Here Comes the Body. Maria DiRico

the DiRicos, DiNardos, Tenaglias, Caniglias,

       Carullos, Grossos, Testas, Evangelistas,

       and the rest of my amazing extended Italian family.

       But it’s mostly dedicated to my late nonna,

       Maria DiRico DiVirgilio, and my extraordinary mother,

       Elisabetta DiVirgilio Seideman.

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      I’m grateful to my terrific agent, Doug Grad, who found the perfect home for the Catering Hall Mysteries, as well as the perfect editor, John Scognamilio. Mille grazie to both of you! I couldn’t write this series without the priceless help of Kristen Sagona, senior event planner at Pickwick Gardens Conference Center in Burbank, California. Kristen, thank you for your infinite patience with all my questions and your boundless enthusiasm for this series. And thanks to your wonderful staff as well.

      A shout-out to my fabulous partners in crime (writing) at chicksonthecase.com: Lisa Q. Mathews, Mariella Krause, Kellye Garrett, Leslie Karst, Vickie Fee, Cynthia Kuhn, Becky Clark, and Kathy Valenti. A special thank-you to Leslie for a great beta read of this book, as well as to friend and fellow mystery author Nancy Cole Silverman for her insightful notes. Thanks to Sisters in Crime (especially SinCLA), the Guppies, and my pals at SoCalMWA for the inspiration and camaraderie. Kimberly and George Taweel, thank you for letting your beautiful Sphinxy inspire Mia’s kitty, Doorstop. And as always, I’m eternally grateful to my husband, Jer, and daughter, Eliza, for their support and the sacrifices they make for my mystery writing career.

      A heartfelt thank-you to my late cousins Ralphy and Pauly for the great events they supervised at Astoria Manor and Grand Bay Marina, and to all my Italian relatives for the endless engagement parties, weddings, birthdays, Sweet Sixteens, and yes, even funeral luncheons. I will never forget the wonderful times I got to share with you. Ti amo tutti.

      And finally, I never could have written this book had I not been lucky enough to cater-waiter for Martha Stewart when she was just launching her meteoric career. If you have an early edition of her first book, Entertaining, you’ll find me standing next to her on page 29. Martha, you inspired me then . . . and you inspire me now.

      Chapter One

      At 6:45 A.M., Mia Carina woke up to Frank Sinatra singing “New York, New York” from the alarm on her phone, a happy reminder that she was in Queens, not Florida, and no longer a “person of interest” in her adulterous husband’s disappearance.

      Mia had only been back in Astoria a few days. She could have left the Sunshine State months earlier. But she’d chosen to hold her head high, despite the cloud over it, and retain her position as general manager for the Palm Beach branch of Korri Designs, a go-to destination for the uber-wealthy seeking ridiculously expensive leather goods. Luckily, a little notoriety had proved a good thing sales-wise. Between her status as a person of interest in a salacious murder investigation and the whispered rumor that her father was a well-known mafioso—which happened to be true—Mia sold enough overpriced accessories to pay for a first-class ticket out of town when she gave notice.

      She yawned, stretched, and snuggled up to Doorstop, the sleek ginger Abyssinian cat sharing her pillow. Then she threw off the covers. Doorstop responded with an annoyed meow. “Sorry, bud,” the thirty-one-year-old-most-likely-a-widow said, grinning at the smoky blob of orange fur burying its head under the covers. “Mama’s got to get to work.”

      Mia rolled off the blow-up mattress currently serving as her bed and scrambled to her feet. She noticed the birdcage on top of a still-to-be-emptied box and got a pang of sadness. Formerly the home of her pet parakeet, Pizzazz, the cage stood empty of its resident. As she was leaving her Palm Beach apartment, she had been jostled by a crowd of local reporters eager to make their bones by getting a departing comment from her. The cage door flew open and Pizzazz, confused and scared, flew off. Mia delayed her flight home and plastered the neighborhood with flyers promising a hefty reward for the bird’s return, but so far no one had reported a sighting.

