Here Comes the Body

by Maria DiRico

  “Nope,” Mia said. “We’ll have to eat the cost.” Her mood went from glum to glummer as she tallied up the ballooning bills for the evening’s events. “Too bad the cake’s fake. We could eat it for real and save some money on groceries.”

  Ravello walked over to Angie and examined her as attendants from the coroner’s office laid the late woman out on the body bag resting on a gurney. “Did you tell Pete about how she showed up here and what she said to me?” Mia nodded. “Good. No lies. They’re more dangerous than the truth. At least in this case.”

  Everyone watched in silence as an attendant began to zip up the body bag. The swinging doors suddenly swung opened. John Grazio stepped inside, followed by one of his guests. “Hey, hi, I was wondering, since it was my party that got ruined, maybe I could have an extra bottle of wine or something.”

  “You can have a case,” Ravello said. “And there’ll be no charge for tonight’s event.” Ravello walked out of the hallway through the swinging doors, past the two men and back into the ballroom. Mia flinched. This was proving to be one very expensive evening for Belle View Banquet Manor.

  “Thank you, sir, thank—whoa.” John stared at Angie’s corpse. His eyes widened.

  “Holy—is that—” his friend stuttered.

  Their reactions set off flare guns for Mia. “Do you know her?”

  “What? No,” John said. “We were just like, is that the body?”

  “Yeah, that’s what we meant. Is that like the body, the body of the dead person?”

  “We definitely never seen her before, right, Chris?”

  “Right. Oh man, I’m gonna be sick again.”

  Chris bolted from the room. “I better make sure he’s okay,” John said.

  He took off after his friend. As Mia watched them go, she thought to herself, Those are a couple of really bad liars.

  Chapter Five

  Mia’s initial impulse was to take off after John and his drunk friend and pepper them with questions. But she wanted to confirm that her staff wasn’t too traumatized by the murder investigation. So far, they were being troupers, but she feared the night might wear them down and the last thing she needed was for the crew to quit on her.

  “You know what’s traumatic?” Guadalupe responded when Mia appeared in the kitchen and checked in with her. “War.”

  “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” Missy held up her phone. “I’m sharing all these amazing photos about the police and stuff. I have, like, a million likes and new friends. I may even trend!”

  “No worries,” Evans said with a shrug. “It’s cool.” The sous chef fascinated Mia. She guessed him to be in his early thirties. Then again, he could be in his late twenties or mid-forties. She’d yet to see a hint of a smile on his face, but he seemed totally committed to his job. There was a time years ago when a black man couldn’t walk through certain outer borough neighborhoods without being chased off by a gang of Italian or Irish thugs with bats. Did he still feel a lingering sense of not belonging?

  She shut down this stream of consciousness and concentrated on the task at hand: taking the heat off her father. “I just wanted to make sure you were all okay. Now I’ll check on the guests.”

  Two guests, really—John and Chris. When they were not in the ballroom, she headed for the men’s room. She cracked open the door and saw John standing in front of a stall. His friend was bent over the toilet bowl. John noticed her and left his post. “This is at least Chris’s second prayer to the porcelain god tonight. Maybe his third. His name’s Chris Tinker but we call him Chris Drinker. Because he drinks a lot. I came up with that.”

  “Very clever.” Mia hoped she sounded sincere and not sarcastic, although she had a feel that sarcasm would sail right over the groom’s head. “John, I got a very strong impression that you and Chris knew Angie—the victim. I can understand why you wouldn’t want to say anything in front of the investigators. But no one’s around now. You can tell me.”

  Mia put this as flirtatiously as possible but, to her frustration, for once he didn’t bite. “No, don’t know her. It was just weird seeing a body like that. You know, first time and all. I better see how Chris is doing.”

  He disappeared back into the men’s room. Mia released a profanity, then moved on to Plan B. She’d tell a detective her suspicions—but not Pete Dianopolis. She’d go to his partner, Ryan Hinkle.

  She found the young detective snoring as he leaned against a wall in the first-floor hallway behind the Marina Ballroom. He started when she gave him a slight shake. “I’m awake!” he said, snapping to attention.

