Here Comes the Body. Maria DiRico
of the Adam disappearing thing, and you being a suspect. I guess your fifteen minutes is up.”
Mia fought to maintain patience with her self-involved sibling. “My ‘fifteen minutes’ was fifteen minutes I never wanted and I’m glad it’s over. Sorry it ended before you could ‘glom on’ to it. Can we talk about Dad?”
“Yeah, sure. What’s going on?” Mia filled Posi in on what had happened at Belle View. “Whoa. This is bad.”
“I know.”
“Dad’s making flower arrangements? Is he wearing lipstick and dresses, too? If the Family finds out, he’s a dead man.”
Mia gave an exasperated sigh. “Can we focus on what’s important here? The girl who wanted money from Dad? Guadalupe got rid of her, but I have a really strong feeling she’ll be back. And Dad did visit that Meet Your Match website.”
“Hmmm . . .” Posi stared out a barred window, his gaze thoughtful.
“Stop looking at your reflection in the window.”
“Sorry, they don’t have mirrors in here.”
“I feel bad for Dad,” Mia said. “He’s obviously ready to date again. But he was so nervous going to that website, he didn’t even spell it right.”
This got Posi’s attention. “Wait, what? How did he spell it?”
“With an extra e. M-e-e-e-t.”
Posi ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “Oh, man. I think I know what happened. There are these hackers in Eastern Europe and what they do is create websites that are only one letter off from legit sites, but take you to a whole other, darker place. Meet Your Match is a real popular dating site. So, what do these guys do? Create a site that people accidentally get to when they make an obvious typing error. They don’t even know they’re on the wrong site sometimes, like with this. Guys like Dad think they’re making dates with interested ladies. Instead, they’re booking working girls. Usually the scammers throw in a little identity or credit card theft. It’s kind of genius. Wish I was better with computers.”
Mia frowned at her brother. “I’m glad you’re not. We’ve got enough trouble with you stealing all those sports cars. Will you stop already?”
“Hey, with the stupid tariffs, people in China can’t afford those cars. I’m like a Robin Hood. I take from the rich and give to the not-as-rich. Well, not so much give as sell. But for a very fair price.”
Mia shook her head. Still, she couldn’t help smiling at her brother’s insouciant attitude. “Whatever. We miss you.”
“‘We’ being you and Dad,” Posi said, his tone acerbic. “Heard from Mom lately?”
“Hah,” Mia said, matching her brother’s attitude. “‘Heard from Mom?’ Funny stuff.”
The siblings’ mother, Gia formerly-Carina-now-Gabanetti, had moved to Rome with her second husband, Angelo Gabanetti, who’d been deported as soon as he completed a two-year jail sentence for selling forged passports and driver’s licenses. Vibrant and beautiful, Gia was also what psychology student Jamie Boldano called a “clinical narcissist.” Whether it was conscious or unconscious, Gia managed to switch the focus of any situation back to herself. She dreamed of being an actress, despite the fact the only dramas she ever appeared in were the ones she created at family events. Between their father’s demanding schedule working for Donny Boldano and their mother’s self-involvement, Mia and Posi had learned to rely on each other at an early age, hence their close relationship.
“Any word on when you’ll be out?” Mia asked her brother.
“Mickey’s working on it,” Posi said, referencing Mickey Bauer, the defense attorney the Carinas kept on a retainer. “In the meantime, share my mug shot again, and keep sharing until it goes viral. Love ya, sis.”
Rather than risk Jamie Boldano showing up for the third time in less than twenty-four hours, Mia hailed a cab instead of summoning a rideshare. The conversation with Posi had helped her parse out the mixed message her father was sending. She thought Ravello told the truth when he said he didn’t know the belligerent woman who showed up at Belle View. But he was also doing his best to cover up the fact he’d gone to an illegal website. Ravello, who’d done time at Triborough himself, had met his parole requirements, so he wasn’t in danger of violating them. Mia assumed he was simply too embarrassed to admit the truth to his daughter.
The cab dropped her at home, and she made her way up the stoop stairs. She was greeted at the front door by Elisabetta. It was only seven P.M. but her grandmother had already changed from the track suit into pajamas. Her hair, still dyed brown despite her status as an octogenarian, was in pink curlers. “I found you furniture,” she said.
“That’s wonderful, Nonna, thank you. Where? How much?”
Elisabetta pointed down the street to where the moving van had been earlier. “It’s free. Rose Caniglia is moving to assisted living. Her kids and grandkids don’t want her stuff and she’d rather see it go to a good home than sell it to some dealer.”
Mia’s excitement dimmed a bit. She’d been in Rose’s home many times and understood her family’s reluctance to inherit the matriarch’s gilded, ornately carved, basically hideous furniture. Still, the price was right, as in free.
“I told her you’d be by as soon as you got home,” Elisabetta said. “The movers finish up tomorrow. Go. She’s waiting. I’ll have dinner for you when you’re done. Eggplant parmigiana.”
Mia headed down the block to Rose’s. She rang the doorbell, which sang out a tarantella tune. There was a pause as the senior checked her out through the peephole, then the sound of multiple locks being unlocked. A few minutes later, the door opened. Senior citizen Rose Caniglia, skin weathered and height shrunken below its original 4’11”, greeted Mia with a hug and a cheek pinch that hurt. “Look at you, such a beauty.” Rose tugged the bouffant wig that had been knocked askew by her hearty embrace back in place. “Come in, come in. You want espresso?”
“Thanks, but I’m good. Nonna’s holding dinner for me.”
“She’s some cook, that one. Okay, let me show you what I’m giving away.”
Rose and Mia navigated a maze of boxes as the older woman pointed out Mia’s future furnishings. The living room set was every bit as ugly as Mia remembered it and included a sofa, coffee table, end tables, plus two chairs upholstered in the same bright crushed red velvet as the sofa. All seating surfaces were encased in plastic, much like at Nonna’s home, which brought back memories of painfully peeling damp thighs off the couch during a hot summer day. The plastic would go, but Mia didn’t dare tell Rose that in case it killed the deal. Plastic-covered cushions were a sacred part of the décor in every home on 46th Place.
They moved on to the dining room and then the bedroom. All the furniture was a match to the living room pieces. Rose’s decorating style was nothing if not consistent. Mia imagined there was quite a celebration at the gaudy furnishings store where Rose shopped when she cleaned out their inventory.
“You can have it all,” the senior said, gesturing to the room with an expansive sweep of her hands. “I don’t need it where I’m going. The place is already furnished.”
“Thank you so much, Rose. You have to let me pay you something for this.”
Rose gave her head a vehement shake. “Absolutely not. I’m just happy to find everything a good home. And with someone from your generation who appreciates quality.”
Mia managed a weak smile. “Right. So, Nonna said you’re moving to assisted living.”
“Yeah, a place on the Island. Here.”
Rose handed Mia a glossy brochure with a flyer attached to it. Mia was less interested in the brochure, which extolled the virtues of the Ocean Shores Adult Living Community, than the flyer, which trumpeted the sales record of Astoria’s