Champagne, Sunrise & Dead Guys

By Jennifer Fischetto

From USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Fischetto comes another scary-good Gianna Mancini mystery!

Gianna Mancini has a knack for finding dead bodies...which is convenient since she can communicate with the dearly departed. However there are some occasions where she wishes the gift didn't follow. For example—dinner with her family at a posh restaurant where Gianna has a special announcement to celebrate. But when a trip to the ladies room results in Gianna discovering food critic Tamara Evans stabbed to death, the dream of a ghost-free night is dashed.

Tamara turns out to be a first class snob, and Gianna decides she has no reason to get involved with this recently departed soul. That is until her homicide detective brother asks her for assistance with her special gift in finding Tamara's killer. With an angry ex-husband, a young smitten bartender, a grouchy restaurateur Tamara gave a scathing review to, and even some of Gianna’s family members all making the suspect list, pinning down the culprit is not going to be as easy as she hopes.

And when Gianna’s snooping goes too far, will the killer determine that this is Gianna’s last course?

What critics are saying about the Gianna Mancini Mysteries:

"Brilliant! Jennifer Fischetto has spun an entertaining tale."
~ Kings River Life Magazine

"Quirky but oh so fun cozy mystery. If you like your cozy mysteries on the humorous side, then look no further!"
~ Fresh Fiction

"Jennifer Fischetto serves up a delicious cozy mystery with this fun ghost story. If you are a fan of the genre this is a fun read that will leave you with a smile."
~ Night Owl Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
• Release date: Apr 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215249512

Jennifer Fischetto

Jennifer Fischetto is the USA TODAY Bestselling author of the Gianna Mancini paranormal cozy mystery series, as well as a dozen other titles. She writes family-centric murder mysteries and things that go bump in the night.A lover of rainstorms and snow, she prefers fiction over reality and longs to live in a world where French fries grow on trees, chocolate appears whenever desired, and every day is October. She watches too much television and movies, which fuel her never-ending supply of plot ideas, and is a rabid fan of suspense, horror, and everything supernatural.You can learn about her next book by subscribing to her newsletter at https://jenniferfischetto.com/newsletter/

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

What are we doing on the beach this early in the morning? I ask my boyfriend, Julian.

When he picked me up at my apartment fifteen minutes ago, dawn had already arrived, and now the sun is rising as we stand here. Long streaks of golden yellow, orange, and pink languidly stretch across the sky-blue canvas. The water gently laps, and its saltwater scent fills my senses. The view is glorious, but I don't understand why we're here. Julian's a rise-with-the-roosters person, but he knows I like sleeping in if possible.

It's Saturday. The first morning Julian doesn't have to rush to work. And since the public relations business I started with my sister is doing well, we now take most weekends off too. But that doesn't explain the five a.m. wake-up call and the rush in his tone when he told me to meet him outside. I should have insisted on a reason then, but I was barely awake. And when I slid into his vehicle, he seemed distracted, his gaze darting everywhere but on me. I figured he was thinking about work. When I asked where we were going, he said it was a surprise.

He's right about that.

You love the beach, he says and gently shivers in his thin jacket.

It's practically summer, but the air is cool and the water is still too chilly for sunbathing or surfing. Not that I've ever seen him take an interest in either. He's naturally tanned, and his only water activity includes fishing, which his job doesn't give him enough time to partake in. I imagine he'll get time when he retires in another thirty-something years.

I sip from the Styrofoam cup of hot coffee Julian bought and had waiting for me when I climbed into his black SUV. It helps with the chill. Now, if he'd wanted to see the sunset, we'd probably be standing here in short sleeves. I would, anyway. The days warm up pretty fast, and I'm not a fan of heat.

So, are you going to tell me why we're really here? I ask while staring down the long stretch of beach. We're the only people as far as I can see, which isn't surprising. Most people are probably still asleep.

Julian softly clears his throat, and I glance at a forgotten blue pail several yards ahead. Some poor kid is probably missing it. Otherwise, the beige sand seems uncharacteristically unmarred and clean. I haven't been here in a while—busy with work, family, my one friend, and of course, Julian—but the last time I was, it was definitely not this unsullied. It's a public beach, and in the summer, it can get trashy.