  “Whatevs. Look, I have some suspects for you.” Mia shared John’s and Chris’s reaction to Angie’s body and their cagey responses when she pressed them to explain.

  “Sounds good. I’ll let Pete know.”

  Mia stifled an annoyed response. “Or . . . you could interview them, find out what they know, maybe even arrest them, and look like a hero.”

  Hinkle shook his head. “Too much heavy lifting for me right now. But thanks for the intel. I’ll pass it along.”

  “Thank you,” Mia said through gritted teeth. She marched off. Enough with a murder investigation that goes nowhere, she declared to herself. It was time to do her actual job—making sure all of Belle View’s guests were happy enough to leave decent reviews on the internet, despite the circumstances.

  * * *

  Even with additional officers and detectives brought in by NYPD, the interviews dragged on for hours. To ensure the anniversary party’s goodwill, Mia decided that on top of the Boldano wine offered by her father, she’d gift them with the pasta forks meant for favors at Alice and John’s wedding. They were a pricey guest gift; Alice had definitely one-upped her twin on this score. The Carinas would have to re-order the forks and pay for expedited shipping, adding to the long list of expenses the evening had incurred.

  Mia positioned herself in the manor foyer and handed out the forks to departing partygoers, thanking each for coming and apologizing for the unforeseen events. The guests were uniformly gracious. “It was exciting,” one senior said from her wheelchair. “For a change, I’ll have the most interesting story at Sunday dinner.”

  Felicity Stewart Forbes was the next one through the line. She kept a firm hand under the elbow of a frail old man as she used her free hand to grab two pasta forks. “I know you feel shaken and disoriented by what happened tonight,” she told him. “But there could also be an underlying cause for those conditions. All the facilities I’ve mentioned offer excellent geriatric care. I’ve run out of brochures, but I’ll drop off a list in the morning. What was your address again?” Mia glowered at the real estate agent’s back as she and the old man disappeared into the night.

  Having disseminated the favors, Mia, exhausted, started for her office. Her plan to catch a few minutes of rest was waylaid by the sound of yelling coming from the parking lot. Through the glass doors, she saw John Grazio arguing with DJ DJ. Chris Tinker, still unsteady on his feet, looked like he was trying to mediate. Unfortunately, a prop plane chose to land at that exact moment, so she couldn’t hear what they were saying. The DJ took a step toward John. Before a fight could break out, a cab pulled up in front of the men. Grazio hopped in, yanking Tinker in with him, and the cab zoomed off. DJ DJ, fuming, watched it go. Mia debated doing a little snooping under the guise of concerned employer, but DJ was already taking long, angry strides to a black Escalade SUV. He jumped into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine, and drove off.

  “Mia, cara mia.”

  Ravello emerged from his office and walked down the hallway toward her. “Dad, marone, this night.”

  “This night,” he echoed with a sigh.

  Mia’s heart lurched at the sight of him. If it was possible to age overnight, he’d done it. His dark eyes were shadowed, the worry creases in his forehead deeper. “What’s wrong? I mean, I know what’s wrong. Everything. But what else is wrong?”

  He looked around, then took Mia’s hand and
his daughter into her office. He closed the door behind them. “There’s a development.”

  “Another? Haven’t we had enough for one night?”

  “I wish.” Ravello hesitated. “They found a check signed by me next to Angie’s body.”

  Mia stared at her father. “What?”

  “I sometimes presign checks in the register to speed up the process. I don’t fill in the amount until I get an invoice.”

  “That’s a terrible idea.”

  “I know that now. Anyways, Pete’s theory is that the woman was blackmailing me, and I killed her before she could cash the check.”

  “Which she wasn’t,” Mia said, fuming. “And you didn’t.”

  “Of course not. To both.”

  “How much was the check made out for?”

  “A million dollars.”

  If Mia had a drink in her mouth, she would have done a spit take. “Are you serious? A check for a million dollars? That’s joke money.”