      She padded through the empty second floor of her grandmother’s two-family house into the bathroom for a shower, then pulled clothing out of her suitcase: a black pencil skirt and fitted jacket she paired with a silk turquoise top that brought out the blue in her eyes. Mia had learned from her boss at Korri that her crystalline orbs, wavy dark brunette hair, and pale skin made her a “Winter.” Cool, bright colors flattered Mia. She’d also learned never to dress better than the customers, something she kept in mind while putting together an outfit for her first day of work at Belle View Banquet Manor, a party venue surrendered to her father, Ravello Carina, by a gambler who couldn’t pay his debts.

      Mia filled Doorstop’s food and water bowls, grabbed her purse, then headed downstairs, a pair of black high heels in one hand. Elisabetta Carina, Mia’s beloved grandmother, stood waiting in the home’s small vestibule. Mia kissed Elisabetta on both cheeks as Hero, her grandmother’s chubby terrier mix, barked protectively. “Hero, stai zitto,” Elisabetta scolded in her native tongue, which she still preferred to English despite decades in America. Hero responded with an annoyed grumble.

      “At least he likes Doorstop. He’ll get used to me.” Mia bent down to pet the mutt, who gave her a haughty glance, then succumbed to the affection.

      “I made you breakfast. Fried eggs and sausage,” Elisabetta said. The eighty-three-year-old was not one to let a clogged artery or two get in the way of her favorite fatty foods, much to her cardiologist’s chagrin.

      “Grazie, but I don’t have time. I want to get to Belle View early. Suss out the place.”

      “Va bene, I’ll put it in a container. You can have it tomorrow.” While the thought of day-old, reheated fried eggs might be anathema to the average human, Mia took it in stride. For the Carinas, wasting food was sacrilege.

      Elisabetta zipped up the jacket of her velour track suit, her daily uniform. Today’s outfit was burgundy with navy trim. “I’m going on a power walk with the Army.”

      Mia couldn’t help smiling. The “Army” was a posse of Italian and Greek grandmothers who’d lived on the block for fifty, sixty, even seventy years, and “power walk” was a euphemism for gossipy stroll.

      “I’ll see if anyone’s giving away furniture,” Elisabetta continued as she did a few half-hearted stretches to ostensibly warm up. “Maybe someone’s decided to turn their second bedroom into a sewing room.” “Sewing room” was another neighborhood euphemism. It meant an ancient, dusty sewing machine squashed between boxes of half-broken Christmas ornaments and polyester clothes from the seventies that were “too nice to give away.”

      “That would be great.”

      Elisabetta hugged her granddaughter. “I’m so glad you’re back. Ti amo. I love you, bella bambina.”

      “I love you too, Nonna. Ci vediamo stasera. See you tonight.”

      Elisabetta left to meet up with her senior crew. Mia opened the Pick-You-Up rideshare app on her phone and tapped in a request, then put on her heels and stepped outside. Easter had just passed, but the tidy front yards of the brick two-family homes were still awash in pastel decorations and strings of lights shaped like rabbits, eggs, lambs, and chicks. No holiday went uncelebrated or undecorated on 46th Place. Competition to outspend and one-up each other turned the sweet little old ladies of the neighborhood into bloodthirsty competitors. Mia’s own grandmother was the worst offender. When Mia was little, Elisabetta even roped her into undercover spy work. While Elisabetta delivered batches of her famous pizzelle cookies to unsuspecting neighbors, her granddaughter would plead a need to use the bathroom, but instead sneak a peek at any decorations laid out in a spare room, later reporting as many details as she could remember to her eager nonna, who’d then make sure to top them.

      A moving van at the far end of the block caught Mia’s eye. Gentrification was starting to rear its upscale head in the neighborhood. She was furious when Elisabetta told her that real estate agents were intimidating elderly locals by implying