A seagull cries, and I look up to catch a glimpse of its large body and powerful gray wings flapping inland. There's the low hum of traffic sounds in the distance, but if I close my eyes and stay attuned to the water and the birds, it's so peaceful. Julian's right. I do love it here. I'm not into sunbathing or swimming either, but early mornings and late evenings are therapeutic. It not only calms my mind but clears it as well.

I take a deep cleansing breath through my nose and slowly exhale through my mouth, like all the meditation gurus tell you to do. It also helps to steady any wayward thoughts and distractions.

Julian clears his throat again. I hope he's not coming down with something, because then I'll catch it, and summer colds are the worst.

I open my eyes and realize Julian isn't standing beside me anymore.

He's on one bent knee and is staring at me with earnest gray eyes. His dark-brown hair looks as if he spent a long time in the mirror with a comb and some overpriced hair product. The corners of his mouth are raised upwards, despite the seriousness in his gaze. I'm taken aback and am certain I flinch and frown, but he keeps smiling. That's when I notice the small blue box in his hand.

Oh my goodness!

I stop breathing for a moment and place a hand over my mouth. Is this…?

Gianna Mancini, I have loved you since the first day I saw you in your aunt and uncle's kitchen in Connecticut.

I still think of that day with fondness. In hindsight, of course. At the time, I thought he was a pompous jerk. A hot one, but still a jerk.

Even when we broke up, I still loved you. His voice is full of emotion.

I nod because I felt the same way, even though I couldn't admit it.

You are kind and compassionate. You are generous and fearless.

Oh, that last one gets me into trouble.

You have a wonderful family who has taken me in and loved me as if I am one of their own.

Ma has always adored him. I'm not sure why it was so instant. It was as if she knew we'd be standing here doing this one day.

I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to grow old with you and continue to laugh and share wonderful and even mundane and boring times with you. You make me a better man.

Tears gather in the corners of my eyes, and I'm speechless, which is saying a lot. Even my brain doesn't know what to think.

Gianna, will you marry me? He flips open the lid of the box, and I gasp at the solitaire diamond set on a plain silver band. It catches the rising sunlight and dazzles.

I remove my hand from my mouth but can't find my voice. I look from the ring to him and back again.

This is why we're out here. This is why he called so early and sounded almost shy. This is why he didn't want to spend last night at my apartment. So he could prepare? He's so cute!

A small frown forms on his brow. It takes me a minute to realize that he's nervous I'll say no.

That makes him even cuter!

The first sound out of my mouth is a giggle, which morphs into an obnoxious chuckle. Way to go ruining the tender moment, Gi.

I jump up and down on the balls of my sneakers, and it hits me that I'm not dressed up. I mean, I never am. That's not my style, but he's in a suit and tie, and I'm wearing leggings and a T-shirt. He often wears suits. They're a part of his work attire. So it didn't dawn on me that he was dressing for this moment, a proposal on the beach at sunrise.

He picked my favorite coffee and location, and he remembered that I prefer silver over gold. He knows me so well. He's simply perfect. I've thought of this moment before, of course. Not regularly, but every once in a while, especially in the last year when our relationship seemed stronger than ever. I figured he'd propose at some elegant restaurant with a roomful of strangers watching. That would be his favorite location. But he really thought about what would make this special for me.

His frown deepens. Oh, what's wrong? Is he kneeling on a seashell?

Oh my goodness, I haven't answered him yet. Why am I not saying anything?

Yes! I shout it so loud, he flinches, but his grin reappears and my heart melts.

Yeah?

Of course I'll marry you.

He pulls the ring from the box and slips it onto my finger. I barely get a second to examine how large the diamond is or how perfect it looks there when he jumps up and pulls me into his embrace.

Our lips meet, and the longer they press together, the giddier I become until I'm smiling and he's practically kissing my teeth.

We both laugh and pull our faces apart. My left hand is on his shoulder, and I, of course, stare at my ring.

You had me concerned for a moment, he says.

Sorry. I was just so stunned. How long have you been planning this? My eyes search his for maybe half a minute before I'm back to admiring the rock on my finger. What can I say? I've never been a diamond girl. I'm not fond of the industry's practices, but today and the rest of my life, I'll proudly be a hypocrite because this ring is stunning.

I bought that after you helped Screama Ballerina cross over.

Now he has my full attention, and I realize there are tears in his eyes too.

I scoff, and I'm certain he gets a face full of coffee breath. But that was almost a year ago.