  “Yup. It’s probably the only thing that kept Pete from cuffing me. That and the fact he knows Cammie would kill him. He still wants to get back together with her, you know.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Well, whatever you do, don’t tell him that. She’s the only one who can keep him in line and off my back.” Ravello opened the door and peeked out. “No one’s out there. I’m going up to the bachelor party. I’ll entertain whoever’s left with some B.S. stories about ‘The Family.’ They’re the kind of crowd that would like those.”

  Ravello took off to beguile the bachelor party with manufactured—Mia hoped—mob stories. She collapsed onto one of the folding metal chairs in front of her desk. Only a few days earlier, her office had felt like an oasis. Now it felt like a prison cell. Small, windowless, dreary. She fought back tears.

  “There you are.” Pete Dianopolis poked his head in the room, and then entered. “I was beginning to think you were hiding from me.”

  “You have an investigation to lead. I have guests to please. Not easy, considering the circumstances.”

  “You have my sympathy. Sincerely. I mean it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pete maneuvered behind the desk and sat down. “This place could use a little work. Maybe a poster or something to cheer it up.”

  “It’s on my to-do list, after ‘get my father off the hook for a murder he didn’t commit.’ Did your partner tell you about the interaction I witnessed between the host of the bachelor party and one of his guests?”

  “Nicely put. You sound like a cop yourself. No, he didn’t. The guy’s useless. The only reason he came back to work early from paternity leave was to get out of the house. The baby came a couple of weeks early. I hear it’s chaos over there. So, tell me, what did you ‘witness’?”

  Mia told him about John’s and Chris’s reactions to seeing Angie, adding as much drama as she could to sell it. Dianopolis tapped his upper lip with his index finger. “Hmm . . . interesting. Then again, neither of their names were on the check deposited next to the deceased’s body.”

  “No one writes a check for that much money,” Mia scoffed. “Especially a mob—someone like my dad. The banks have to report any transaction over ten grand. Can you imagine the alarm bells a million-dollar check would set off? One with Ravello Carina’s signature? And give my dad a little credit. He would never hide a body in plain sight. The pop-out cake may have looked like a good location to an amateur, but a pro would think it through and know that the minute that cake is rolled out, the murder’s public knowledge.”

  “You seem pretty familiar with the thought process of murder.”

  “I watch a lot of cop shows.” It was the detective’s turn to snort. “Hey, my dad always told me he never did anything like that, and I believe him.” This was kind of true. Ravello did deny ever offing anyone. And Mia chose to believe him. “Come on, Pete. Killing someone and putting them in the one place where the body’s guaranteed to be exposed. Leaving a million-dollar check with the victim. Even you have to admit it’s a stupid plan, and if there’s one thing my father isn’t, it’s stupid.”

  “That he isn’t,” Pete had to admit.

  “I bet when you run the check through forensics, they’ll tell you that the signature and check amount were written by two different people.”

  “While I’m waiting for any forensics results, I’ll be checking your father’s alibi. The old ‘I was home sleeping’ doesn’t fly with me. Cammie told me that the new family across the street from him, the one where the husband and wife work on Wall Street, put in a fancy new security system. The pricey kind you can work from your phone. She wants one just like it. You can do everything from your phone now, did you know that? Even turn on your coffee machine. I bet those Wall Street people are big into that kinda stuff, making coffee with their phones. Anyway, we’re getting the footage off their system, so we’ll be able to place the time your father left his house.”

  “Excellent. I’m sure the footage will show my dad is telling the truth.”

  “For his sake, I hope so. Now, let’s talk about another Carina with a track record who was actually on the premises tonight. You.” He added the last word to bring home the obvious point that he was talking about Mia.

  Mia crossed one leg over the other and folded her arms across her chest. “You do know I was cleared as a suspect in my husband’s disappearance? And he’s presumed dead at sea?”

  “‘Presumed’ being the operative word. Maybe your father didn’t off this woman who showed up to blackmail him. He has a daughter who loves him very much and would do anything to protect him. And that daughter is you.”

  “Yes, me, I get it, Pete. But like my father, I’m not stupid. And the closest I’ve ever come to doing anything illegal is jaywalking.”

