Here Comes the Body

by Maria DiRico

  Nicholas was a fantastic dancer. He spun her around, then did the Bump and Double-Bump. Mia responded with the Hustle, he followed her lead, and soon half the dance floor joined in. She danced with total abandon, letting the music overtake her inhibitions. The song segued into a medley of disco tunes, and Mia kept dancing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so free. There was no thought of her adulterous ex or murder victims or Jamie Boldano. The night felt like the fresh start she so desperately craved. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, I’m finally moving on with my life.

  * * *

  Mia got home at five in the morning. After the club closed, she’d gone to an all-night diner with Dee, Ty, Nicholas, and a few more of their friends. She had so much fun laughing and joking around with the group that for the first time in her life she could envision herself not as an Outer Boroughs girl, but as a cool denizen of the Big Apple.

  She snuck into the house and tiptoed up the stairs so she didn’t wake up Elisabetta, who would respond with a lecture about what awaited girls who partied all night in the Gomorrah that was Manhattan. Mia made it to her room and collapsed onto the bed. Doorstop, who had stretched out to take up most of it, responded with an annoyed meow, but moved over to make room for her. Mia put an arm around him. He forgave her and snuggled under it. “I had a blast tonight, bud,” she said, stroking his ginger fur. “I’m still totally wired from it.” Then she passed out wearing her club outfit.

  Mia woke up two hours later. After spending a half hour trying to go back to sleep, she gave up. “I think I’ll go to Belle View,” she told Doorstop. “No one will be there yet. I can get things done without interruptions.” The cat responded with a sleepy meow.

  Mia put up a pot of coffee, which she’d need with only two hours of sleep, and got ready for work. She stuck her hand out the kitchen window to gauge the morning temperature. Despite the bright sun and clear sky, there was a chill in the air, so she threw on an emerald sweater and skinny jeans. She put on ballet flats and tiptoed down the stairs, again trying to escape without alerting her grandmother. This time, she failed.

  “Eh, Mia, vieni qui,” Elisabetta called from the kitchen as Mia’s hand touched the front doorknob.

  Mia let go of the knob. “Coming,” she said, and dragged herself toward the kitchen for the expected tongue-lashing.

  Elisabetta, wearing a baby-blue track suit with dark blue racing stripes down the side of the legs, was at the stove frying up eggs and potatoes. Hero stood beside her, on the alert for any scraps that fell to the floor. “I didn’t hear the stove or microwave going upstairs. You shouldn’t go out without eating breakfast. Siediti. Sit.” Mia sat and Elisabetta placed a plate piled high with eggs, peppers, and potatoes in front of her. “Mangia. And tell me about the boy.”

  The scent wafting up from the plate was too delicious to ignore and Mia dug in. “What boy?” she said, her mouth full.

  “The one who kept you out to all hours doing I don’t wanna know what last night.”

  “It was nothing, Nonna. Someone invited me to a club; we all hung out after. No romance.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Mia stopped midbite, surprised at her grandmother’s reaction. “You are?”

  “Ma certo, of course. You’re a woman, Mia. Special and beautiful. Don’t let one bad choice ruin your life. Let another man, a good one, love you. And give me a great-grandbaby.”

  “And there it is. . . .” Mia shook her head, amused by her grandmother’s blatant agenda. “I will, Nonna. Eventually. I’m even supposed to see this guy Dee again. We’re working a party Saturday night and he said something about hanging out afterward. But for now, last night was only a nice break from worrying about Belle View and Dad and mysterious deaths.”

  Elisabetta mimed spitting. “Feh. That Pete Dianopolis couldn’t solve a case if the killer came up to him and screamed ‘I did it!’ in his face and handed over a murder weapon covered with his fingerprints. You got any suspects?”

  “Maybe. A guy who was at the bachelor party disappeared. He didn’t pick up his paycheck and no one at the store can reach him.”

  “Can his friends?”

  Mia put down her fork. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Your generation doesn’t give a job the respect it deserves. But God help them if they can’t send one of those text messages they love so much to a friend.”

  “Excellent idea, Nonna. He’s a good friend of the groom’s, John Grazio. I’ll see if I can manipulate some info out of John when I get to work.” Mia kissed her grandmother on the cheek, got up, and deposited her plate in the sink. She patted her stomach. “And that breakfast just earned me a bike ride instead of a cab ride.”

