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 variety 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 meals 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 client Buster Sergeant bites into his brisket…and bites the dirt. The coroner says meals poisoning, yet Gwen’s no longer confident. Now, with assistance from hunky police detective Beau McClintock, “Nashville Katz”—as Gwen is readily nicknamed—will locate herself including “private investigator” to her resume—and a brand new like to her existence.
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Additional resources for A Brisket, A Casket: A Deadly Deli Mystery
Also, I identified with the cuckoo bird mascot, since its crest kind of resembled mine before I dragged a brush through the frizz every morning. As I turned the boxes sideways and diligently studied their nutritional ingredients, Cazzie reached over to her countertop for the newspaper and made a brief show-and-tell of its front page. The Nashville Times tabloid writers had been more pedestrian about slapping on their headline than I’d foreseen: BUSTER SERGEANT DIES AT 56 Deli Dinner Becomes Auto Legend’s Last Supper “I thought maybe this was the cause of your funk,” Cazzie said, holding up the paper.
But McClintock’s ears didn’t crisp, curl, or even slightly singe. Nor did any other visible part of his body. He just faced her in unruffled silence. ” I broke in before Mount Thom could rumble again. “It isn’t as if a crime was committed—” “No one’s suggesting that,” McClintock interrupted. ” He shot me a pointed look. ” “I didn’t mean to be difficult…” “Once again, Ms. Katz, I’m here on police work. It’s unfortunate if that puts you out. But a man has died. ” McClintock nodded so faintly it seemed an inconvenience.
Cazzie said into the extended silence. “Nothing to discuss,” I said with the shrug that had become my all-purpose gesture of the morning. She continued to peer across the table. Too tired for a staring contest, I lowered my eyes to the cereal boxes between us. One was Lucky Charms, her seven-year-old Cole’s fave. The other was Cocoa Puffs, which his brother Jimmy, who was a wizened eight, deemed a superior product. I had cast my lot with Jimmy. Probably the reason was my chocolate fetish. Also, I identified with the cuckoo bird mascot, since its crest kind of resembled mine before I dragged a brush through the frizz every morning.