Читать книгу Here Comes the Body - Maria DiRico - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Mia sat across from her brother at a beat-up table in the correctional facility visiting room. A guard leaned against a wall, checking his cell phone. Triborough was a minimum-security facility whose mission was to transition offenders to life outside the big house. Mia had been greeted at the entry like a long-lost friend. It wasn’t her family’s first stint in the place.

Posi’s prison grays did nothing to detract from his model-handsome looks. But he was glum today. “You got nothing? Not one bite?”

“Sorry.” Mia had done her brother a favor and shared his mug shot on social media with the hashtag, #anotherhotconvict. Posi had hoped to become a viral sensation, like a convict before him who’d parlayed his good looks into a post-prison modeling career and billionaire heiress girlfriend. So far, that hadn’t happened for Posi.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “I figured I could glom on to all the people who were following you because of the Adam disappearing thing, and you being a suspect. I guess your fifteen minutes is up.”

Mia fought to maintain patience with her self-involved sibling. “My ‘fifteen minutes’ was fifteen minutes I never wanted and I’m glad it’s over. Sorry it ended before you could ‘glom on’ to it. Can we talk about Dad?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s going on?” Mia filled Posi in on what had happened at Belle View. “Whoa. This is bad.”

“I know.”

“Dad’s making flower arrangements? Is he wearing lipstick and dresses, too? If the Family finds out, he’s a dead man.”

Mia gave an exasperated sigh. “Can we focus on what’s important here? The girl who wanted money from Dad? Guadalupe got rid of her, but I have a really strong feeling she’ll be back. And Dad did visit that Meet Your Match website.”

“Hmmm . . .” Posi stared out a barred window, his gaze thoughtful.

“Stop looking at your reflection in the window.”

“Sorry, they don’t have mirrors in here.”

“I feel bad for Dad,” Mia said. “He’s obviously ready to date again. But he was so nervous going to that website, he didn’t even spell it right.”

This got Posi’s attention. “Wait, what? How did he spell it?”

“With an extra e. M-e-e-e-t.”

Posi ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “Oh, man. I think I know what happened. There are these hackers in Eastern Europe and what they do is create websites that are only one letter off from legit sites, but take you to a whole other, darker place. Meet Your Match is a real popular dating site. So, what do these guys do? Create a site that people accidentally get to when they make an obvious typing error. They don’t even know they’re on the wrong site sometimes, like with this. Guys like Dad think they’re making dates with interested ladies. Instead, they’re booking working girls. Usually the scammers throw in a little identity or credit card theft. It’s kind of genius. Wish I was better with computers.”

Mia frowned at her brother. “I’m glad you’re not. We’ve got enough trouble with you stealing all those sports cars. Will you stop already?”

“Hey, with the stupid tariffs, people in China can’t afford those cars. I’m like a Robin Hood. I take from the rich and give to the not-as-rich. Well, not so much give as sell. But for a very fair price.”

Mia shook her head. Still, she couldn’t help smiling at her brother’s insouciant attitude. “Whatever. We miss you.”

“‘We’ being you and Dad,” Posi said, his tone acerbic. “Heard from Mom lately?”

“Hah,” Mia said, matching her brother’s attitude. “‘Heard from Mom?’ Funny stuff.”

The siblings’ mother, Gia formerly-Carina-now-Gabanetti, had moved to Rome with her second husband, Angelo Gabanetti, who’d been deported as soon as he completed a two-year jail sentence for selling forged passports and driver’s licenses. Vibrant and beautiful, Gia was also what psychology student Jamie Boldano called a “clinical narcissist.” Whether it was conscious or unconscious, Gia managed to switch the focus of any situation back to herself. She dreamed of being an actress, despite the fact the only dramas she ever appeared in were the ones she created at family events. Between their father’s demanding schedule working for Donny Boldano and their mother’s self-involvement, Mia and Posi had learned to rely on each other at an early age, hence their close relationship.

“Any word on when you’ll be out?” Mia asked her brother.

