was a dump. I doubted the pizzeria had many customers. Uncle Rocco had to be losing money, and he wasn’t exactly flush with cash.

Vinny’s jaw dropped.

What did you say to me? Nico asked, his cheeks reddening.

You’re fired, I repeated. Get out.

Three

Later that evening…

---

Why didn’t anybody tell me? I asked.

Uncle Rocco lay in bed, his foot in a sling, and his arm resting against his stomach. Dark circles dominated the skin underneath his eyes, and his hair, usually lustrous and black—he’d always colored it—was streaked with gray.

Aunt Sofia stood bedside, holding a tray that carried his supper. She placed it on his bedside table. It’s soup tonight, she said. A nice minestrone. You’ll like it, Rocky.

Thanks, Sof. Uncle Rocco smiled up at my aunt then took her hand in his and squeezed gently. They had always had a loving, trusting relationship. I’d hoped to have the same and had been let down sorely.

Hello, I said. I don’t mean to be rude, but what the heck? Why didn’t anyone tell me that Uncle Rocco was in an accident? When did this happen? How?

I’d spent the day trying to get the restaurant in order—I’d closed the doors, called the servers after Vinny had given me their names, and spent the day cleaning the disgustingly dirty kitchen. When I’d called Aunt Sofia at the house around lunch, she’d told me that Uncle Rocco was resting and would only be available in the evening.

Honey, Aunt Sofia said, it’s so lovely to have you back in Lake Basil. I’ve set up your old bedroom just how you liked it. I dusted off those old posters of that boy band you liked. In Link? Wasn’t that what they were called? With that Justin Banderlake?

This was just like my aunt. She was a master at deflection when a situation became uncomfortable. I preferred to attack a problem head on.

Auntie, I said, thank you, but I’m trying to talk to you about—

Sof, gimme a second with her, will you? Uncle Rocco shuffled himself upright on the bed as much as he could with his leg in the air.

My aunt sighed, fluffed Uncle Rocco’s pillows, then left the room, shooting me a look that instructed I’d better not upset him. The door snapped closed.

Uncle, I said, what happened?

Come take a seat. Slowly. He patted his bed.

I lowered myself onto it and placed a hand on his arm. Were you in a car accident?

Nah, he replied, with a good natured smile. Fell down the stairs.

What? When?

Couple of weeks ago. And then a month ago before that. Then a couple of weeks ago prior to that incident. And then—yeah, you get the picture.

Why? What’s going on?

Been having what the doc calls ‘fainting spells.’ Apparently, my blood pressure’s no good. They can’t seem to find anything that will help. I’ve taken every type of pill imaginable, but yeah… He trailed off.

Why didn’t anyone tell me?

We didn’t want you to get distracted, Uncle Rocco said. Things are going so well for you, with your man and work. You’ve got a lot going on.

Uncle. I didn’t know how to reply to that. My life was nothing like he’d said.

It’s OK, honey. Everything’s under control.

I stopped by the pizza parlor, I said, changing the subject. I hated the fact that they had kept this from me, but I could hardly blame them. I had been so busy with my perfect life that I hadn’t come by to visit in over two years.

Guilt tunneled a hole through my stomach.

Oh yeah? How’s ole Nico doing? Rocco said. I haven’t had a chance to stop by in the past couple of months.

Nico’s been running the place in your absence?

Yeah.

For how long? I asked.

Oh, just the past year and a half. I try to get down when I can, but things have been difficult.

Another wave of guilt, this one backed by anger. Nico had taken advantage of my uncle. I fired him.

What? Uncle Rocco’s eyes went round. He struggled to sit up even more.

I pressed my hand down on his arm gently. I’m sorry, Uncle. I know I’m not in charge, but things weren’t right at the restaurant. He turned up to work drunk.

Nico? No way. Nico’s great. He does everything for me. The finances, the—

He handles money? I asked.

Uncle Rocco nodded.

Oh, this is bad. This is so, so bad.

Uncle, is the pizza parlor still making a profit? I asked.

Rocco’s lips downturned at the corners. It’s a tough economy. Look, I know Nico’s a good kid. He wouldn’t do anything to harm my family. He’s all about family.

I’m sorry, Uncle, but I’m telling you the truth.

Real talk?

I nodded.

The door burst inward, and Aunt Sofia strode into the room, her dark hair frizzing at her temples. I had the same type of hair. The same height. The same everything except for my mother’s eyes. What did I tell you, Rocky? What did I tell you about that no-good—

Don’t start, Sof. Rocco lifted a hand. Don’t start.

I knew he was stealing from you. I knew it. That little…

Uncle, I said, cutting my aunt off before she got started. She avoided tough discussions, sure, but when she reached the point of no return, it was hard to get her to calm down. I—I’m going to be staying here for a while. I could help you with the restaurant. Just until I was back on my feet. Until I could get out of Lake Basil.

And leave your poor uncle and aunt again. I shoved the thought aside. I didn’t fit in here. I had never belonged—Brittany had made that clear.

You would do that? Aunt Sofia clasped her hands together.

I want to.

Nah. Uncle Rocco shook his head. You’ve got too much going on. What would your man—

We broke up. I ripped the Band-Aid off. And he got me kicked off the board. Majority vote. He’s got… a lot of friends.

Oh, honey. Aunt Sofia came over and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. She rested her cheek on the top of my head. I was transported back to my childhood, and my breathing slowed. Back to being a little girl who listened to bed time stories and ate pizza every Saturday night and—

Uncle Rocco squeezed my hand, meeting my gaze. I trust you, he said.

I didn’t want to hang around the house. Aunt Sofia kept shooting sympathetic looks my way, and Uncle Rocco was not himself. Hearing him groan as he shifted around in bed was a stark reminder that things had changed dramatically. And it made me feel even guiltier.

Instead, I opted for a drive through town.

Tomorrow, I’d continue cleaning the pizza parlor and trying to figure out what had happened and why. I’d also have to search for a new chef, work out how much money there was for repairing things around the restaurant and the list went on and on. This type of work was familiar to me, and it would be great to bury myself in a project.

The rain hadn’t stopped all day, and I navigated my way through town, grateful for the cozy interior of my car. I passed by Cara’s Coffee Shop and spotted a different barista behind the counter. The bookstore next door bustled with locals, and I smiled. It was a welcome sight.

I turned the corner into the road that held Romano’s Pizza Parlor, eyeing the bakery across the street. It was Dingle’s Bakery—and though the doors were shut, the CLOSED sign in the window, the lights were on inside, displaying the cute pink, teal, and white interior with plush chairs, and glistening displays. Matilda cared about her establishment.

What does she think about the pizzeria?

I slowed outside Uncle Rocco’s and—

What the…? My heart turned over in my chest.

The doors to the place were open. That was impossible. I had locked up after myself, and I had taken away Nico’s key.

I put the car in park then got out into the rain. I splashed through the puddles and to the front doors then slowed, concern building. What if someone had robbed the place? That was the last thing Uncle Rocco needed.

I flicked on the lights, took a step inside