by Maria DiRico
Mindful of the new parents’ exhausted condition, the event was a casual afternoon get-together for friends and family. Philip and Finn brought their little ones, six-month-old Justin and eighteen-month-old Eliza. “We have so many pre-owned baby clothes from our little guy that we’d love to pass on to you for Lucas,” Finn told Nicole as he bounced Justin on his lap, adding, “I’m not a fan of the term, ‘hand-me-downs.’ Sounds kind of Great Depression-y.”
“Whatever you want to call them, we’ll take them,” Nicole said.
“I see a lot of playdates for our kids,” said Philip, who was wiping off the cannoli cake that Eliza had smeared all over her tiny, adorable face.
Ian put an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “So do we.”
“And Philip, I don’t know if Dad’s had a chance to tell you this, but after the way you helped Ron, he wants to make you our regular lawyer,” Mia said. “You’re part of the family now. With a small ‘f.’”
Ron held up a glass. “To Philip. And to Mia. And to family. Opa!”
“Opa!” everyone chorused with raised glasses.
* * *
After a couple of hours, most guests departed, leaving only the Karras-Whitman clan and Carina–Belle View crew, who decamped from the Bay Ballroom to the second-floor bridal lounge, where they sprawled out on the room’s comfortable couches waiting for additional updates on the Miller goings-on from Mia. Even Cammie stuck around, “provided you don’t rope me into doing any work, remember, hashtag coasting.” Mia’s phone pinged a text. “Dad sends his apologies for missing the party,” she told the others. “He had a meeting.” She saw wary expressions on a few faces and an intrigued look on the reporter’s mug. “A meeting about Belle View business, not . . . other business.”
“Oh,” Teri said, disappointed.
“Mia, fill us in on what exactly happened at the Miller place,” Ian said, chomping down on one of the chocolate “It’s a Boy!” cigars he and Nicole had distributed to guests. “I was busy helping my wife give birth.”
“And by that he means yelling, ‘Oh, my God, it’s coming! ’ and trying not to faint,” his wife tossed out while rocking the baby carriage that held their sleeping infant.
“Hey,” her husband protested. Then he sheepishly added, “She’s right.”
Mia helped herself to another serving of cannoli cake, which Evans had moved into the lounge from the ballroom, then settled into her seat. “Here’s the deal. Versailles on the Park is high-end in Queens, but it’s way low-end for the Miller crowd, which made me suspicious about why Castor Garvalos, a guy who it turns out was part of the original heist team, was catering such an upscale event. When I was in the boat with Abigail, I caught a lucky break. The Miller family had a serious issue with communication, as in there was none. Abigail had no idea her husband was planning a second art heist. Her husband had no idea their daughter had installed a backup security system. In the one second Abigail was putting all this together and picturing a total disaster, I was able to mess around with the boat just enough to save myself.”
The group responded with cheers and relief that Mia had managed to escape her captor. “But why did she kill Tina?” Ron asked, his tone plaintive.
The group quieted, out of respect for the widower. Nicole cast a glance at her mother. Linda gave a slight nod to indicate she was okay. Whatever animosity existed between the exes had dissipated with Tina’s death. Mia chose her words carefully. “From what the police have been able to put together so far, it looks like Abigail has been planning this for a long time. It all depended on getting back Cow and Woman.
“Stupid name for a stupid painting,” Minniguccia muttered. Elisabetta nodded vigorous agreement.
“Abigail hired a private investigator, a sketchy guy she paid a fortune to hide what she was doing and who immediately blabbed everything to the police when they confronted him. He did some digging. He tracked down Justine Cadeau. He also learned about the . . . issues . . . between Tina and Linda. The painting showed up in time for the shower here, and Abigail paid Justine to crash the shower and plant the painting. Justine used the money from Abigail to pay for the trip to Switzerland. She had an idea where her father might have hidden the paintings and wanted to check it out.”
“Was she murdered, too?” Teri asked, sniffing out a possible new story.
Mia shook her head. “No. She splurged on renting a super pricey sports car and was driving too fast on a mountain road. Anyway, after the painting scared the you-know-what out of Tina, Abigail called her pretending to be you, Linda.”