“Mickey’s working on it,” Posi said, referencing Mickey Bauer, the defense attorney the Carinas kept on a retainer. “In the meantime, share my mug shot again, and keep sharing until it goes viral. Love ya, sis.”

Rather than risk Jamie Boldano showing up for the third time in less than twenty-four hours, Mia hailed a cab instead of summoning a rideshare. The conversation with Posi had helped her parse out the mixed message her father was sending. She thought Ravello told the truth when he said he didn’t know the belligerent woman who showed up at Belle View. But he was also doing his best to cover up the fact he’d gone to an illegal website. Ravello, who’d done time at Triborough himself, had met his parole requirements, so he wasn’t in danger of violating them. Mia assumed he was simply too embarrassed to admit the truth to his daughter.

The cab dropped her at home, and she made her way up the stoop stairs. She was greeted at the front door by Elisabetta. It was only seven P.M. but her grandmother had already changed from the track suit into pajamas. Her hair, still dyed brown despite her status as an octogenarian, was in pink curlers. “I found you furniture,” she said.

“That’s wonderful, Nonna, thank you. Where? How much?”

Elisabetta pointed down the street to where the moving van had been earlier. “It’s free. Rose Caniglia is moving to assisted living. Her kids and grandkids don’t want her stuff and she’d rather see it go to a good home than sell it to some dealer.”

Mia’s excitement dimmed a bit. She’d been in Rose’s home many times and understood her family’s reluctance to inherit the matriarch’s gilded, ornately carved, basically hideous furniture. Still, the price was right, as in free.

“I told her you’d be by as soon as you got home,” Elisabetta said. “The movers finish up tomorrow. Go. She’s waiting. I’ll have dinner for you when you’re done. Eggplant parmigiana.”

Mia headed down the block to Rose’s. She rang the doorbell, which sang out a tarantella tune. There was a pause as the senior checked her out through the peephole, then the sound of multiple locks being unlocked. A few minutes later, the door opened. Senior citizen Rose Caniglia, skin weathered and height shrunken below its original 4’11”, greeted Mia with a hug and a cheek pinch that hurt. “Look at you, such a beauty.” Rose tugged the bouffant wig that had been knocked askew by her hearty embrace back in place. “Come in, come in. You want espresso?”

“Thanks, but I’m good. Nonna’s holding dinner for me.”

“She’s some cook, that one. Okay, let me show you what I’m giving away.”

Rose and Mia navigated a maze of boxes as the older woman pointed out Mia’s future furnishings. The living room set was every bit as ugly as Mia remembered it and included a sofa, coffee table, end tables, plus two chairs upholstered in the same bright crushed red velvet as the sofa. All seating surfaces were encased in plastic, much like at Nonna’s home, which brought back memories of painfully peeling damp thighs off the couch during a hot summer day. The plastic would go, but Mia didn’t dare tell Rose that in case it killed the deal. Plastic-covered cushions were a sacred part of the décor in every home on 46th Place.

They moved on to the dining room and then the bedroom. All the furniture was a match to the living room pieces. Rose’s decorating style was nothing if not consistent. Mia imagined there was quite a celebration at the gaudy furnishings store where Rose shopped when she cleaned out their inventory.

“You can have it all,” the senior said, gesturing to the room with an expansive sweep of her hands. “I don’t need it where I’m going. The place is already furnished.”

“Thank you so much, Rose. You have to let me pay you something for this.”

Rose gave her head a vehement shake. “Absolutely not. I’m just happy to find everything a good home. And with someone from your generation who appreciates quality.”

Mia managed a weak smile. “Right. So, Nonna said you’re moving to assisted living.”

“Yeah, a place on the Island. Here.”

