by Maria DiRico
Ravello, beaming, took off after Lin. Mia, happy for her father, tried to ignore the anxiety that was making her stomach roil.
* * *
The remaining hours of party prep went smoothly. Dee and Ty arrived with their equipment. Being party pros, they set up the DJ booth quickly and with ease. Mia was relieved to learn that Dee already had the tracks to all of Brianna’s hits, having worked a corporate gig where she was the expensive entertainment. Cimmanin, in a bathrobe and hair rollers, stopped by to check on the staff’s progress and her screams of joy served as a seal of approval. “I love everything, especially the centerpieces,” she declared. “Kevvie, if we get that summer place in the Hamptons, we gotta plant blue roses.” Mia figured she’d let “Kevvie” break the news that blue roses didn’t exist in the real world.
Minutes before the guests began arriving, Mia pulled Cammie and Ravello into a huddle. Lin, who had stayed per Ravello’s request, joined them. “The one thing we can do tonight is circulate. The Kollers and guests will think we’re just doing our job. But what we’re really doing is listening in to conversations and seeing if we can pick up any clues that would help suss out Angie’s and Giorgio’s killers and get the police off our backs. Capisce?”
“Capisco.”
“Katalavaíno.”
“Tôi hiêu.”
“Excellent.” Mia clapped her hands like a quarterback. “Let’s do this.”
Ravello pointed to his eyes with both index fingers, and then patted the back of his head. Mia nodded. When she was little, her father liked to tease her by asking, “Who’s got eyes in the back of her head?” He’d turn her around and announce to the back of her head, “There they are, I see them!” while she giggled. Eventually, Mia realized this wasn’t a game. Her father was training her. He was sending a message: Always be aware of your surroundings. Have eyes in the back of your head.
A half hour into the party, Mia knew it was a hit. The room was packed with an un-diverse selection of the Big Apple’s wealthiest Caucasians. Some were kitted out in designer finery, others—mostly the younger guys—were in jeans and T-shirts. A table set up for gifts creaked under its load. John Grazio patrolled the room, his strained expression a contrast to the festive atmosphere. Sofeea Sloan, dressed in a low-cut clingy black gown, glided into the room holding hands with Bradley Koller. Mia noticed a few of the older male guests looked nervous at the sight of her. Dee and Ty spun what she considered warm-up tracks, songs that brought life to the event without pulling people onto the dance floor too soon and burning them out. Forty-five minutes into the shindig, Cimmanin made a grand entrance on Kevin Koller’s arm. Mia had no idea how the birthday girl pulled it off, but she managed to find a body-hugging mini dress in the same shade of blue as the centerpieces. She threw open her arms as if to embrace the crowd. “Welcome to my party, everyone. Eat a lot, dance a lot, and drink until you’re totally effed up. Whoo-hoo!”
The guests took Cimmanin at her word, devouring the hors d’oeuvres and lining up at the bars. Mia alternated between event duties and eavesdropping on conversations. The latter task was made difficult by the party’s high decibel level, courtesy of the thumping music and a hundred different conversations happening at once. The room, lit only by votive candles and the ambient light of the surrounding skyscrapers, was dark as pitch. Dee blasted a popular song and people took to the dance floor. As Mia negotiated her way around them, her attention was drawn to a male guest hovering on the sidelines. He was dressed in jeans and a hoodie with the hood pulled over his head, giving him the appearance of a young Unabomber. Mia switched course. She positioned herself behind a knot of guests chatting and peeked around them at the mysterious guest. Could it be? she wondered. A shock of unnaturally blond hair slipped out from under the guest’s hoodie. He tucked it back, then turned and walked away from the dance floor to the bar. His duck-footed gait confirmed Mia’s suspicions.
The guest was missing cell phone salesman Chris Tinker.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mia started to follow Chris, but she was waylaid by Missy. “We’ve burned through all the hors d’oeuvres,” the young waitress said. “I thought rich people didn’t ever eat because they’re always trying to be thin.”
“They’re drinking like they just docked from a year at sea in a submarine, so that must be making them hungry,” Mia said. “Tell everyone to get into position to man the buffet lines.”