“Like I told the police,” Linda declared.
“And then she called Tina pretending to be you. She got you both here to meet and argue with each other so she could set you up as Tina’s killer. She couldn’t have predicted Ron taking over as the prime suspect, but I don’t think that was an issue. All Abigail cared about was punishing Tina, and the heat for it being on anyone but her.”
“How did she”—Jamie, trying to be sensitive to Ron, finished the sentence with—“you know.”
“The P.I. Abigail hired picked up contact between Spencer and Tina. She assumed they were seeing each other again, but they weren’t. They were laying out a game plan for the second heist. After a meeting at a coffee shop in Millville, Abigail followed Tina and knocked her out. She got her on the speedboat and did the deed out in open water so one would see her, wrapping the same ribbon around Tina’s neck that she used to wrap the painting. I recognized it as the bows on the goody bags. The P.I. scoped out where the security cameras at Belle View and the marina are focused so she could dodge them when she dumped—brought Tina here.” Mia’s phone pinged a text. “Another inquiry into Belle View’s avails. Now that Versailles is shut down, we’re sloppy seconds for a bunch of people whose events got axed. A little insulting. But I’ll take it.”
“Yo!” a voice called from the first floor. “Anyone home?”
“That’s not Dad,” Mia said, puzzled. She got up and called out the open door, “We’re upstairs. Who is it?”
“Liam O’Dwyer. On my way up.”
Moments later, the security guard strode into the room. Mia greeted him and introduced the others. “I’m sorry you couldn’t get here earlier, but we can make you a plate of leftovers.”
“I’ll take it. But first . . .” He glanced around the room. “Great, a nice, big TV. Can you hook it up to WiFi?”
“Yup,” said Evans, who was something of tech whiz in addition to his culinary skills.
O’Dwyer pulled a tablet out of his briefcase and the two men got to work. A live feed popped up on the TV screen of what appeared to be police officers and officials in a cemetery surrounded by mountains. “Those guys are Interpol,” Guadalupe said. “What’s going on?”
“You’ll see,” Liam responded.
A young woman stepped into the scene. There was no sound, but she appeared to say something to two men who were shoveling dirt off a gravesite. “That’s Larkin Miller,” Mia said, excited.
“The Swiss police found directions to this burial plot in Justine Cadeau’s belongings,” Liam said. “Her car went off the road only a mile from the cemetery. Where no Cadeaus are buried. According to Interpol’s sources, she discovered the information when she was going through a storage space filled with stuff that belonged to her father. She’d only found out about the space when the company contacted her before auctioning off the contents.”
“Mia, Dad told me your theory of how they got the paintings out of the country.” Jamie said, as excited as she was. “On a plane, in a casket.”
“Larkin flew over as soon as the authorities contacted her,” Liam shared. “She asked me to make sure you saw this because she thinks you were right.”
Everyone watched in silence, tension in the room ratcheted up to the nth degree. The cemetery workers stopped digging. It took some doing, but using a complicated system of levers and pullies, they extricated the casket from its resting place. The group held its collective
breath as the men wrestled with the casket lid until they finally threw it open. “If that’s not paintings, I do not wanna see what’s in there,” Cammie said in a low voice.
On screen, Larkin peered into the casket. Then she appeared to scream and began jumping up and down. She reached in and pulled out a painting that she hugged to her, weeping for joy. “It’s paintings,” Mia said, releasing the breath she’d been holding. “And that’s gotta be Hoop and Boy.”
Larkin jumped up and down a few more times, kissed the painting, and then held the painting out to the camera. “Mia,” she mouthed, “I owe you.” She waved and the picture cut out.
“Well,” Mia said, “I think Belle View’s got a lock on catering the next Miller Art Collection opening.” Her phone alerted her to a new text. She read it. “Dad’s on his way back. He says he’s got good news for me.”
CHAPTER 22
Cammie stood up and stretched. “If Ravello says anything interesting, text it to me. I’ve been here so long I almost put in a full workday.”
“You were here for a party,” Mia pointed out. “There was no work involved. At all.”