Rose handed Mia a glossy brochure with a flyer attached to it. Mia was less interested in the brochure, which extolled the virtues of the Ocean Shores Adult Living Community, than the flyer, which trumpeted the sales record of Astoria’s “Number One Real Estate Agent,” a woman named Felicity Stewart Forbes. In case anyone missed the ad copy, a photo showed Felicity, a fortysomething blonde with a Botoxed upper lip and forehead, striking a cutesy pose with her index finger in the air to indicate she was numero uno. So this was the woman turning 46th Place from geriatric to gentrified. Mia took an instant dislike to her.

She handed the brochure back to Rose, who turned a page. “It’s in Syosset, so it’s not really near a shore. But it’s got what they call amenities, if you’re around long enough to use them. I didn’t want to go at first. But Felicity here made a very good point when she said I wasn’t gonna get sharper as time went on.”

Mia fumed at the real estate agent’s manipulations. “That’s ridiculous. You’re sharp as a tack, always have been, and I’m sure you’ll stay that way.”

Rose shrugged. “Yeah, but I figured, why take a chance? Might as well make the move now while I still know where I’m going.”

“I guess. So, who bought your house? Who are our new neighbors?”

“A very nice couple.”

The cagey expression on Rose’s face belied her bland description. This roused Mia’s curiosity, but not enough to quell her hunger pangs. She could practically smell Elisabetta’s eggplant parmigiana from Rose’s house. “I better get going. If you give me the number of your movers, I’ll arrange for them to deliver everything. I can’t thank you enough for this, Rose.”

“Please, I’m happy to help. Especially after what you’ve been through with that husband of yours, that Grosso character. They still haven’t found his body, have they?”

“No.” Mia winced, recalling the awful weeks she’d endured after Adam’s disappearance. When her cheating spouse never showed up to work at one of the restaurants he managed, he was declared a missing person. Palm Beach PD considered Mia a suspect in his disappearance until the wreck of Adam’s cigarette boat, along with the body of his cocktail waitress mistress, were found off the shore of Paradise Island. Palm Beach PD declared Adam Grosso presumed dead due to a boating disaster, releasing Mia from suspicion but leaving her emotionally scarred.

“If you ask me,” Rose said, “that son-of-a-you-know-what got the death he deserved.”

Mia didn’t disagree.

* * *

The next couple of days were busy. Ravello’s accuser never reappeared and Mia assumed her father was right—the woman was a local nut job. Rose’s movers dropped off furniture and everything else the senior wouldn’t need in her new home, which was pretty much everything from her old home. Mia thanked her benefactor with a beautiful houseplant for her assisted living digs and a two-pound box of Perugina chocolates, both of which were appreciated. “The chocolate may kill me, but I’ll die happy,” Rose said. Cammie Dianopolis came over to help Mia organize her new wares and make sense of the décor, which Cammie described as “Neapolitan Bordello Chic” after laughing so hard, coffee came out her nose.

At work, Mia found the perfect powerboat to deliver Alice to her reception, a stunning 1956 Cris-Craft Capri, and negotiated a great price for it. She and her father also worked out a system for engaging potential new customers. Ravello did a little glad-handing and gave a tour of Belle View’s facilities, then delivered them to Mia, who pitched a variety of packages that would make their wedding-anniversary-Sweet Sixteen-funeral luncheon an event they and their guests would never forget. If she heard the stale joke, “You’re making me an offer I can’t refuse” from one customer, she must have heard it from ten. She gritted her teeth and faked laughter. She’d live with a little mob notoriety if that’s what it took to close a deal.

The night of Mia’s first official event, John Grazio’s bachelor party, arrived. She opened the Pick-U-Up app on her cell phone and swiped through drivers. No Jamie. Now she wondered if he was avoiding her, and tamped down a sudden rush of anxiety. He’s probably busy with classes, she thought, then repeated to herself, I’m not ready for a relationship, I’m not ready for a relationship. Having surrendered common sense and allowed herself to be swayed by Adam Grosso’s charm and sex appeal, Mia no longer trusted her instincts when it came to men. She chose a portly school bus driver moonlighting on the rideshare app as her driver.