Missy left to spread the word among the waitstaff and Mia hurried to Dee. “Can you count to thirty and then announce the buffet’s open?”
Dee gave her a thumbs-up, accompanied by a sexy smile. “You got it, boss.”
Mia sacrificed an opportunity to flirt, instead opting to find the errant Tinker the Drinker. As people lined up to heap plates with Cimmanin’s requested lineup of six different versions of mac and cheese ranging from traditional to truffle-infused, Mia scoured the crowd but had no luck spotting him. She found John Grazio out on the terrace sneaking a cigarette that he put out the minute he saw Mia. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Alice you caught me smoking,” he said. “I don’t want that added to the list of crap she’s busting my hump for.”
“What cigarette?” Mia said. She affected a confused expression. “It’s the weirdest thing. I could swear I saw your friend Chris here tonight. His hair was blond, though, and he had a hoodie pulled over his head, like he was trying to hide who he was or something.”
John made a face. He pulled out another cigarette and lit it. After taking a few drags, he said, “Don’t tell anyone, but yeah. Chris is here. I swear to the guy upstairs, Drinker’s lost his mind. He thinks the mob is after him so he ‘went into hiding.’ Can you believe it? I mean, how crazy is that?”
“Super crazy,” Mia said, neglecting to share how she told Chris her mobster father and his associates wouldn’t be too happy about the extra money he was pocketing from fake upcharges on cell phone cards.
“He really wanted to come tonight because he has the major hots for Brianna. If you want my opinion, the guy should go into hiding at Bellevue. The mental hospital, not your place.”
“Are you sure that’s the only reason he disappeared?”
“As far as I know.” Grazio looked at her with suspicion. “Why else do you think he would?”
Mia suddenly felt nervous. She gave a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t know. It’s like you said, hiding from the mob seems molto pazzo.” She crossed her eyes and made circles with her index finger, the universal sign for “cuckoo.” “I better get back and make sure the buffet’s going okay.”
“The security detail can’t eat until all the guests have.” John dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out. “The Kollers can spend a million bucks to get Brianna here but their employees get stuck eating leftovers. Cheap sons of a you-know-what.”
“You sure acted like you loved them at your bachelor party.” Mia regretted the blurt as soon as it left her mouth.
Again, Grazio eyed her with mistrust. “What’s the deal with you? Why are you so interested in what me and my friends do?”
“I’m not. I’m just a nosy person in general. Major character flaw but I can’t seem to control myself. Anyhoo, I’ll make sure to save you and the other security guys big helpings of all the mac and cheeses.”
Mia fled. She pulled up short when she saw an unexpected guest emerge from the elevator—Felicity Stewart Forbes. The real estate agent wore a different collection of designer knockoffs and clutched a large wrapped box in her hands. “Felicity, hello,” Mia said, faking a smile. “Welcome to the party. Although I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list. I thought you and the Koller brothers had a falling-out.”
“We patched things up. I was a last-minute addition. Here.” Felicity held up her cell and showed Mia her “Approved” Koller status. She couldn’t hide a smirk. “See you inside.”
Felicity flounced off toward the party. Mia searched for reasons the Kollers would have done an about-face regarding the unctuous woman. The
first one that popped into her head was blackmail. But what could a middling Queens real estate agent have on one of the city’s biggest developers? Mia’s body buzzed with excitement. The answer to that question might reveal a murderer.
Mia was about to track Felicity when the doors on the two passenger elevators opened simultaneously and pop sensation Brianna emerged, flanked by bodyguards and followed by an entourage of assorted professionals and hangers-on. Mia resisted the urge to squeal, “OMG, you’re Brianna!!!!!” Instead, she affected her most professional voice and said, “Hello, you must be Brianna. I’m Mia Carina, the event coordinator.”
She extended her hand and a bodyguard instantly jumped between her and the singer. “Jeez, Harlan, take a pill,” Brianna said. She pushed him aside. “I don’t shake, but not because I’m a jerk. It’s because I play the piano and can’t risk anyone squeezing these mitts too hard.”
