Grilled Rye Murder: Book 16 in The Darling Deli Series by Patti Benning Page A

Moira and Brendan flying forward. Dazed, the deli owner struggled to her feet, shaking chunks of broken glass off of herself. The reporter was groaning on the floor, clutching a bloody arm. Rodney, still in the driver’s seat, was beating back an airbag.
    The deli owner staggered to the van’s sliding door and wrestled it open. She got out of the vehicle as quickly as she dared, trying to figure out if she was actually okay, or if she was in shock from some horrible injury that she hadn’t noticed yet. I have all my limbs, she thought. I don’t think I’m bleeding. What on earth just happened?
    She looked around. They were in a field dotted with bushes and trees. A cow lowed at her from only a few yards away. The van’s nose was completely crushed in—it had smashed into a stump hidden in a clump of tall grass. She was beginning to hear more sounds of movement from inside the vehicle now; Brendan was shouting at Rodney.
    “You idiot! You had one job, and you screwed it up. I should have hired that foreign guy. You crashed my van! That woman is getting away… and I think my arm is broken.”
    “Dude, you gotta help me,” Rodney said. “My legs are stuck. I can’t get out.”
    “Screw you. I’ve gotta go catch that chick before she runs to the police.”
    Moira turned back the way that they had come from, desperately looking for somewhere to run to. She saw the splintered fence that the van had broken through and started towards it, pulling her skirts up so she could run without tripping over them.
    She heard footsteps in the grass behind her and ran faster, hoping that Brendan’s broken arm would slow him down enough for her to get to the road before he did. Not daring to look back, she ran as fast as she could… stumbling to a stop only when she saw a familiar unmarked police vehicle roll through the hole in the fence. Red and blue lights flashed from a hidden strip on the car’s roof. Moira heard a muffled curse from behind her, and turned to see Brendan turning tail and running back towards the wrecked van.
    “Moira!” a familiar voice called out to her. “Are you okay?”
    She hurried forward to meet Detective Jefferson, who had gotten out of his car and was running the last few feet towards her.
    “I’m fine,” she panted. “But they’re going to get away! You have to stop them. It’s that reporter, Brendan, and his cameraman. They killed Zander.”
    “They won’t be going anywhere,” Jefferson assured her with a grim smile. “I called for backup, they should be here any minute.”
    Moira could hear sirens in the distance, drawing ever nearer. “Thank goodness,” she breathed. “How did you find me?”
    “I was only a few seconds behind you, remember? I followed you back from City Hall, but got cut off by a stoplight. I pulled in to the parking lot in time to see you walk around the corner of the church building. I didn’t think much of it—I thought you were heading towards a side entrance—until I saw that van pull out and speed off a moment later. I wasn’t sure you were in it, of course, but I tailed it anyway. When I saw the van go off road and into this cow field, I knew something was really wrong. Are you sure you’re all right?”
    The deli owner nodded, then gasped. “David! The wedding! What time is it?”
    She peered at the detective’s watch and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was late, her hair was a mess, and she had broken glass in her dress.
    “What am I going to do?” She felt tears prickle her eyes. All of this, and she was going to miss her own wedding.
    “Get in my car and call your maid of honor. I’m sure she can come up with something. I’ll escort you back just as soon as I make sure those two get arrested.”
    It was a plan, at least. Moira took his phone, punched in Martha’s number, and tried to think of what on earth she would tell her friend.
     

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
    The first notes of the bridal march began, signaling that it