  “I go back to that word, ‘presumed.’ It’s important because it implies doubt. No Adam Grosso body, no final conclusion.” Pete had a point, much as Mia hated to admit it. Until her husband’s body washed up and an autopsy cleared her of any involvement in his death, she would always be under a cloud of suspicion. “I need someone who isn’t you or your father to inventory the knives,” the detective continued.

  “Meaning because you see us as possible suspects, you can’t trust us.”

  “I was trying to be delicate, but yup. We need to determine if one of Belle View’s knives is currently resting in the vic’s chest.”

  “I’ll ask our head chef to look into it.”

  There was a loud knock and Park Lexington appeared in the doorway. Behind her stood one of John Grazio’s bachelor party guests. “I wanted to say good night and thanks for a great gig,” Park said. “I’m definitely gonna incorporate some comedy into my act. Brendan here’s in advertising. He’s gonna help me brand myself. The Stripper with a Sense of Humor.”

  “Congratulations,” Mia said.

  There was an awkward pause. Finally, Park said, “My check?”

  “Oh. Right. We need to pay you.”

  “Double, if you don’t mind, because I basically worked two shifts.”

  “That you did, ha ha.” Mia barked a mirthless laugh as she pulled out a register from her desk and wrote Park a check. Could anyone on the planet have had a worst first week of work? she wondered as she handed it to the stripper.

  Park and her new business partner-slash-date took off, and Mia turned her attention back to Pete Dianopolis. The detective was furiously scribbling in a pad. “Notes on the case?” she asked hopefully.

  Pete kept writing. “The plot for the next Steve Stianopolis mystery’s finally coming together. A boat. A young beauty who may or may not be a widow. A father with a shady past . . .”

  Mia liked the “young beauty” part. But she was more determined than ever not to provide Dianopolis and his poorly written books with an ending that pegged her father—or her—as the villain.

  Chapter Six

  By the time the police completed their business, it was close to four in the morning. Mia had sent the
staff home an hour earlier. Ravello insisted on sticking around, but when she found him asleep with his head on his desk, she sent him home, too.

  The building and parking lot were pitch-black by the time she locked up. The only light came from the single fluorescent bulb Mia left on in her office. She didn’t want to add a huge electric bill to the manor’s expenses and figured she could tough it out in the dark until her ride showed up. Still, the quiet and solitude made her nervous. She was relieved when a familiar silver Prius pulled up to the front of Belle View. She didn’t care if Jamie Boldano was manipulating the Pick-U-Up app. She was just profoundly happy to see him.

  “It’s so late,” she said as she climbed into the back of the car. “I can’t believe you’re still up.”

  “First of all, get out of the back seat and get into the front.” Jamie pushed a bunch of textbooks off the passenger seat onto the floor. Mia followed his order. “Now take a swig of this.” He offered her a bottle of bourbon.

  Mia grinned for the first time all day. She took a slug of the liquor, which burned her throat and warmed her body. “An open bottle? You could get pulled over.”

  “I think all the cops in Queens were here tonight, and now they’re all going home to do exactly what you’re doing.”

  “I guess you heard what happened.” Mia didn’t bother to ask how. The Boldanos had one ear to the ground of any Family operation.

  “The basics. But give me the details.”

  “This woman showed up on my first day, claimed my dad had a thing with her, and owed her money. We got rid of her and I thought it was over. Then the stripper didn’t jump out of the cake at the bachelor party we had booked. I looked inside, and it was the same woman, Angie, and she was dead from a knife stuck in her. But it turns out she wasn’t the stripper because the stripper, Park Lexington, showed up late due to the subway switching the N and R trains for some crazy reason. Really, what’s happened to the subway system in this city? Anyway, they found a check with my dad’s signature next to Angie’s body, and it was made out for a million dollars, which is ridiculous. Nobody does that except a kid or a numbnut. But Pete Dianopolis wants to stick the crime on my dad because he hates him, or on me if he can’t nail my dad. Does any of this make sense?”