  “Si, but first you’re coming with me to welcome the new neighbors.”

  “They moved in?”

  “A van unloaded all day yesterday while you were gone. I’m gonna do like you said, make nice, then bring up Rose’s Virgin Mary. I baked a welcome-to-the-neighborhood lasagna.” Elisabetta lifted a to-go container double-wrapped in tin foil off the top of the stove. “Andiamo.”

  Elisabetta marched out of the house, lasagna in hand. Mia tagged along behind her toward Rose Caniglia’s former home. They scurried up the front steps, which were lined with empty boxes. It was early, so Mia listened for sounds of life coming from the home. She heard a baby cheerfully babbling, followed by the murmur of a male voice. Mia nodded to her grandmother, and Elisabetta rang the bell. The front door opened. They were greeted by a handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair who appeared to be in his early forties.

  “Ciao, I’m Elisabetta Carina and this is my granddaughter, Mia. We wanted to welcome you to the block.”

  Elisabetta handed him the lasagna. “Thank you so much,” he said. “Come in, please. Forgive the mess. Between unpacking and keeping the babies happy, things are a little crazy right now.”

  “Of course, we totally understand,” Mia said.

  “Come meet the kiddles.”

  They followed the man into Rose’s old living room. Her decades-old carpet had been pulled up, revealing lovely hardwood floors that would mate well with the new owners’ impressive collection of mid-century furniture. An infant boy and a baby girl about a year older prattled from their bouncers. “You’re lucky. They just ate so they’re in good moods. I’m Philip, by the way. Let me get my better half down here to meet you.” Philip went to the second-floor staircase and called, “Finn, we have guests, come downstairs.”

  Mia and Elisabetta cooed over the babies while they waited for Finn. A minute later, another handsome man roughly the same age as Philip appeared. “This is my husband, Finn. Finn, these are two of our new neighbors, Elisabetta and Mia.”

  Elisabetta was silent. “So nice to meet you,” Mia said. She suppressed the urge to elbow her grandmother in the ribs to prompt a polite response.

  “The pleasure is all ours,” Finn said.

  Philip held up Nonna’s lasagna. “Look what they brought us.”

  “Lasagna? Che deliciozo. Grazie.”

  Philip rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind him. He doesn’t really speak Italian; he just took an immersion course before our honeymoon in Tuscany.”

  Finn made a face at Philip, then smiled at the women. “You know what they say, use it or lose it. Anyway, we’re so happy to meet you. We’re very excited about our new neighborhood. Please tell us anything we need to know about it. We want to fit in.”

  Mia made a choking sound. She cast a sideways glance at her grandmother, not sure how the elderly woman would react. There was a brief pause, then Elisabetta said, “The first thing you need to know is that the Virgin Mary statues and grottos in everyone’s yard are an important part of 46th Place and mean a lot to everyone who lives here, no matter what their race or religion or . . . sex.”

  “We thought so,” Philip said. “That’s why we sent ours out to be cleaned and restored. We discovered she’s marble, not plaster. She’ll be gorgeous after her make
over.”

  This was a surprise to Elisabetta, as well as Mia. “You didn’t get rid of her?”

  Finn looked horrified. “No. We were both raised Catholic. We would never do that.”

  “Although our interior designer wanted us to,” Philip said. “That’s one of the reasons we fired her.”

  “That nasty blond lady?” Elisabetta asked, not bothering to hide her relief. “She’s gone?”

  “Yes,” Finn said. “If she had her way, she would’ve put a match to this whole place. Fair warning, we will be re-doing the interior, but that’s to make it more kid-friendly. We’re not touching the outside. Like I said, we want to fit in.”

  Mia picked up a plaintive note in Finn’s voice, and felt for the couple. “You already do. Right, Nonna?”

  “Si, yes. I just have one question. Do you want to be called gays or homosexuals? I can’t keep up with what’s right these days.”

  The men exchanged a look, then Philip said, “Um . . . how about just calling us Philip and Finn?”

