Long Island Iced Tina

by Maria DiRico

  CHAPTER 14

  Mia threw herself out of the van’s way, taking in a mouthful of dirt when she landed at the road’s edge. The van’s tires screeched as it made a sharp right turn, almost colliding with her Pick-U-Up driver, who hit his horn and screamed a string of profanities out the window. The driver pulled over, got out, and ran to Mia. He helped her to her feet. “Holy crap! You okay?”

  Mia spit out dirt. “I’ll live.”

  “That sonuva could’ve killed you.”

  Guessing that was the plan, Mia thought but didn’t say.

  She and the driver walked back to his car. “He should’ve stopped,” the man said. “But maybe he didn’t see you because you’re wearing all black. My wife wears all black when she walks the dog. I say it’s dangerous and she ignores me. I’m gonna tell her what happened tonight. Maybe scare some sense into her.”

  “Happy to be a cautionary tale.” Mia let out a groan as she maneuvered herself into the back seat. She’d hit the ground hard and would have the bruises and aches to show for it.

  “You might wanna report that guy to the police,” the driver said, concerned.

  “There’s no point. I didn’t get a license number and I can’t prove he’s anything but a bad driver.” She checked her phone. Despite the cracked screen, it was functioning. The photos she’d sent Pete had gone through. “What I needed to happen, happened. That’s the most important thing.”

  Mia refused the driver’s offer for a free trip to urgent care. He dropped her off and she made her way up the stairs to her apartment as quietly as possible. She was covered with dirt and scratches and not in the mood for a grilling from her grandmother. Doorstop, sensing she wasn’t completely herself, meowed his concern when he saw her. “It’s okay, bud,” she said, petting his silky golden-orange fur. “All I need to do is to lie in a hot bath until my entire body prunes up.”

  Mia washed her face in the bathroom’s tiny sink. Then she filled the tub and added a bath bomb. The room filled with steam and the smell of lavender. Mia stepped into the tub and submerged her aching body up to the neck, relaxing into the water’s warmth. Doorstop parked himself on the worn bathmat to keep an eye on his human. From her position in the bathtub, Mia noticed that the corner of the dated, rosebud-patterned wallpaper that abutted the tub was peeling. Her home, like her place of business, needed updating. I have to stop spending time in these high-end locations like Versailles and the Miller estate. At least the bathroom was hers and hers alone. She didn’t have to worry about her would-have-been-ex-if-he-hadn’t-died husband, who spent more time primping than she did, banging on the bathroom door yelling at her to hurry up.

  Mia closed her eyes and mulled over the day’s events. Short of hiding in a laundry bin and getting herself wheeled into the Quality Control van at Versailles—a step she considered but wisely passed on—she’d done everything she could to sic an NYPD investigation on them. It was time to move on. But to what? A memory niggled at her; a possible clue that had been buried by the drama of Ron’s arrest. Liam O’Dwyer had brought up Tina’s affair with an Odyssey pilot. Mia searched her brain for the man’s distinctive name. It suddenly came to her. “I know what my next step is, Big D,” she said to Doorstop. “Track down a pilot with the classy name of Hugo Herold Hartley.”

  Mia woke up early the next morning, determined to do whatever it took to find contact information for Tina’s former lover . . . which ended up taking all of one minute. If that. The pilot—now retired—had a page on a popular social media site where he posted regular updates, mostly of him gardening at his lovely home in a posh Connecticut town. Mia decided to try messaging him. She debated how best to explain why she wanted to talk to him, then went with an honest-but-doesn’t-hurt-to-drop-the-Boldano-name approach. She shared the details about how Cow and Woman unexpectedly reappeared at a Belle View event, Tina’s reaction to it, and her subsequent murder. Here’s hoping he reads it and gets back to me, she thought as she stood up to go take a shower. An alert sounded from her computer and Mia glanced down to check it. To her surprise, it was an instant response from Hartley: “How soon can you get here?”

  Mia sat back down. A flurry of typing led to Hartley’s address and instructions on how to get there. Now all she had to was find a ride to Lowingfield, Connecticut. She pulled her cell out of her purse and speed-dialed a number.

  “What’s up?” Jamie sounded groggy.