His shrug is light and slow, as if he's not sure he wants to do it. I wasn't positive if we were ready. No, that's not true. I wasn't convinced you were ready. I was the moment I followed you here to South Shore Beach. Maybe not physically, but I always knew we'd come to this moment.

Wow. That was years ago. I can't say I felt this confident about us all of this time. In the beginning, there was definitely a period where I didn't like him much, even though I loved him. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be with him when I learned about his job as a fixer. Everyone else around me seemed more assured than me about our future. Maybe because no one else knows about his work. It's a big secret. It's technically illegal and sometimes immoral, which is why I had such a hard time wrapping my head around us being together or not.

I'll just keep these thoughts to myself to not shatter his fairy tale moment though.

Do you like the ring? It's two carats. I didn't think you'd want one much bigger, and I considered a band with tiny stones set in, but I think you once said you prefer plain. We can exchange—

No! I love it. It's exactly what I'd pick out myself. Now I'm back to staring at it.

He's right. I'd constantly worry about a tiny stone coming loose and getting lost because I'm not easy on my hands. Sometimes I'll help my parents lift heavy trays or move a box in storage at the deli, not to mention all of the typing, hand washing, and helping my sister with my nephew. And as for the size, this is big enough to be noticed yet compact enough on my hand that I likely won't catch it on things.

His chuckle is light. You can't take your eyes off it.

I hope I'm not being rude, but just in case, I gaze into his clear gray eyes and grin. It's breathtaking.

As are you, he says, pulling me closer.

How did I get this lucky?

I press my lips to his and drink in his love. With one eye open while staring at this gorgeous rock!

CHAPTER TWO

After the beach, we grabbed more coffee and blueberry scones at a local bakery and then went back to his apartment to celebrate some more. We ended up having lunch at my favorite cafe that makes the best chicken sandwich because neither of us wanted to cook and we were still in celebratory mode. And then it was to my apartment to hang out. An entire day just the two of us. I can't recall the last time we did that. He didn't look at his phone once, no one called to ask for his help, and I turned off mine, just in case. I didn't want to accidentally blurt out our news to my family until tonight when we were all together.

Julian made reservations at a restaurant in the east end of town, a month ago, he tells me as we drive there.

What if I'd said no? I ask with a chuckle and gaze at his profile. His features are sharp from the side but don't look nearly as angular straight on.

A soft, warm night breeze tickles the back of my neck and ruffles the ends of my dark-brown curls that rest on the top of my head from my updo style. It also pushes a heady scent of saltwater mixed with vanilla from nearby Japanese honeysuckle shrubs through my open window.

His grin excites me. He's been doing that all day. I love seeing him this happy. His chuckle is light, and without taking his eyes off the road, he grabs my hand and presses my fingertips to his mouth. Then I guess I'd be eating alone, drowning my sorrow and misery in their ribeye.

I laugh loud, not expecting that answer.

He joins in and lets my hand go while turning onto a narrow two-lane street.

I expected the place to be on the main road and not nestled onto a side street. While there are no homes on the block, this is still a residential area with houses on the next street. I imagine the closest neighbors don't love the sound of traffic and chatter until bedtime.

Julian parks near the back of the lot, passing several spots closer to the door. Ma and Pop should be here soon, and I know his thinking is to not force them to walk a long distance. My folks are closer to retirement than any of us would like to admit, but they're still active and agile. I appreciate the gesture though. It's one of the reasons I love this guy so much.

I step out of the vehicle, smooth down the skirt of my sleeveless black cocktail dress and pat the back of my head to make sure all of my ringlets are still up in the clip. Tonight I'm doing something I never do. I'm wearing open-toed, ankle strap, three-inch heels. Can you imagine the headline?

Breaking News: Local Woman Attends Engagement Dinner in High Heels.

For me, it's scandalous. I even walked around in them, in my apartment, an hour before we left. I never wear anything higher than a kitten heel or a chunky one on a boot, so I'm not used to them. I don't want to break my neck—or worse…embarrassingly fall.

Julian held back laughter while I paced my living room and kitchenette, grabbing on to the breakfast bar or appliances during turns, but I saw the amusement in his eyes.