  “Philip and Finn, it is,” Mia quickly said. “Welcome to 46th Place. We’re thrilled you’re here. Let us know if you need anything. We’re in the corner house on the other side of the street. I’ll leave our phone numbers in your mailbox.”

  The four said good-byes as Mia ushered her grandmother out the door and down the front steps. “Wait until I tell the Army about this,” Elisabetta said.

  “Nonna, you’re not going to make a big deal about the fact they’re gay, are you?”

  “Meh, who do you think I am?” Elisabetta said, affronted. “I was talking about Rose’s Virgin Mary being marble. But I better tell the Army about the gay thing, too. Just so they don’t open their mouths and something stupid comes out.”

  “We wouldn’t want that to happen.”

  Elisabetta cast an acerbic look at her granddaughter. “Isn’t it time for you and your sarcasm to go to work?” They reached home and Elisabetta pointed at Mia’s bicycle chained inside the front yard. “Arriverderci, bella.”

  * * *

  With the wind at Mia’s back, the ride was cold but shorter than usual. She dismounted the bike and reached down to retrieve the sturdy lock she’d treated herself to. She stood up, lock in hand, and gave a shriek when she found herself face-to-face with Teri Fuoco.

  “My sources tell me your father is still the only person of interest in both murders,” the Trib reporter said.

  “What are you, a ghost? How do you suddenly appear like that? And not even a hello?” Mia glowered at the other woman, then brushed past her, pushing her bicycle toward Belle View.

  “I’m not gonna stop,” Teri said, following behind her.

  “You’re on private property,” Mia said. “Don’t make me call the police and report you.”

  Teri jumped off the curb. “I’m on public property now. Marina parking.”

  “I recommend you park yourself somewhere else, and fast.”

  Mia pulled open the heavy glass door and was about to go in when Teri called to her, “I’m doing this for my father. Just like you.”

  There was a note of anguish in the reporter’s voice. Mia let go of the door. “What do you mean, you’re doing this for your father?”

  Teri rubbed her eyes. She cleared her throat, but when she spoke, her voice quavered. “Dad was a reporter for the Trib. He spent years tracking the Boldano family. He was obsessed with doing an exposé on Donny. For a while, Donny kept one step ahead of him. But Dad wouldn’t give up. He finally had the material for a great story and took it to the publisher—who killed it. Maybe because he was afraid of being killed himself. I don’t know what happened. All I know is Dad got demoted to covering local politics. He had a heart attack during a meeting on adding a composting component to the city’s recycling stations. I think he died of boredom. But”—the quaver disappeared from Teri’s voice and she stood taller—“there’s a new publisher at the Trib. New publisher, new rules. He’s hungry for content and loves that I want to finish what my dad started.”

  Mia was silent. Teri’s story about her late father hadn’t set off any B.S. alarms, which was too bad. Duking it out with a con artist would have been much easier. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Thank you.” Teri said this with sincerity.

  “But there’s no story here. Belle View is a legit business. My dad is its legit owner and manager. You’re gonna have to take your shovel and dig up dirt somewhere else because I can guarantee you will find nothing, repeat nothing, here. Capisce?”

  “Ho capito.” Teri’s accent was flawless, but with a last name like Fuoco, it would be.

  Mia sagged. The confrontation, coming on top of the last few days’ tidal wave of events, was wearing her out. “I know I can’t stop you from writing what you wanna write. Just make it the truth. Please.”

  “I always do,” the reporter said with pride. “But capisce this: if you ever try to bribe me or threaten me or strong-arm my boss, I will definitely be writing that truth.”

  Teri strode over to a tiny Smart car. She got in and slammed the door shut, then backed out of her parking space and puttered out of the lot. As Mia watched her go, she thought to herself, That thing looks dangerous. I hope she’s not taking it on the highway.

  Having rid herself of the irritating reporter, Mia was ready for the respite of an empty Belle View. She wheeled her bike into the building, parked it in the hallway, and then went to her office. She tapped John Grazio’s cell number into her phone. It was 8:15 A.M., a perfectly respectable time to call the Koller Properties security employee, whom she figured was either at work or on his way there. “John Grazio here,” he answered. He sounded slightly out of breath.

  “It’s Mia Carina. Are you on your way to work?”