  “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

  “Nah. I was lazing in bed. Finished a final yesterday and celebrated last night. I have to whisper, though. Madison is still sleeping.”

  Much as she didn’t want it to, Mia’s heart gave an involuntary clutch at the image of Jamie and his girlfriend spooning. A moment like this was a painful reminder that despite assuring herself she was okay with being in the Friend Zone with Jamie, a part of her still clung to a dream of transitioning him into the Boyfriend Zone. She inhaled a deep breath through her nose and centered herself. “Are you by any chance free today? I need to go to Connecticut to do some snooping.”

  “What’s going on? I heard Ron Karras was arrested.”

  “And released, although the charges are still pending.” Mia updated Jamie on the recent events, including the results of her Versailles stakeout. She decided not to mention almost being run down by the fake linen company van, fearful it would engender a bout of mansplaining about how she needed to be more careful. “Whatever’s going on at Versailles is in Pete’s hands now, so we’ll see if it goes anywhere. But meanwhile, there’s one lead I haven’t followed up on yet.” She shared her conversation with Liam O’Dwyer and how it had led to Hugo Herold Hartley.

  “You’re in luck,” Jamie said. “I’m free. Mads and I were going to hit the beach, but she felt like she was getting a cold last night and decided to take it easy.”

  Maybe it’ll be fatal, Mia thought, followed by, Bad Mia! Stop it! “Awesome. That you’re free, not that Mads has a cold.” Did that sound snarky? Do I care? “Come over as soon as you’re ready. We can leave early. We’re going against traffic.”

  “See you in half an hour.”

  “Oh, and Jamie, I want to drive.”

  Mia ended the call before he could protest. She called Cammie and explained the situation. “Do you mind staying at Belle View for a few hours past your usual five minutes of work?”

  “Oh, honey, I would except that I’m in Connecticut myself at a women’s empowerment retreat. It’s really just a bunch of us getting spa treatments and complaining about our husbands or bosses or both. They’re all so jealous of my cushy job.”

  Mia rubbed her brow. “Oh, boy. This means I’m left with Benjy minding the store. He’s been a tiny bit better, but it’s still a terrifying proposition. Who knows, though? Maybe being in charge will motivate him.”

  Cammie burst out laughing. “You have the best sense of humor.”

  “Yeah. God forbid there should be a drop-in potential customer. Benjy might see them as an open mic night for his comedy routine and send them running to book their event at Versailles. I better make sure Dad’s there.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Oooh, they just put out a platter of chocolate-dipped strawberries to go along with breakfast. I love this place! Bye-yee.”

  Mia next called her father to alert him to the day’s plans. The call cut out and she tried again. “Mia?”

  “Yeah, it’s me, Dad.” She heard a subway roar behind him. “Where are you?”

  “Coming back to Queens from Manhattan.”

  Ravello sounded embarrassed and it dawned on Mia why. He’d spent the night at his girlfriend’s place. “Did you have a nice time with Lin?” she teased.

  “Yes, what’s up?” Ravello said, quickly changing the subject.

  Mia told him about the sleuthing trip she and Jamie would be taking. “Can you keep an eye on things at Belle View until I get back?”

  “Not a problem. When was the last time you had a day off, anyway? I can’t remember.”

 
“Neither can I. Let’s call this a sick day. As in, I’m sick of all the drama we keep getting sucked into, may it end soon, and I get to take a genuine vacation day.”

  Mia ended the call. How come the men in my life have no problem getting into relationships but I do? she brooded. Posi even got a girl’s number during a prison work program. The closest she’d come to dating since the assumed drowning of her adulterous husband was with an archetypal bad bet who put her life in danger. Her family, blue collar by nature, generally dismissed therapy, instead going with the get-over-it approach to problems. But maybe it’s time for me to check it out, Mia thought. Otherwise, I may end up either a lonely cat lady or walking down the aisle with another deadbeat.