Cammie, affronted, put a hand on her hip and struck a pose. “Oh, really? Who packed up the leftovers?”
“You. Mostly for you.”
“Hey, a gal’s gotta eat. And if I bring a little something to Pete, he’ll owe me, which is always good.”
The group made its way downstairs to the Belle View foyer. “I gotta get back to the diner,” Ron said. “Tell your dad I say hi. And thank you, Mia. You cleared my name. And gave me answers I needed.”
He kissed Mia on both cheeks and walked away. Linda threw her arms around Mia in a warm embrace. “I owe you thanks, too. You were a pit bull, bella.”
“The police would have figured things out eventually,” Mia said. “All I did was move it along.”
“And for that, I will always be grateful.” Linda gazed after her ex-husband, who was making an exit after showering his newborn grandson with kisses. “Ron’s gonna spread Tina’s ashes in Greece. I’m going with him.”
Mia, surprised, raised an eyebrow. “You are?”
“Yes. I don’t think he should do something like that alone.”
“Do you think you two will get back together?”
Linda gave a small shrug and held up her hands. “Meh, chi sai? Who knows? This whole horrible business has given me a much clearer picture of my part in our breakup. I’ve been feeling like a wounded victim ever since we split up. My mother’s no help on that score.”
“No, she is not,” Mia said, recalling Minniguccia’s diatribes against Ron and Tina.
“But I wasn’t blameless. Instead of working through problems in our relationship, I ignored them. What do therapists say? I was in denial. I can’t predict the future, but I do see Ron and I being in each other’s lives. Especially now that there’s Lucas.”
Linda cast a fond glance at her grandson. Nicole noticed and with Ian in tow, pushed the baby stroller toward her mother. The family said their goodbyes to Mia. “We need to have a conversation about you being Liam’s godmother,” Nicole said.
“Oh, Nicole.” Mia, tearing up, placed a hand on her heart. “I’d be honored.”
“And Nicole can do the same for you when you have babies,” Elisabetta declared.
“Had to throw that in, didn’t you, Nonna?” Mia said, with an amused eye roll.
Minniguccia patted her old friend on the arm. “Be nice to your nonna, bella. She’s the only one of us old ladies who ain’t a great-grandma yet.”
“Rub it in, perché non si,” Elisabetta muttered, which Mia understood to be a loose translation of “rub it in, why don’t ya?”
“You know what I heard?” Minnie, ever the gossip said. “I heard Gianna Vachaletto might be becoming a great-great-grandma.”
Elisabetta released a frustrated moan. “A great-great-grandma,” Mia said, amused. “Ah, the white whale of Astoria seniors.”
Nicole and her family decamped, with a promise to drop Elisabetta off at home. Evans came out of the kitchen holding two motorcycle helmets. “I’m gonna take off.” He offered a helmet to Teri. “Want a ride back to Astoria?”
“Mia said her father is on the way. And he has news.” Teri’s face contorted as the reporter and woman in her duked it out for dominance.
Mia felt a pittance of pity for the Triborough Trib journalist. “I’ll let you know what Dad says, if it’s anything worth sharing.”
Teri’s face lit up. “Thanks.” She turned to Evans. “I’m all yours.”
Evans handed Teri a helmet and she happily bounced from the building. As he passed Mia, he winked at her. She mouthed a “thank-you” for extricating the nosy woman from the premises.
Jamie and Liam came down the stairs from the bridal lounge. “I helped Liam put the TV back the way it was,” Jamie said.
“Thanks. Liam, you’re a rock star. If we ever need security for an event, we’re calling you.”
“I’ll be pretty busy with my new gig as head of security for the Miller Art Collection,” the ex-con said. “But if I’m free, you got it.”
“I’ll meet you outside,” Jamie said to him. “Be there in a minute.”
Liam acknowledged this with a salute and headed out the front door. Jamie put a hand on Mia’s shoulder. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Of course,” she said. “Anything.”
“Will you get together with Madison?”
But that.
“Get to know her?” he persisted. “For me? She could use a friend in the family. And the Family.”