  “Yeah, and I’m running late. I had to spend the morning listening to Alice gripe about her obnoxious twin’s giant baby shower. You’d think Annamaria was delivering the next Lion King.”

  “I’ll keep this short. Have you talked to Chris Tinker lately? I bought a phone from him and have a question, but they told me at his store that he quit.”

  There was a pause. “No, haven’t heard from him,” John said. “I wouldn’t worry about Chris. See if they can help you at the store.”

  “Between us, he sort of gave me the phone, so I can’t let the store know I have it. Can you give me his number?”

  “What? I couldn’t hear. You’re breaking up—”

  The call abruptly ended. “Seriously?” Mia said to her phone. “The old ‘you’re breaking up’ is the best you can do, liar?” She may not have gotten a lead on the errant cell phone salesman but Grazio’s lame response made it obvious that Drinker was up to something and the groom-to-be knew what it was.

  A notification popped up on her computer. She checked her in-box and saw a daunting number of unread messages, the overall bulk of them alerting her to the fact that it was time to stop sleuthing and start working. The first order of business was sending an unhappy bride-to-be some potentially good news. Rather than re-order the pasta forks that Mia was forced to give out to placate the fiftieth anniversary party guests on the night of Angie’s murder, she was going to ratchet up the Paluski-Grazio favors. She pulled up the file for Annamaria Paluski’s wedding to see what Alice was competing against. Her twin had given out ceramic candy dishes. “Oh, we can beat that big-time,” Mia murmured as she searched the site. “Aha, got it.”

  She bookmarked a page, then composed an e-mail to Alice Paluski: “For favors, instead of the pasta forks, which were ordered before I came on board, and I have to admit I’ve seen before, what about giving every guest a wine bottle with a label that has your names and wedding date on it, along with a wine-stopper that has a crystal heart on the top and comes in a black-and-gold box, which can also have your names and wedding date on it?” Alice’s response was instantaneous. “YES!!!!!!!! I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!!!!!!! EFF YOU, STUPID PASTA FORKS AND ANNAMARIA’ S CANDY DISH! ! ! ! ! !”

  Mia did a
triumphant fist pump. “Mia Carina for the win,” she trumpeted to the air. Then an idea occurred to her. She typed another e-mail to Alice. “Does your vet clinic ever get rescues to adopt out?”

  “All the time,” Alice wrote back. “We have a non-profit thing where we give free first exams and treatments to them, so a lot of rescue groups come to us. We even have a spaymobile we take to poor places where we do free spaying. Why?”

  Mia thought of her new friends in the pet bereavement group. “I have some friends I want to connect with you. Will be in touch.”

  Pleased with herself, Mia put her hands behind her head, her feet on the desk, and leaned back in her office chair, careful not to tip over. She was about to begin cleaning out her in-box when she heard what sounded like water running. Mia sat up and listened closely. Water ran and then stopped. She heard footsteps on the floor above. Her heart thumped.

  She wasn’t alone in Belle View after all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mia rose to her feet. She kicked off her shoes to make her footsteps silent, then took a quiet walk from her office into the hallway. Fighting to control her fear, she crept along the wall, now grateful for the linoleum floor she’d hated on sight. At least it didn’t squeak the way a wood floor might. She reached the end of the hallway and peered around the corner, taking care not to be seen. The foyer was empty. She heard footsteps again, this time starting down the facility’s stairs. Mia ducked out of sight. She heard someone open and close the front door. Then she heard a motorcycle engine revving. She dropped to the ground and crawled along combat-style, so no one could see her through Belle View’s large glass windows. Mia reached the window nearest her, which was half-hidden by an overgrown bush outside. She raised herself up enough to see over the bush and caught the back of Evans as he sped off on his motorcycle.

  When Mia was sure he was completely out of sight, she stood up and scurried to her office. While she’d looked up Evans’s former employers, she hadn’t done a full-on Internet search for anything related to him. She put her shoes back on, plopped down in her office chair, and typed in the sous chef’s name. It only came up in connection with the shuttered restaurants he once worked at. Aside from that, it was as if he didn’t exist. Did he? Mia wondered. Maybe Evans Tucker was a false identity. If so, then who exactly was this strange Belle View employee?