The Conchiglie Catastrophe: A Romano's Family Restaurant Cozy Mystery, #5

By Rosie A. Point

It's a conchiglie cook-off in cozy Lake Basil and it will only end in… Murder.

 

Gina Romano can't believe it's already the start of fall in Lake Basil, New York. To celebrate, she's arranged a cook-off between the chefs of all the restaurants in town. The party is a success, full of family fun, great food and… murder?

 

When Gina takes a break from the event and dips into the Leatherleaf restaurant to check on a missing chef, she finds a dead body.

 

Gina's horrified, especially when Romeo Moretti finds her with the corpse and accuses her of the crime.

 

With the pressure mounting, Gina has to figure out whodunit before she loses everything she's worked so hard toward. But with no suspects and a victim who didn't have any enemies, Gina's up mystery creek without a clue.

 

Can Gina solve the crime and restore peace in Lake Basil? Find out in the fifth book in this cute cozy mystery series from USA Today bestseller, Rosie A. Point. Grab your copy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie A. Point
• Release date: Apr 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224936403

Book preview

One

What are you planning? Matilda asked from behind the stall she’d set up in the Lake Basil town square. She pressed her hands to her hips and gave me a suspicious stare.

Huh? Nothing. But Matilda had read me like a recipe for one of the delicious treats she served at Dingle’s Bakery. I’d been mid-scheme about moving the Dingle’s Bakery stall closer to the Leatherleaf stall.

There was a long queue of people waiting to be served, and call it favoritism, but I wanted my best friend’s business to get a lot of attention today.

I had decided to host the first ever Fall Fun Cook-Off between the different restaurants in town because we needed to drum up excitement from the local Lake Basilites during the off-season. Tourist season in Lake Basil was always great, with plenty of customers and cash flow to sate all the restaurants in town, but during the fall and winter, things weren’t as busy.

And I was hoping that this fall would bring in potential diners from other towns in the county.

I can always tell when you’re up to something, Matilda sighed, with a twinkle in her eye. You know, you’ve done enough, Gina. You need to relax. You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep going at this rate.

I’m fine, I said. I’m just glad that the Cook-Off is a success.

It wasn’t so much a competition as it was a market of stalls. Plenty of restaurants had opted to bottle their sauces and sell it, along with the food being served today. Jacob was in charge of Romano’s stall, and we’d opted to bottle our top-class marinara sauce today. We were also serving a delicious baked conchiglie dish with a cheesy topping.

My gaze swept over the crowds of locals dressed warmly for the nippy weather, despite the blue, cloudless sky, and the stalls. The town square was full of the bite of fall and the delicious scents of cooking food.

There were cakes on display, tea and coffee—Cara’s Coffee had a stall too—savory foods, pizzas, pastas, fancy grilled steaks, and more. My mouth watered at the options, but I wasn’t about to stop overseeing to taste the treats.

I had to make sure everything went off without a hitch. If we wanted to maintain our profits during the off-season, it was imperative that⁠—

That’s strange, Matilda said.

What is? I turned my gaze toward her.

There seems to be some kind of commotion in the middle of the square. Look. Everyone’s standing around staring at something.

My heart skipped a beat. A commotion? Lately, Lake Basil had been a mess—too much crime and too little garlic, in my opinion—and I didn’t want anything disturbing the peace we’d finally found in this town. Not when Uncle Rocco and Aunt Sof relied on the restaurant financially.

The commotion was a crowd of people, eating out of containers or off paper plates, staring at something. And it wasn’t the live band I’d commissioned to play cute eighties and nineties covers. Or that hot chocolate stand that had a literal fountain of chocolate.

I’ll be right back, I said. Try to distract people if you can.

You got it, Gina.

I could always rely on Matilda.

I swept toward the crowd. The music thrumming through the square brought a smile to my lips that faded fast.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Romeo Moretti’s voice. You think you can muscle in on our turf that easy?

I nudged a few people out of the way, shooting them quick smiles and apologies, and reached the front of the crowd.

Two men faced off against each other.

One I didn’t recognize, but he had sallow cheeks and a nose too long for his face—he reminded me of a shrew. But his eyes were so sharp, they could’ve cut through a stale pizza crust.

You’re tripping, he said. I don’t even know you.