As soon as Mia got to Belle View, she called a meeting in the Bay Ballroom with the bachelor party staff of waiters, bartenders, and general help. Tables were set to accommodate fifty guests. Ravello had contributed his newly acquired napkin folding skills to the event, applying what he called “the Pyramid fold” to each one. Given that his skills were still rudimentary, to Mia’s eye the napkins less resembled pyramids than a certain part of the female anatomy. But she kept this observation to herself.

Aside from the suggestive napkins, the only decorations on the tables were centerpieces featuring laminated Playboy centerfolds, provided by the groom-to-be himself. Mia assumed they were from John’s private collection. “Okay, gang,” she told the assembled troops who’d be working the party. “Tonight’s event could be tricky. A bunch of horny guys who’ll want to get drunk as fast as possible.”

“Those napkins won’t cool them down.” This came from Giorgio, a new hire. He was a wiry guy in his twenties who came highly recommended by another Queens catering venue. But he packed so much attitude into his small frame that Mia wondered if his previous employer had simply grabbed an opportunity to unload him. Giorgio pointed to a napkin. “They look exactly like a woman’s va—”

“Back to the drinks,” Mia said quickly. “Antony and Zeke, don’t make them strong, even if people complain.” She pointed to a brawny waiter with a buzz cut. “I’m promoting Cody to floor supervisor for the night. He’ll have a headset so he can reach me right away if there are any problems.”

“I’m on it, ma’am.” Cody, a former Marine in his early thirties, saluted her. Mia gave her father props for hiring through a local returning veterans program. Guadalupe and Cody were proving the program to be a great source of dedicated, trustworthy employees.

“These guys better be good tippers,” Giorgio muttered.

“Concentrate on doing your job,” Mia said, trying to keep the annoyance she felt out of her voice.

The staff dispersed to their stations while DJ DJ— the conveniently named Derrick Johnson—set up his equipment. A few of the party crew lingered behind to watch DJ. “He’s a total legend,” whispered Missy, a nineteen-year-old who waitressed and worked in the kitchen doing prep and plating meals for Guadalupe. “He DJs at all the cool clubs in Manhattan. He even changed his name so his initials spell DJ. And he’s hot.”

Mia checked out the DJ and had to admit Missy was right. He had the chiseled bone structure of a romance novel cover hero, and the body to match. His shaggy black hair and bedroom eyes completed the picture. She guessed he was around her age and, for a split second, wondered if he had a girlfriend. A nauseous feeling in her gut instantly replaced this thought as Mia recalled the trauma of discovering her husband’s infidelity. Adam, running late to work, had left his cell phone behind on the kitchen counter. She was about to drive it over to him when the naked image of Laurel, a cocktail waitress who worked at Tutta Pasta, popped up on the screen. Mia could still visualize every sickening second of picking up the phone and seeing the come-hither image of the woman’s surgically enhanced body, down to the bright fuchsia lipstick on her filler-plumped lips. Not a flattering color, it clashed with her cheapo orange-hair dye job, and the fact that this image is still emblazoned on my brain means I am so not ready for a relationship.

“It’s awesome Cammie was able to book him,” Missy said.

“I guess that means we’re pretty awesome, too.” Mia cringed at how lame her response sounded. Missy gave a polite smile and retreated to the kitchen.

“Check, check,” DJ said into a microphone. He followed this with a blast of sound that made Mia’s ears ring. She checked her watch, a delicate gold one her parents had given her for high school graduation. It was eight P.M. Bachelor party go time.

Cody proved to be expert at keeping John’s guests under control, even preventing a few from losing their liquor in the ballroom by escorting them into the bathroom. This freed up Mia to manage the other event happening at Belle View that evening, a reception following a couple’s renewing their vows on their fiftieth anniversary. She fumed when she saw a familiar face deposit a large present on the gift table—Felicity Stewart Forbes. She probably figures there are a lot of homeowners with a clock on them at a fiftieth anniversary party, was Mia’s dark thought. She appraised the agent’s wardrobe of von Furstenberg wrap dress, Louboutin heels, and Dior purse, and pegged them all as fakes. She’d learned to separate the real from the fraudulent at Korri Designs—as well as in the basement of her family home, where her brother once ran a thriving business selling designer knockoffs imported from China.