He told me I shouldn't risk hurting myself if I was uncomfortable in them. Apparently injury is more important to him than humiliation. I insisted though. I can do this. But as we cross the asphalt, I'm seriously second guessing this decision. Julian holds out his elbow, and I grab on to it as if it was a life preserver and I am flailing in the middle of the Atlantic.

I glance around the parking lot as we walk through it, looking for my parents' or siblings' cars, but I think we've arrived first. I didn't want to jinx my spilling the beans to them by calling and inviting them here tonight myself. Ma would push for a reason why, and I wouldn't be able to keep the excitement out of my voice, so Julian did it. He went as far as to text each of them too. I know they're confused, probably thinking he's throwing me a surprise, late-birthday dinner. Very late, considering it was a month ago.

Julian holds the brass handle on the glass and wood door to The Epicurean open, and I'm thankful to step onto a red with black trim rug. A moment of not fearing I'll twist an ankle.

The room is large with a hostess station immediately to our left. Behind it is a large wraparound bar with high-back wooden stools and red-cushioned seats. The room has dark-paneled walls with several landscape framed photos of the South Shore Beach bridge, the beach, and the bay. They're all local shots. How beautiful.

Several gold chandeliers hang above the wooden bar. They're more elegant than gaudy and only offer an ambient glow. No one wants to drink in a brightly lit bar, even one in a restaurant.

The dining room is off to the right, and it is full of light. There's a dark room to my left, which isn't in use, but from the bar's glow, I can make out the corner of a table. Perhaps it's for private events.

Julian has mentioned this place before. He says the food is delicious. His boss loves it, and he takes out-of-town clients here sometimes. I'm not a white-linen type of girl, so Julian knows this is a little too fancy for my tastes. But it's great for special occasions, like tonight.

Julian stands at the hostess station talking to a petite blonde woman and a young blond man. They look like a couple of real-life Restaurant Barbie and Ken. Both of them are wearing the uniform—black pants, white button-down, burgundy vest and tie, and the man also has a black half- apron tied around his waist. I move farther into the room and people watch.

The bar isn't crowded. There are four seats taken. It's only seven p.m. though. I imagine this place is packed on the average Saturday night. There are two bartenders working. One is pouring a beer on tap for a lone gentleman in a gray suit, and the other is putting away wineglasses. The second one is also intently staring at a couple of people exchanged in what looks like a private and heated conversation.

They're by a wall across from the bar, standing close enough to each other that they're not strangers or even employer and employee. No, these two have been intimate at some point. It's obvious from the way neither seem to be intimidated by the other's scowl or close proximity.

The man wears a black suit and burgundy tie, telling me he works here in management or he color coordinates his wardrobe to his dinner establishment. His brown hair is full on top and tapered along the sides. She is almost a foot shorter than him and has to crane her neck up to meet his gaze. She's dressed in a white and soft gray swirl patterned dress with short sleeves and a super thin matching gray belt cinched around her waist. It's a 1950s style but without the poof in the skirt. Her brown hair hangs loose around her shoulders in soft waves.

They're both older than Julian and me but younger than my parents. Whatever is going on between them, it feels intense.

It's always the same with you, he says in an angry tone.

There aren't enough people in the room to make their words go unheard. The second bartender, the hostess, and a couple of customers turn and glance their way.

They realize they're being watched and take a step back from each other.

The man glances at me before turning and heading to a swinging door at the back of the room.

The woman stares after him.

The bartender, stocking the glasses, steps from around the bar and approaches her. A soft smile plays on his face. He's taller than the other man and easily twenty years younger. His light-brown bangs are long and brush into his eyes. He reaches out for the woman's hand, but she jerks away.

Something tells me they are or have been pretty chummy too.

Julian touches my elbow. Our table is ready. Do you want to wait here for your family? Get a drink first?

No, let's get settled. I wrap my arm around his, and the petite blonde hostess leads us into the spacious and brightly lit dining room.

There are a dozen tables, and several are occupied with couples and small groups of people. There are even a couple of single parties enjoying their meal. I don't stare. They're more of a blur as we pass and are seated at a large round table covered in a white tablecloth almost in the center of the room. I'd prefer something along a wall, but those only hold four chairs, and our party consists of nine. There are eight high-back chairs with red-cushioned seats like the barstools, as well as a highchair for my nephew. Each setting consists of a folded white cloth napkin, silverware in their proper positions on the sides of a small bread plate, and a red