Romeo Moretti, troublemaker extraordinaire, who was rumored to be starting a crime family in Lake Basil—over my dead body—gritted his teeth and removed a comb from his jacket. He swept it through his already combed hair. Yeah? But I know you. I know everything that happens in this town, and you better get out of it before you wind up in more trouble than you’re worth. He pointed at the other guy with the comb.

Don’t know what you’re talking about, man. Now, get outta my way. The guy attempted to walk past Romeo.

Moretti didn’t take kindly to that. He grabbed the newcomer by the arm and shoved him back a step.

The guy stumbled but didn’t fall. He fixed his coat—a neat brown peacoat—and scowled at Moretti. Nobody puts their hands on me.

Yeah? What are you going to do about it? Do you think I⁠—?

That’s enough, I said, stepping forward. Moretti, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but that’s not how we treat people in Lake Basil. Stop it, right now.

Romano, you don’t know what you’re dealing with here, Moretti said. "This guy is not our buddy."

Our buddy? Since when had Moretti and I been an our? I don’t care what’s going on. Clear up this commotion before I call the cops.

Moretti gritted his teeth, but he knew I’d do it. He also knew that getting in trouble with the cops again wouldn’t be good for his plans, nefarious or otherwise. He inhaled through his nose—it looked as if it had been broken a couple of times—and gave the newcomer a glare. I’ll be watching you. You’d better be out of my town before the day is over. Got it?

This isn’t your town, I said. Please ignore him.

Moretti turned and strode off, his fancy Italian loafers clicking on the paved path that led through the grass, shaking his head.

All right, everyone, I called out. The show’s over. Why don’t you head on over to the Dingle’s Bakery stall and grab a bite of lemon meringue?

That brought a few grumbles of appreciation. Lake Basilites enjoyed drama, but not as much as they enjoyed a good pie, whether it was pizza or something sweet. The crowd cleared, leaving me with the newcomer.

I stuck out a hand. Hi, I said, Gina Romano. Nice to meet you. My curiosity had gotten the better of me. Romeo was full of it, but he didn’t lash out at people unless they were enemies or had offended him. Granted, he was easily offended, but I was curious.

You the mayor or something? The guy shook my hand. His palm was oddly clammy for a fall day. Maybe Romeo had freaked him out.

Nope. Just a local restaurant owner.

The guy’s shoulders relaxed. Eugene, he said. But my friends call me Eug.

Eug?

Yeah. He grinned, showing me teeth stained brown from cigarette smoke, coffee or both. I thought the name Genie was too girly, and Gino’s my cousin, so Eug is good.

You’re new to town?

Just passing through, he said, the smile sticking. I didn’t like the smile—it sent a chill down my spine. Either Moretti had been onto something or I was overreacting. Those were tough options to choose between. I didn’t like it when Romeo Moretti was right.

Nice, I said. Well, enjoy the cook-off. I turned to go, but paused, looking back at the guy. Why were you and Romeo arguing in the first place?

That’s his name? Eugene asked. Didn’t even know who he was. He shrugged and headed off through the square without a backward glance. His gait gave me the impression of a bird of prey.

I shook it off and started toward our stall, hoping for good news from Jacob.

Two

I squeezed past the end of the growing queue in front of the Leatherleaf stall, frowning at the congestion. Unless the chef from the fanciest restaurant in town had fallen asleep behind his grill, the crowd of people waiting to be served didn’t make sense.

The restaurant itself was on the far corner, the glass front doors shut, and the street quiet, especially with the cars parked up and down it for today’s event.

Our stall, manned by Jacob, our chefs and a few of Jake’s chef friends who had offered to help, was on the left of the Leatherleaf stall, and was serving customers at a rapid rate.

Happy people walked off, pocketing change and taking bites of pizza slices or our conchiglie bake.

Order up, Jacob called from behind the counter, dishing another steaming helping of the bake into a bowl and placing it down. He flashed me a quick smile. There you are, honey. We’ve got problems.

Uh oh. What kind of problems?

Weston, tell Gina the deal, will you? Jacob swept the back of his sleeve over his forehead, gesturing to a swarthy guy in chef’s whites.

I recognized Weston vaguely—as was the case with most people in Lake Basil, since it was a small town with a close knit community—and nodded to him.

Weston Parker, he said, and gave me a smile. I’m helping Jake today.

Weston works at that new steakhouse on Cross Street, Jacob said. Order up! He slid a paper plate with a slice of pizza onto the counter. The one in competition with the Leatherleaf?

Right, I said. "I would have invited you to the Cook-Off, but I