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in one huge rush.

“The deli is closed for the rest of the day for a private party. All the girls have accepted the invitation to lunch and are meeting here around one.  Which means we have four hours to finish cooking a four-course lunch menu for eight, set-up the deli as a bistro, redecorate the tables and get changed into summer finery. Prisha, you’re the official wine waiter. Got that?”

“Er. Check, I think. Erin? Are we going to hold a murder party by any chance?”

Erin rolled her shoulders back and took a deep breath.

“Oh yes. Those girls are going to enjoy my amazing food and along the way, tell me precisely what I had been doing that was so dangerous that they had to destroy my van and try to warn me off. After all, Emma’s death was supposed to be an accident, wasn’t it?”

Her pen started tapping the shorthand pad. “This is my life. And I would be a poor member of the Russo family if I let anyone tell me how to live it. That. Stops. Today.”

Erin looked up in her friend’s startled faces. “It’s time to show the person who wrecked my van exactly who they are dealing with. Because if they thought that she was just a village baker who was going to back off scared, they are very badly mistaken.”

Prisha glanced at Carol with a quick nod. “I told you that she would channel her inner Russo.”

“More than that. I’m a Kelly and a Russo and if the person who killed Emma Wilson wanted a fight, then I’m going to give them one. Nobody has the right to destroy my property and get away with it. Nobody. And that includes every single person in that wedding party.”

“Or their boyfriends…” Carole whistled. “The last time I saw that amount of damage was after a rugby match. Women are much more devious.”

“Absolutely right. But in my experience those boys would only do something if they thought that the woman they cared about was in danger of being exposed.”

“So basically, you are saying that one of those girls could be a murderer. This could be dangerous,” Prisha gestured towards Erin with half a muffin.

“Maybe,” Erin nodded. “Whoever did this is running scared at the very idea that I am getting closer to the truth. I’ve rattled their cages and the rats have come running out. Now it’s time to catch them in the trap. They are not leaving until I know what’s going on and who did this.”

She flipped her hand over from side to side. “It’s a simple choice. They can tell me now, or I’ll call the police and let them answer questions at the police station under caution. Their choice. What is said in the deli stays in the deli.”

Carol shook her head. “Erin Kelly, one way or another, this is turning out to be quite a weekend! Are you sure that you don’t need me to be here? My mum might be able to cope on her own at the pub.”

“Thanks, but I’ll phone you as soon as I have anything worth sharing. But one thing is for sure. They have messed with the wrong person this time. I am not letting this go until I get to the truth, no matter what it takes.”

Chapter Thirteen

“You closed the deli. How will the fine folks of Kingsmede be able to cope?”

Erin watched the shock on Matt’s face as he was hit with the full cacophony of the background music and mouth-watering smells of her cooking. He was seeing her deli in all of its fresh Mediterranean glory in the bright early Monday sunshine that streamed in from the freshly washed windows.

“Oh, I think they’ll manage for one day. My deli, my rules.” She replied with a grin. “It’s been quite a weekend.”

The scrubbed pine tables and wide solid chairs had been laid out to form a large square table, decked with bright yellow and blue check tablecloths and matching seat pads.

This was how her bistro was going to look, and she couldn’t wait to get started on it.

In the cool early morning, she had worked tirelessly in the deli and rearranged the furniture to create the perfect Italian bistro that had been her father’s dream and was now hers.

She already had the perfect backdrop, with cream walls and bright warm lighting, but now she added the final touches with hints of green, blue and yellow in the fabrics.

Her father had collected framed photographs of how the deli looked over the years. It only taken half an hour for Erin to rearrange them on the wall as a collage of black-and-white images of happy people, all celebrating the essence of Italian food and life.

All it needed now was the background sound of happy customers chatting and laughing against unobtrusive background Italian popular music.

“What are you making for lunch?” Matt asked. “Because I have to tell you, half of Kingsmede is enjoying the delicious aromas coming from this kitchen.”

“It was actually very hard to decide,” Erin replied. “During the winter I would have gone for a delicious roast lamb casserole in a rich red wine sauce, but it’s already twenty-five degrees at ten in the morning and forecast to be well into the thirties by lunchtime. The girls wouldn’t appreciate a hot hearty meal at this time of the year.”

“True, although that lamb sounds very good to me.” Matt smiled.

“It certainly is! Let’s save that for another time.”

Erin moved over to the serving hatch and pointed at two metal trays covered in foil. “For the antipasti, we have fennel and asparagus salad with plenty of chopped tarragon, basil and lemon balm from Rosa’s cottage. Then roast vegetables with basil and oregano.”

“That explains the amazing aroma. This room smells like a Mediterranean

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