To Kill a Matzo Ball: (A Deadly Deli Mystery)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
"Delia Rosen provides an entertaining deli whodunit." --Mystery Gazette on One Foot in the Gravy
Hitting below the Borscht Belt. . .
For ex-Manhattanite Gwen Katz, running Murray's Pastrami Swami, the Jewish deli she inherited from her late uncle in Nashville, Tennessee, makes her feel like a whitefish out of water. To add to the craziness, martial arts teacher Ken Chan has come to sample her kosher delicacies for a black belt ceremony he wants catered.
But just as Chan is about to try a matzo ball, bullets shatter the deli's window and Ken Chan is killed as he pushes Gwen to safety. Was Chan the victim of a hit by a crime gang from New York's Chinatown? Was a local hate-group targeting Chan--or maybe even Gwen? With the Nashville Police--and the FBI--baffled, Gwen enlists the help of an eccentric new-age entrepreneur.
But more than bad vibes are coming her way as a killer returns. . .and this time it's the deli owner who may be the outgoing order. . .
"Will certainly leave the reader hungry for more." --MysteryLibrarian.com on A Brisket A Casket
"A really humorous cozy. . . Readers will thoroughly enjoy this deli tale." --Once Upon a Romance on One Foot in the Gravy
at his school, tailing him here doesn’t seem to make the best sense. It’s not impossible, of course, and there are some stupid killers out there, but it’s not the best working theory.” “What is your best theory?” “We’ve been tracking a well-funded group of radical white supremacists, the SSS,” he said. “It stands for Shock, Shoot, and Slaughter. Mr. Chan, being of Asian descent, a foreigner, new in the city—that would have been something to attract their attention.” My first reaction? I didn’t
idea. Or a worse one, depending on one’s criteria. I slept well in my makeshift bed on the floor, with the blended smells of Lysol, canola oil from the nearby deep fryer, and burned toast in my nose. The latter was from the toaster, which was nearby. My last conscious thought had been, I gotta clean out the crumb catcher. My first conscious thought in the morning had nothing to do with food. It was to wonder who had called me at three AM. My cell phone was in the office, and though I heard the
matters at hand than busting Banko Juarez. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” I told him, doing my best to pretend I was wrong, had crossed a line. “I’m not used to this. We move in different social circles.” “It’s no great honor being ahead of the curve,” Banko said immodestly and in earnest—a nauseating combination. I would’ve barfed, but I had neglected to have dinner. “Lay on, Macduff,” I said, grabbing my keys and a bag of oyster crackers sitting on a shelf by the back door as we headed out.
than actually moving. I turned back toward my trembling, wriggling captor. I picked up the rifle case that was beside him and set it against the head of the bed. Banko really did look like a carp on a hook. I had seen men afraid of Jewish women in my life, most of them cowed and some of them even terrified, but I had never seen a man so desperate. “Don’t hurt me!” Banko wailed as the young man picked him up by the front of his shirt. “I’m not part of this group!” I walked over to the twin bed.
that had happened, despite the wedding band and a reference to one of his kids asking if she could take classes at the Po Kung Fu martial arts school. Sometimes, just plain normal was just plain satisfying. Chapter 23 Grant conferred with Richards while I gave my interview. Like Detective Bean, Detective Nørgaard used an iPad. With voice recognition. I spoke, it transcribed. I signed the tablet and was done. Thinking of Detective Bean, I couldn’t help but think how she would be sorry