Mia tensed. She flashed on her history with Jamie. The fun childhood escapades. The less fun bond of having parents who ping-ponged in and out of prison. The brief high school romance. The hope for something more that had settled into friendship. One that she could see lasting for a lifetime. Mia relaxed. “Of course. Text me her number. We’ll go out for drinks.”
Jamie beamed with relief. “Great. Thank you.” He kissed the top of her head. “Love ya.”
“Love ya, too.”
As soon as Jamie was gone, Mia retreated to her office. She was responding to emails when Ravello gave the door a light rap and then opened it. “Hi, Dad. You missed the whole party.”
“For a very good reason.” Ravello gleefully rubbed his meaty hands together. “I found our new Retail Manager.”
Mia shot her father a wary look. “Is he with the Tutera Family?”
“Nope.”
“That’s a relief.”
“He’s a Gambrazzo.”
Mia let out a loud groan. “Dad—”
Ravello motioned for her to calm down. “Don’t worry, he’s clean. Another kid who doesn’t want to go into the Family business. Even better, he has experience in the service industry. Lots of it.” Ravello pulled a folded-up piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to Mia. “Here’s his resume.”
“He’s got a resume? I guess that’s something.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Ravello said, eager to impress her with his current candidate.
Mia skimmed the resume for thirty-two-year-old Shane Gambrazzo. A list of jobs showed that he’d worked his way up from waiter to either Retail Sales or Operations Manager at several respectable locations. “This isn’t bad. I’d be willing to meet with him.”
“Good.” Ravello took Mia’s arm and pulled her up from her office chair. “Because he’s in the foyer.”
“Dad . . .” Mia protested as he dragged her down the hallway.
“I’m telling you, he’s our guy. And the sooner we hire him, the better. If we don’t make a move, someone else will. Trust me on this.”
They arrived in the foyer. A man in a suit with his back to them was in the doorway of the Marina Ballroom, checking it out. “Shane,” Ravello said. “Come meet my daughter, Mia.”
Shane Gambrazzo turned around. Mia’s jaw dropped. Literally. Her mouth actually fell open. Standing in front of her was the most
gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on. Jamie Boldano was cute. Her brother Posi was handsome. This guy was an Adonis. He had naturally blond hair, but his complexion was olive, which made his pale, sea-green eyes stand out like peridot gemstones. He had a small cleft in his chin, high cheekbones, and stood eye-to-eye with Ravello, which put him at around six feet, three inches. Mia could tell that under his well-fitted suit jacket, Shane’s torso formed a perfect inverted triangle, broad of shoulder, small of waist.
He held out his hand. “Hi, nice to meet you,” he said in a voice as low and sexy as a nighttime radio DJ with the merest hint of a Queens accent. The greeting came with a smile that exposed perfect teeth.
“Hey-hi-ho-hey . . .” Mia found herself unable to form a complete sentence.
Cammie emerged from the short hallway that led to the kitchen area. She carried two full plastic bags. “I got my leftovers, so I’m gonna—”
Cammie froze in her tracks. The plastic bags fell from her hands. She gaped at Shane. “Whaaaa . . .”
Shane gave an exasperated grunt. “Great. Here we go again.” He held up his hands in a defensive gesture, with palms facing out. “I got a mirror. I know what I look like. Lemme just say that hashtag-me-too goes both ways, ladies.”
This snapped Mia out of her besotted stupor. “Yes. Right.” She extended a hand to him. “Nice to meet you too, Shane. Welcome to Belle View.”
Shane relaxed. He took Mia’s hand and gave it a businesslike shake. How is his hand so firm and yet so soft? she wondered, then scolded, Stop it! “So far, I’m impressed,” he said.
By me? Are you flirting? Oh, please be flirting. Mia, no! Fermare! Stop! He means Belle View! Or does he? She forced herself to listen to Shane, focusing on a spot on the wall over his shoulder to avoid being lured into his magnificent, manly beauty. “. . . And the views here are killer,” he was saying. “I do have some ideas about your website, though. I thought I might mess around with it a little. Kind of a tryout, to see if you like my take on it.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Mia said, still focused on the spot. “You can use my office.”