  She filed the self-examination away for when she could accompany it with a few glasses of wine and focused on getting ready for her day trip to the suburbs. She examined her wardrobe, debating what kind of outfit would play in the Connecticut suburbs, a place she’d spent zero time despite it being New York State’s next-door neighbor. A half hour later, her bed covered with rejections, Mia had to accept that she had no idea what would be deemed an appropriate look for the Constitution State. She settled on wide-leg off-white linen pants that she paired with a teal scoop neck top and sedate neutral sandals. As she was applying makeup, she heard the front door open. Mia followed the sound of the footsteps below into Elisabetta’s kitchen, where all roads led in an Italian household. She headed downstairs and found Jamie in the kitchen being plied with food by her grandmother. Elisabetta motioned for Mia to take a seat at the room’s decades-old dinette set. “You need a good breakfast for the long drive north.”

  “It’s a forty-five-minute drive, Nonna. We’re not exactly setting out on a pioneer trail.”

  “Eat,” Elisabetta commanded.

  Mia knew a losing battle with her grandmother when she saw one, so she sat down to a plate of sausage and cheese frittata, along with sides of polenta and fried potatoes. “I’m not sorry she’s making us do this,” Jamie said. “Mads is vegan. I don’t know what half the stuff in her refrigerator is. All I know is it doesn’t taste like this.” He held up his plate. “May I please have some more potatoes?”

  Elisabetta cast an affectionate smile at him and pinched his cheek, leaving a red mark. “Va bene. You can have all the potatoes you want, bello ragazzo.”

  Mia waited impatiently while Jamie powered through three more servings of Elisabetta’s fried potatoes. He finally forced himself away from his plate after Elisabetta packed up the leftover potatoes in an old, worn ricotta container for him. The two bid her good-bye and headed out to the car. Mia held out her hand. “Keys, please.”

  Jamie shook his head. “Nuh uh. You’re not ready for this drive. I’ll get us to Connecticut. You can take over on the local roads.”

  “Way to have faith in me,” Mia groused as she got in the car.

  Once on the road, however, she was grateful for Jamie’s stellar driving skills as he wended his way out of Queens, across the Whitestone Bridge onto the Hutchinson River Parkway, and eventually onto I-95. She’d underestimated the length of the drive. By the time they reached the exit for Lowingfield, they’d be on the road for well over an hour.

  Jamie exited the interstate and pulled into a mini-mall parking lot. “Your turn. I’ll navigate.”

  They got out of the car and exchanged places. “Make a right out of the parking lot and then a left at the first light,” Jamie instructed.

  Mia, feeling tense, gripped the wheel and followed his instructions. Within minutes, they’d traded the suburban sprawl of Lowingfield’s main artery for a New England landscape of gently rolling green hills and Colonial-style homes. An old stone wall hugged the curves of the narrow country road they traveled. Mia relaxed and enjoyed the view, so different from the cement stoops and rowhouses of Queens. “It’s major league pretty out here.”

  “I know,” Jamie said, gazing out his window. “I want to live in Connecticut someday.”

  This was news to Mia. And a shock. She’d never imagined Jamie anywhere but on their current home turf of Astoria. “You do? Why?”

  “Why?” Jamie gestured to the view. “Look around. It’s incredible. All the grass and trees and flowers. And smell that the air.” He inhaled the breeze wafting in from his open car window. “You know, Madison grew up not far from here. Her parents still live there. Their place goes back to the nineteenth century. There’s a stream in the woods behind it. It’s like, if heaven was a house, it would be theirs.”

  He’s met the parents, Mia thought, her heart sinking. They’re serious. Jamie’s relationship with Madison mystified her. ‘Mob boss’s son meets upscale sorority girl’ would make a great movie meet-cute, but how could it possibly last long-term? She couldn’t picture the couple having enough in common to stand the test of time. Now she and Jamie, growing up together in the Life—they had a lot in common.

  “Why would anyone not want to live here?” Jamie continued.

  “Oh. I dunno,” Mia said, forcing herself to stay on topic. “I don’t think it’s the place for me. I’d always be the girl with the accent.”