She held up her hands, which were tiny, like the rest of her. Mia had read that a lot of celebrities were smaller in real life than they appeared on screen and now she saw it for herself. Brianna was about her grandmother Elisabetta’s current height, which had been significantly reduced thanks to age and osteoporosis. The singer’s white-blond hair sat in an upright stack on top of her head. She wore a gold leather bra, matching sequined short shorts, and gold thigh-high, spiked-heel boots. Despite an outfit that made her look like a dominatrix, Brianna seemed down-to-earth. She gestured with a swoop to everyone surrounding her. “This is Team All About Me. You don’t have to talk to any of them.”
“Except me,” a young woman wearing severe glasses and a black designer suit said. “I’m her publicist, Denisa, and I have an NDA I need everyone here to sign. That means Nondisclosure Agreement for you civilians.” She spoke slowly, as if Mia was half-witted.
“Ignore her and tell me where to go,” Brianna said. Sofeea Sloan appeared around the bend in the hallway, on her way to the ladies’ room. Brianna let out a shriek. “Sofeea!”
“Brianna!”
The two women embraced.
“You know each other?” Mia said, nonplussed.
“She was my madam,” Brianna said.
Mia thought Denisa might faint. “OMG, you didn’t hear that, nobody heard that!” the publicist cried out, helplessly waving her unsigned NDAs in the air.
While Brianna and Sofeea caught up and Denisa hyperventilated, Mia paged Kevin Koller, who came at a run to meet the superstar. He introduced himself and after a few minutes of fawning—none of which impressed Brianna, endearing her even more to Mia—he laid out the plan. “It’s time for dessert. As soon as it’s been put out, I’m gonna announce that I have a special surprise for Cimmanin.” Koller pointed to the pop-out cake. “Mia’s people’ll wheel you in, you jump out and start singing ‘Happy Birthday.’ Screams, applause, then you do a few songs. Sound good?”
“Sounds like a paycheck.” Brianna yanked at her shorts, which were riding up her bottom.
Kevin returned to the party and Brianna trotted over to the pop-out cake. “I’ll make sure dessert is set up,” Mia said to her. “Do you need help getting into the cake?”
“Nope. Not exactly the first time I jumped out of one of these. Am I right, Sofeea?”
“So right.” The two women chuckled and high-fived. Mia vowed to download all of Brianna’s albums as soon as she caught a break.
She left the celebrity with her retinue and Sofeea, and headed to the kitchen. Mia almost collided with Guadalupe, who was heading to the event room with a tray of Evans’s cookie cups. “Why isn’t Evans setting those up?” Mia asked. “They were his creation.”
“He won’t leave the kitchen.”
“Even to see Brianna perform?”
“Nope. Says there are too many white people here. It makes him uncomfortable.”
Mia frowned. She didn’t buy this was the real reason Evans was hiding from the crowd. But with party duties superseding her sleuthing efforts, Mia didn’t have time to confront him. She needed to alert Dee to Brianna’s imminent performance.
She left the service area for the penthouse main room, where she negotiated her way through the drunken revelers to the DJ booth. Dee and Ty were bent over an outlet strip. The music was so loud her ears rang. She leaned over the top of the booth toward the DJs. “I’m powering down a turntable,” she heard Dee tell Ty. “These offsite venues aren’t equipped for us. I don’t want to blow a circuit breaker again like that time at Belle View. Not with this crowd. Brad’ll kill me.”
Mia’s chest constricted. She could recall every minute of John Grazio’s bachelor party as if she had the condition where you remembered every detail of your life. No circuit breaker had blown that night, so what was Dee talking about? And “Brad”? When she spoke to Dee about hiring him for Cimmanin’s birthday party, he implied he’d never worked for the Kollers before. Yet based on what she’d just overheard, he was on a nickname basis with at least one of the developer brothers.
Living in the heart of the Family, Mia had developed an almost animal instinct for trouble. It was as if she could smell it in the air. Call it a survival skill in a world that could be fraught with danger, but she’d learned at a very early age, if these hyperdeveloped instincts were sending the message that something was wrong, something was definitely wrong. And the message they were currently sending was that DJ DJ, aka Dee, aka mystery real name, had lied to her.
He looked up from the outlet strip and noticed Mia. She plastered on a casual expression. “Oh, hey,” he said. “I didn’t see you there.”
