The Ravioli Rub Out: A Romano's Family Restaurant Cozy Mystery, #2

By Rosie A. Point

The special ingredient in the ravioli at Romano's Family Restaurant is… Murder

 

Gina Romano, budding restaurateur, loves running her family restaurant serving up delicious pastas and pizza pies. She's made such a splash in small town Lake Basil, New York, that a local vlogger has decided to feature her successes on his website.

 

But when Gina arrives for her interview, she finds the corpse of the reporter instead.

 

A murderer has struck, and Gina has her suspicions about whodunnit.

 

There's a new family in town, the Morettis, who have decided to open a competing Italian restaurant, and they don't like Gina as competition. Or the fact that she got an interview and they didn't.

With suspects everywhere she turns, Gina's got to figure out who committed the murder before she winds up as the next victim.

Can our girl Gina solve the murder before it's too late? Find out in this twisty cozy mystery from USA Today bestseller, Rosie A. Point. Grab your copy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie A. Point
• Release date: Mar 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224414468

Book preview

One

You’re sure you want to do this, Gina? Matilda strode alongside me, her pet kitty, Jumbo, on the end of a leash, his white fluffy tail erect as we made our way down the street toward the place.

The place had become my go-to term for the new restaurant in Lake Basil, New York. It was a much kinder term than the ones my Uncle Rocco had used when he’d found out that the Moretti family had decided to open a restaurant in direct competition with ours.

Literally two weeks after our relaunch of Romano’s Family Restaurant, the Morettis, who were new to Lake Basil and a complete pain in the butt, had decided to open an Italian place of their own.

And while I shouldn’t have been concerned about some healthy competition, I was.

I stopped outside the place or as Aunt Sofia had put it, that absolute abomination, I wish I could give that Lucia Moretti a piece of my mind, but don’t tell your uncle I said that. Evening had come in Lake Basil, and the warm summer breeze brushed against my skin, making me even hotter and sweatier than I’d been on the day I’d found out the Morettis were planning their launch.

Gina, this might not be the best idea, Matilda said. I’ve never seen you this angry.

You should’ve seen me on the night Lucia decided to flirt with Jacob, I said.

And that was a part of my problem with this whole thing. A childish part of the problem. The Morettis had rolled into Lake Basil, coming from the City according to the rumor mill, and acted like they owned the town and everyone in it.

Lucia, who was young and pretty and full of vim, had decided to flirt with Jacob on multiple occasions. This new restaurant was just the final nail in the coffin of my opinion of the woman.

Are you sure? Matilda asked again.

She was the voice of reason, and she was softer than me. She preferred to watch from afar, make tea, and live a peaceful life. She’d been through enough.

Whereas I wanted to barrel head first into this problem and give Lucia and her entire family a piece of my mind.

They think they can come in here, I said, patting the back of my hand into my palm, while I eyed the restaurant across the street, and take over. I mean, look at the mansion they bought at the lake, Matilda. What does that tell you about them?

That they have a lot of money?

Sure, but no, not just that. It tells you that they have that… that… ‘buy whatever I want, treat people how I want’ attitude. And they’re not going to get away with it. Open a restaurant right down the street from mine, will they? Why I ought⁠—

Matilda squeezed my hand. Just take a breath, Gina. It’s going to be OK. Besides, you have that whole interview thing tomorrow. That’s good, isn’t it?

Yeah. The interview in question was with an online reporter who covered news in Lake Basil for his popular blog and MeTube channel. I was meant to be excited about it.

But my anger at the Morettis had overridden my positive emotions.

It was easier to be angry than afraid. The angrier I got at Lucia and the Moretti family, the less I wanted to cry about the fact that these people had just come in and set up and it all seemed so easy for them. Where I had struggled, Uncle Rocco had struggled, Aunt Sof had⁠—

You’re not going to cause any trouble, are you? Matilda asked nervously. Because if you need me to bury a body, I should probably drop off Jumbo back at the apartment.

Jumbo meowed up at her in protest.

I laughed. I’m not going to let Jumbo miss out on this, I said.

Matilda paled.

I’m kidding, I said. I’m angry, but I’m not irrational. I’m not going to do anything. I just want to scope out the competition and see where we’re lacking. I mean, look at the place. It’s buzzing in there.

There were customers at every table, but that might’ve been because it was a new place. Novelty drove sales, but creativity and purpose brought longevity.

Then why are you so darn worried about what the darn Morettis are up to?

There was something shady about them. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but the way they acted, it was like they expected to always get their way. Like everybody would roll over when instructed.

The restaurant had a nearly identical exterior to Romano’s, which only drove my blood pressure higher. It had a green and white striped awning, golden print on the sign on the brick face and windows that looked out on the sunny street.

Let’s go, I said, and stepped off the sidewalk.

Matilda followed reluctantly, but Jumbo’s meow-purrs told me he was up for adventure. And potentially an argument.

I’m not going to cause any trouble.

I opened the glass front door to Moretti’s Italian Restaurant, and the smell of burning garlic assaulted my nostrils.

Matilda raised her hand and covered her nose. Oh my, she whispered, that’s a pungent scent.

The other diners in the restaurant wore expressions that ranged from uncomfortable to intrigued. What stood out to me was that every table in the place, barring one, was empty of food. There were half-full glasses on the tables.

Not a good sign. These people had been waiting for their dinner for a while.

There were a couple of servers and they kept darting toward tables, making apologies, or rushing into the kitchen to check on the progress of the food. Mumbles and grumbles had started up.

I didn’t have to be worried in the first place.

But I wanted to try the food, assuming it would ever come out of the kitchen. I looked around to summon a hostess or a server, and was faced with Lucia Moretti herself, striding toward me from the glistening dark wood bar—seriously, they had copied our restaurant’s layout in all but the fact that they had plaster walls rather than brick.

Lucia, her black hair puffed at the front, her lipstick rosebud red, fisted her hips and cast a sharp gaze over me. You can’t be in here, she said.

Good evening, Lucia, I said. Matilda and I were hoping to grab some dinner.

Hope all you want, Lucia replied, you can’t be in here. You get out before I call the cops. That part was said so loud it could easily be heard over the placid classical music playing from the speaker near the back. Customers looked up from their tables, keen for some entertainment to go with their lack of dinner.

Look, I said, I didn’t come to cause any trouble.

Yeah, well, looks like trouble found you, Lucia replied. Get your crusty old butt out of my restaurant.

That drew a few shocked gasps from the diners.

And Matilda thought I was the one who’d cause a scene.

Jumbo gave an imperious meow, and Lucia cast a look down at him. And you can take your gross cat with yous.

Hey! Matilda swept Jumbo up into her arms. He didn’t do anything.

He’s stinking up the place, Lucia said. I don’t want any corporate spies in my establishment, whether they’ve got fur or not.

Lucia? A handsome man swept toward us, his dark hair parted with such precision it looked as if it had been printed and placed on his head. What’s the problem?

The problem is, we got a couple of spies in our midst. These two are trying to eat at our establishment.

Eat? That came from a male customer at a table near the front window. Ain’t nobody eating in this restaurant.

Lucia’s jaw dropped.

The newcomer turned toward the disgruntled diner and jabbed a stubby finger through the air. Hey, he said, we weren’t talking to you, so how about you shut your mouth?

"You can’t