Mia took a break from the anniversary celebration to watch the Koller brothers arrive in a limo from Manhattan for the bachelor party. John Grazio worked in the security department of Koller Properties, one of the city’s most well-known real estate development companies. Bradley and Kevin Koller, WASP-y looking and in their mid-thirties, had inherited the company after their father died of a heart attack on one of his many golf courses. Mia considered personally welcoming the famous duo to Belle View, but she was put off by the air of arrogance emanating from the brothers. Their host, John, practically tumbled down the staircase in his rush to greet and fawn over them. “Guys, thank you for coming. I can’t tell you what it means to me. I’m honored. Deeply, deeply honored.”

“Glad to be here,” Bradley said, his tone patronizing. Kevin merely gave a slight nod. Mia wondered why the brothers even bothered to grace the outer borough and John’s party with their presence.

“The action’s upstairs,” John said. “It’s a good time. Except the drinks could be stronger, but we’re working on that.” He directed the last comment at Mia. She responded to his angry glare with a look of innocence. “You got the best seats in the house. You’re at the Playmate of the Year table. You gotta see the napkins. They’re a work of dirty art.”

John gestured for the brothers to follow him up the stairs, and Kevin started after him. “Uh, hello,” Bradley snarked. Kevin stopped where he was and let his older brother precede him up the stairs. A slideshow of expressions crossed the younger brother’s face: fury, resentment, embarrassment, and finally, a look of vulnerability. To Mia’s surprise, she found herself feeling sorry for Kevin Koller.

She shook off the moment and returned to the vow renewal reception, passing Felicity Stewart Forbes, who was handing out business cards to a nonplussed knot of senior citizen guests. “Like the saying goes, the future is now,” she fluted. “Especially when you reach a certain age, if you know what I mean.”

“We know what you mean. We’re old.” A man holding tight to the walker in front of him responded with asperity to Forbes, earning a chuckle from Mia.

She found the anniversary couple posing for photos in the outdoor gazebo where they’d renewed their vows. Flushing Bay lay in the distance, as did LaGuardia Airport’s air traffic control tower. Mia was helping their photographer find a camera angle that blocked out the tower when she heard a loud whoop coming from the Bay Ballroom upstairs. They must have wheeled in the pop-out cake, she thought. The photographer finished taking pictures of the anniversary couple and Mia was herding everyone back to the Marina Ballroom when her headset buzzed. It was Cody.

“We have a situation, ma’am.”

The tone of his voice alarmed her. “What’s going on? And feel free to call me Mia.”

“No one jumped out of the cake.”

“Did you look inside to make sure someone was in there?”

“Affirmative. I had one of the waiters double-check before we wheeled the cake out. Something must be wrong with the lady inside it.”

“I’m on my way.”

She hurried out of the Marina Ballroom into the foyer and was about to start up the stairs when an attractive woman in a trench coat burst through the Belle View front doors. “Sorry I’m late,” she gasped, out of breath. “They switched the N and R trains and I wound up in Forest Hills.”

Mia stared at her. “Who are you?”

The woman opened her coat, revealing a sequined bikini. “Park Lexington. I’m working the bachelor party.”

“You’re the stripper? Then who’s in the—”

Mia’s stomach clenched. She raced up the stairs and burst into the Bay Ballroom. John’s guests whooped and cat-called. “Yeah, baby, finally!” one yelled.

“I’m not the stripper!” Mia yelled back.

Cody helped her climb to the top of the cake. She threw open the lid and peered inside. A woman lay crumpled on the bottom. It was Angie, the call girl who’d paid Ravello Carina a visit only days before. Mia prayed she was unconscious, but the blood pooling under the knife sticking out of the woman’s chest told a different story.

She’d been murdered.