Here Comes the Body. Maria DiRico

for me right now. But thanks for the intel. I’ll pass it along.”

      “Thank you,” Mia said through gritted teeth. She marched off. Enough with a murder investigation that goes nowhere, she declared to herself. It was time to do her actual job—making sure all of Belle View’s guests were happy enough to leave decent reviews on the internet, despite the circumstances.

      * * *

      Even with additional officers and detectives brought in by NYPD, the interviews dragged on for hours. To ensure the anniversary party’s goodwill, Mia decided that on top of the Boldano wine offered by her father, she’d gift them with the pasta forks meant for favors at Alice and John’s wedding. They were a pricey guest gift; Alice had definitely one-upped her twin on this score. The Carinas would have to re-order the forks and pay for expedited shipping, adding to the long list of expenses the evening had incurred.

      Mia positioned herself in the manor foyer and handed out the forks to departing partygoers, thanking each for coming and apologizing for the unforeseen events. The guests were uniformly gracious. “It was exciting,” one senior said from her wheelchair. “For a change, I’ll have the most interesting story at Sunday dinner.”

      Felicity Stewart Forbes was the next one through the line. She kept a firm hand under the elbow of a frail old man as she used her free hand to grab two pasta forks. “I know you feel shaken and disoriented by what happened tonight,” she told him. “But there could also be an underlying cause for those conditions. All the facilities I’ve mentioned offer excellent geriatric care. I’ve run out of brochures, but I’ll drop off a list in the morning. What was your address again?” Mia glowered at the real estate agent’s back as she and the old man disappeared into the night.

      Having disseminated the favors, Mia, exhausted, started for her office. Her plan to catch a few minutes of rest was waylaid by the sound of yelling coming from the parking lot. Through the glass doors, she saw John Grazio arguing with DJ DJ. Chris Tinker, still unsteady on his feet, looked like he was trying to mediate. Unfortunately, a prop plane chose to land at that exact moment, so she couldn’t hear what they were saying. The DJ took a step toward John. Before a fight could break out, a cab pulled up in front of the men. Grazio hopped in, yanking Tinker in with him, and the cab zoomed off. DJ DJ, fuming, watched it go. Mia debated doing a little snooping under the guise of concerned employer, but DJ was already taking long, angry strides to a black Escalade SUV. He jumped into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine, and drove off.

      “Mia, cara mia.”

      Ravello emerged from his office and walked down the hallway toward her. “Dad, marone, this night.”

      “This night,” he echoed with a sigh.

      Mia’s heart lurched at the sight of him. If it was possible to age overnight, he’d done it. His dark eyes were shadowed, the worry creases in his forehead deeper. “What’s wrong? I mean, I know what’s wrong. Everything. But what else is wrong?”

      He looked around, then took Mia’s hand and his daughter into her office. He closed the door behind them. “There’s a development.”

      “Another? Haven’t we had enough for one night?”

      “I wish.” Ravello hesitated. “They found a check signed by me next to Angie’s body.”

      Mia stared at her father. “What?”

      “I sometimes presign checks in the register to speed up the process. I don’t fill in the amount until I get an invoice.”

      “That’s a terrible idea.”

      “I know that now. Anyways, Pete’s theory is that the woman was blackmailing me, and I killed her before she could cash the check.”

      “Which she wasn’t,” Mia said, fuming. “And you didn’t.”

      “Of course not. To both.”

      “How much was the check made out for?”

      “A million dollars.”

      If Mia had a drink in her mouth, she would have done a spit take. “Are you serious? A check for a million dollars? That’s joke money.”

      “Yup. It’s probably the only thing that kept Pete from cuffing me. That and the fact he knows Cammie would kill him. He still wants to get back together with her, you know.”

      “Not gonna happen.”

      “Well, whatever you do, don’t tell him that. She’s the only one who can keep him in line and off my back.” Ravello opened the door and peeked out. “No one’s out there. I’m going up to the bachelor party. I’ll entertain whoever’s left with some B.S. stories about ‘The Family.’ They’re the kind of crowd that would like those.”

      Ravello took off to beguile the bachelor party with manufactured—Mia hoped—mob stories. She collapsed onto one of the folding metal chairs in front of her desk. Only a few days earlier, her office had felt like an oasis. Now it felt like a prison cell. Small, windowless, dreary. She fought back tears.

      “There you are.” Pete Dianopolis poked his head in the room, and then entered. “I was beginning to think you were hiding from me.”

      “You have an investigation to lead. I have guests to please. Not easy, considering the circumstances.”

      “You have my sympathy. Sincerely. I mean it.”

      “Thank you.”

      Pete maneuvered behind the desk and sat down. “This place could use a little work. Maybe a poster or something to cheer it up.”

      “It’s on my to-do list, after ‘get my father off the hook for a murder he didn’t commit.’ Did your partner tell you about the interaction I witnessed between the host of the bachelor party and one of his guests?”

      “Nicely put. You sound like a cop yourself. No, he didn’t. The guy’s useless. The only reason he came back to work early from paternity leave was to get out of the house. The baby came a couple of weeks early. I hear it’s chaos over there. So, tell me, what did you ‘witness’?”

      Mia told him about John’s and Chris’s reactions to seeing Angie, adding as much drama as she could to sell it. Dianopolis tapped his upper lip with his index finger. “Hmm . . . interesting. Then again, neither of their names were on the check deposited next to the deceased’s body.”

      “No one writes a check for that much money,” Mia scoffed. “Especially a mob—someone like my dad. The banks have to report any transaction over ten grand. Can you imagine the alarm bells a million-dollar check would set off? One with Ravello Carina’s signature? And give my dad a little credit. He would never hide a body in plain sight. The pop-out cake may have looked like a good location to an amateur, but a pro would think it through and know that the minute that cake is rolled out, the murder’s public knowledge.”

      “You seem pretty familiar with the thought process of murder.”

      “I watch a lot of cop shows.” It was the detective’s turn to snort. “Hey, my dad always told me he never did anything like that, and I believe him.” This was kind of true. Ravello did deny ever offing anyone. And Mia chose to believe him. “Come on, Pete. Killing someone and putting them in the one place where the body’s guaranteed to be exposed. Leaving a million-dollar check with the victim. Even you have to admit it’s a stupid plan, and if there’s one thing my father isn’t, it’s stupid.”

      “That he isn’t,” Pete had to admit.

      “I bet when you run the check through forensics, they’ll tell you that the signature and check amount were written by two different people.”

      “While I’m waiting for any forensics results, I’ll be checking your father’s alibi. The old ‘I was home sleeping’ doesn’t fly with me. Cammie told me that the new family across the street from him, the one where the husband and wife work on Wall Street, put in a fancy new security system. The pricey kind you can work