“No bigs,” she said, trying to play it cool. “I wanted to let you know they’ll be wheeling out Brianna in a little bit, right after Kevin tells everyone there’s a surprise guest. You’ve got her music ready to go?”
“Got it,” Dee said, with another of his patented sexy smiles and thumbs-up. Mia managed a weak smile and a thumbs-up in return. She sauntered away. Then, as soon as she was out of his eyeline, she broke into a run, on the hunt for John Grazio. She found Koller’s head of security being lectured to by Denisa, Brianna’s anal-retentive publicist. “. . . And that means zero photo opps of Brianna coming out of that horrible cake,” Denisa said, making zeros with her thumbs and index fingers. “Zero with a capital Z. I want all cell phones confiscated and not returned until Brianna, like Elvis, has left the building.”
John, who didn’t look thrilled about being ordered around by the Hollywood flack, said, “It’s gonna make a lot of people unhappy, especially Bradley and Kevin, but I’ll tell my guys to each take a table and round up the phones.”
He escaped from the publicist as she was about to launch into another list of demands. Mia grabbed his arm as he passed her. “I need to talk to you.” She pulled him onto the terrace, which was empty. Everyone had moved inside, awaiting the introduction of the surprise guest. “You do security checks on everyone who does work for the Koller company, right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I can’t explain yet; it’s just a gut feeling. Do you happen to know DJ DJ’s real name?”
“Not offhand, but I’ve probably got it somewhere in my files.”
“Please find it for me. As fast as you can.”
John, a serious look on his face, nodded and strode off. Mia hurried inside and down the hall. She remembered how cagey Dee was when she had pressed him to share his real name. That, coupled with his lies, led her to think that his birth name might be the clue to whatever chain of events culminated in Angie’s and Giorgio’s murders.
She reached the pop-out cake. Missy, Jeremy, Elena, and a few other waiters were waiting for their cue to push it onto the dance floor. Kevin Koller was in the middle of his speech setting up the reveal. Pleased with himself, he was making the most of the moment. “So, I said to myself, what’s the best gift for this beautiful lady over here?” A light followed him as he strolled over to Cimmanin, mic in hand, like a lounge singer working a room. “How do I give her a twenty-fifth birthday she’ll never forget? A shopping spre
e in Paris? A Mediterranean cruise on a private yacht? A diamond the size of my fist?”
“Yes, yes, and yes!” Cimmanin yelled, and her guests laughed.
“Not tonight, babe. Those can happen anytime—”
“Not in my world,” Elena muttered.
“—But what other birthday girl,” Kevin continued, “can say she had ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to her by the biggest pop star in the world—Brianna!”
“Cue cake,” Mia told her crew.
As they wheeled out the cake, Mia pulled out her cell phone to call Ravello and Cammie and share her hunch about Dee. A text from John popped up. “I got a name for you. Achi—” Before Mia could finish reading the message, a burly security guard yanked the phone out of her hand. “No pictures.”
Mia grabbed for the phone, which he held over his head. “Give that back, I need it. I’m the event planner.”
“You’ve got a headset. It doesn’t come with a camera. Use that.”
“I need to make some private calls and I can’t do that with a headset.”
“Take it up with Team Brianna.”
The guard trudged off with her confiscated phone, and Mia released a few profanities. Screams and applause came from the event room. She peeked in and saw the singer had emerged from the cake. Brianna sang “Happy Birthday” to a beyond-thrilled Cimmanin while Mia’s employees wheeled the cake back into the hallway. Mia searched the room for Ravello or Cammie, but it was too dark to make them out. Brianna finished the song and launched into her most recent hit, accompanied by strobe lighting effects that made looking for anyone in the room even more difficult.
Rather than hunt for her father and Cammie, Mia decided to find John Grazio. If her instincts were right, DJ DJ’s true identity would separate facts from theory and connect the secretive man to Belle View. She scurried down the hallway, checking out the various rooms that lined it, but the head of security was nowhere to be found. She reached the far corner of the hallway, where her employees had parked the pop-out cake by the service elevator. Panicked, Mia froze. A man’s foot poked out from behind the cake.