  “You could lose it, like I did.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “I copied how people on TV sounded. I wanted to be different from my family. It felt like the first step was to sound different. Whoa.” Jamie gripped the dashboard. “You need to slow down around the curves on this road, so you take them more smoothly.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mia adjusted her speed around the next curve. As she drove, she thought about what Jamie had said. While she was self-conscious of her accent, she would never shed it to differentiate herself from her father and brother. But then, she didn’t have the issues with her family that Jamie did. She stopped at a red light. A woman came out of the house on the corner. She wore khaki shorts and a polo shirt. Her silky blonde hair was pulled back in a headband. She held a toddler by the hand and carried a baby in the crook of her other arm. The flaxen brood walked across the home’s verdant front yard to a gleaming minivan in the driveway. These are not my people, Mia thought.

  “The light changed,” Jamie said.

  “Right, sorry.”

  The two drove along in silence for another mile. “Left at that mailbox,” Jamie said.

  Mia made the left and they bumped along a hard-packed dirt road. Jamie pointed to a stately home with white columns and black shutters. “There. That’s it.”

  She pulled into the home’s circular driveway and parked next to an older-model Jaguar. She and Jamie got out of the car and headed up the stone front steps. Mia was about to ring the doorbell when the front door opened, revealing a distinguished-looking man who appeared to be in his late seventies. He was dressed in boat shoes, perfectly pressed chino slacks and a crisp white button-down shirt. A tan and a sea of creases that spoke of much time spent outdoors decorated his face. Overall, the man exuded an overall glow of health and self-confidence. “Hullo. I heard you pull up out front.”

  He said this with a British accent. Mia had watched Downton Abbey enough times to know his accent was what they called “upper crust.” Now here’s a guy who fits in here, she thought. “You must be Mr. Hartley,” she said.

  “Hugo, please. Come in.” He ushered them into a capacious center hall decorated with Early American antiques. “I’ve got tea and pastries in the morning room.”

  Hartley led them through the living room, dining room and kitchen, each decorated to perfection. “Your home is stunning,” Mia said.

  “Unbelievable,” Jamie added. Mia could tell he was picturing himself living there.

  “My late wife had marvelous taste. In fact, she dabbled in interior design. Here we go.” They were in a glass conservatory off the kitchen. A silver tea set and china plate of pastries sat on a wrought-iron table. Hartley distributed plates. “Dig in, as you Americans like to say.” Mia placed a few petites fours on a plate and Jamie helped himself to a selection of sweets while Hartley poured them tea. “So,�
� he said, “you want to know about that bitch Tina Iles.”

  Mia almost dropped the cup of hot tea the retired pilot had handed her. Jamie choked on the pastry he’d bitten into. “Yes,” Mia managed to say. “If you don’t mind sharing whatever you think might help us find her killer.”

  “Mind? My dear, nothing would make me happier than to identify whoever did the deed, and reward them with a hearty clap on the back.” Jamie shot Mia a furtive “Is this guy crazy?” glance. She gave her head a tiny shake to indicate Hartley wasn’t. “I was a pilot for Odyssey Airlines when Tina was a flight attendant. She was flirtatious, I was full of myself, and one thing led to another. We hurtled into an affair. I must say the sex is the only positive memory I have of the whole ordeal.”

  Mia heard Jamie mutter “TMI” and kicked his ankle under the table. He flinched but shut up.

  “Little did I know that my inamorata was sneaking illicit prescription pain pills into my carry-on luggage, which she’d secretly remove when we met at a hotel for our assignation.”

  Hartley took a sip of his tea. Mia noticed he crooked his pinky finger as he drank, so she did the same. “Tina assumed no one would suspect a pilot of my stature to be a drug mule,” Hartley said. “That plan went south when a random search of employee’s luggage yielded her stash—in my luggage. I insisted I knew nothing about the pills and demanded the bottles be dusted for prints. Mine weren’t on any of them, needless to say. Since the airline couldn’t prove I was involved, they allowed me to retire rather than fire me. Oh, how I wanted to point every single finger at Tina, but I was afraid she might accuse me of sexual harassment. My job ended and my marriage broke up. Fortune smiled upon me when I met Marissa, my late second wife, at a seniors’ singles mixer. The last ten years were the happiest of my life.” Grief clouded the pilot’s face for a moment, then he regained self-control. “When I read in the paper that Tina was dead, I celebrated. I’m still celebrating.” Hartley pulled a towel off a standing wine bucket behind him, revealing a bottle of champagne on ice. He removed the bottle from the bucket and popped the cork. “Champagne, my friends?”