Here Comes the Body. Maria DiRico
discontinued makeup.
Ravello put his arm around Mia’s shoulder. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the staff.”
He was about to do exactly that when the door to the room flung open. A slim woman with stringy black hair appeared, clad in a mini dress that looked like it was made from bright red ace bandages. She was pretty but in a hard way. She pointed a finger attached to a tattoo-sleeved arm at Ravello. “You,” she said, her tone angry and accusing.
“Me what?” Ravello seemed flummoxed by the intruder.
“You know what.” The woman pulled a cell phone out of her tiny purse and held it up to him.
Mia moved closer to her father. “Dad, what’s going on?” Ravello responded with a confused shrug.
The woman waved the phone in the air. “Our date. Through Meet Your Match dot com. What’d you think, it was a freebie? Angie here doesn’t do freebies.” She pointed a long, red-lacquered nail at herself. “You owe me.”
Mia was incredulous. She knew her father had barely dated since his marriage to her mother had been annulled five years earlier. But she couldn’t imagine him resorting to a paid escort.
“Sweetie, I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Ravello said. He looked embarrassed. “I swear on a bible, I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
“Liar.” The woman spit out the word. She took a step toward Ravello, who remained frozen in place. “Either give me my fee or I’ll make big trouble. I know who you are.”
“Oh please,” Mia scoffed. “Everyone knows who he is. If that’s your biggest threat, you need better material.”
The woman, still holding the phone, waved her arms in the air dramatically. “I want my—”
A giantess wearing a chef toque stepped out of the group. “Okay, we’ve had enough of the crazy, sister.”
“That’s Guadalupe Cruz, our chef,” Cammie, who’d been watching the odd scene with fascination, whispered to Mia. “She was an army cook in Iraq.”
Guadalupe approached the interloper, then took all of a second to grab the woman and hold her under one arm like a football. She strode out of the room, her charge kicking and screaming a stream of profanities. “As you were,” the chef called to the others as she disappeared down the stairs.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Cammie pointed to the buffet. “Let’s eat before the bagels get stale.”
A murmur of agreement was followed by a rush to grab a plate. Ravello started to follow, but Mia pulled him back. “Hold up, Dad. What was that?”
The mobster gave a helpless shrug. “Mia, believe me, I have no idea. There are nut jobs all over this city. I guess one found her way to Belle View. This Belle View, not the one in Manhattan. Where she obviously belongs. Because she needs mental help.” There was a loud buzzing overhead. “Sounds like a turboprop. Must be the 9:10 from Syracuse on its final approach.”
Ravello detached himself from Mia and joined the others at the buffet. She frowned as she watched him pour a cup of coffee and chat with the others. She knew her father well. He was telling the truth when he said he didn’t know the woman. But he was also hiding something.
And it was never good when a Carina hid something.
Chapter Two
Mia tried to corner her father and press him for more information about the mysterious Angie, but Ravello avoided his daughter, segueing into a conversation with a different employee every time she approached him. She finally gave up and concentrated on meeting her new co-workers, who were a rainbow coalition of a few full-time but mostly part-time cooks, waiters, and support staff. They raved about Ravello with genuine fondness, which made her happy. Even Evans, the odd, monosyllabic sous chef, put two words together to form a compliment: “He’s cool.”
After half an hour of snacking and making small talk, Cammie pulled Mia aside. “Let’s go to your office and go over the day. I want to hand over a couple of clients to you and leave early. I booked a mani-pedi at Spa Castle in College Point.”
Mia followed Cammie down the stairs into a warren of small offices tucked into the less scenic side of the hall facing the west side of the parking lot. They stopped in front of a door sporting a nameplate that read MIA CARINA: ASSISTANT GENERAL MANAGER. Mia fought back the urge to burst into happy tears. “I have a title,” she said, her tone colored with emotion. “I have an office. I never had one before.”
“Trust me, the thrill wears off,” Cammie said. “Especially after your first pain-in-the-tushy client.”
Cammie opened the door and the women entered the office. With its ancient metal desk, battered file cabinet, and large corkboard missing chunks of cork, it had all the charm of a supply closet, which Mia assumed it once was. But it was hers, and she loved it for that. The tiny room was where she would start her new career, her new life, and put the misery of Florida behind her.
A bright spot was the large flower arrangement taking up half the desk and scenting the room with lilies. Mia pulled out the card and smiled as she read it. “Aw, it’s from my dad.”
“He probably put it together himself.”
“Really? He does that now?” Mia examined the bouquet, trying to imagine her father’s meaty fingers arranging the delicate baby’s breath, tiger lilies, and iris. “He hasn’t mentioned it.”
“You know that Bermuda cruise he went on? He took some class on napkin folding and floral display. The teacher lives in Manhattan and he still goes to her for classes. Private classes, if you know what I mean.” Cammie followed this surprising statement with a wink.
“Dad’s got a girlfriend?” Mia digested this second unexpected development.
“I don’t know if they’re up to anything, but when he talks about her, he gets all red and shy and can’t look you in the eye.”
Mia thought of the intruder Guadalupe had carried out of the upstairs ballroom. “So that woman Angie who said he owed her for a date. She really was a scam artist.”
“Totally. Now, fire up the computer to make sure it’s working.”
“Okay.” Mia sat on the office chair and immediately toppled over. Cammie glanced down as Mia picked herself up off the floor. “Oh, that’s missing a wheel. We’ll roll in my chair.”
“Don’t you need it?”
“I thought I’d take an early lunch.”
“We just had breakfast.”
Cammie wagged a finger at Mia. “What’s my word of the day?”
“Coasting,” the women said together.
“Anyhoo,” Cammie said, “your clients should be here in ten. His bachelor party’s Saturday, they’re getting married three weeks from Saturday. They wanna lock stuff down. Their file is labeled ‘archiko gamo.’”
“What does that mean?”
“Starter marriage. Let’s get you that chair.”
Cammie and Mia wheeled out the broken office chair and wheeled in Cammie’s. “You’re all set,” Cammie said. She headed out the door. “Oh, and a little tip,” she threw over her shoulder as she left. “Always make sure the mother of the groom is happy or you’ll regret it.”
“Wait, what?”
“Bye-yee.” With that, Cammie was gone for her day of coasting.
Mia hurried to make her office somewhat presentable before her first clients. She opened a desk drawer to look for a pen and saw a small rectangular box. On top was a sticky note with a heart and her father’s signature. She opened the box—it was filled with business cards.