Four parties and a funer.., p.22
Four Parties and a Funeral, page 22
Pete wound Bubble Wrap around a microphone the size of a forearm. “I wonder if I can make my money back selling this stuff online or if it’s like a car, where you lose value the minute you drive it off the lot.” He gave a glum sigh. “I’m guessing it’s the second.”
Mia dropped onto a folding chair. “So, you have updates on the Michael-Chiara sitch?”
“Yup. Whoever had money on Planko folding first can collect.” Pete picked up an unopened box. “Cam Cam, please tell me you have a receipt for this so I can return it.”
“I don’t do paper receipts anymore. I’m trying to save the planet. But I hate all those e-mail receipts clogging up my inbox.”
“So that’s a no.”
“You were saying Michael folded?” Mia prompted.
“The man’s desperate to cut a deal. He’s also desperate to have a successful show business career, which is what led to murder. Remember that day at Casa Giovanni when you overheard him and St. James going at it?”
“Since it’s the day the guy was murdered, it’s kind of hard to forget.”
“The argument didn’t end there. Planko followed him into the pool house to plead his case for a promotion. Giles finally made good on his threat to fire him, and Planko snapped. His words, because he won’t come out and admit he bonked him on the head with barbell. But the dots are there to be connected.”
“Saved his job and removed an obstacle,” Mia commented.
“That was just the beginning. He found a partner in Chiara One Name Famous, who apparently never heard the old Hollywood joke about not sleeping with the writer to get ahead. He ratted on her as the brains of their lame operation.”
“Brains being used loosely here.”
“Oh yeah. They teamed up on a plot to get more screen time for Chiara and the promotion to executive producer for Planko. Ariadne was the next human bump in the road they had to remove. He insists poisoning the water bottle was Chiara’s idea. But they got their wires crossed, and she didn’t know Planko already planted and marked the bottle for Ariadne.”
“I thought maybe Chiara drank it on purpose. It sure got her more screen time.”
“The upside to an attempted murder gone wrong. But it wasn’t enough for Ms. One Name.”
“What about the attack on Michael when we were at Little Island? Or should I put quotes around the word attack?”
“Yes to that. Again, he says meeting with you and planting the fake story about the camerawoman and production assistant plotting to take over the company was all the donette’s idea. She figured that would make Lysette and Kelvin suspects in St. James’s murder and the attempt on Ariadne’s life. On his partner’s instructions, Planko faked the push that landed him in the river. He jumped in himself. Unfortunately, he hit his head on an old piling in the fall.”
Dumbfounded, Mia took this in. “So basically, in trying to kill—or frame—other people, those two almost killed themselves.”
“You have no idea how many dumb criminals I meet up with,” Pete said. “I see TV shows and I wanna scream, How do you guys get these great cases when I’m across the table from a guy who committed a robbery barefoot so the shoeprint wouldn’t give him away and then got his feet stuck to wet rock salt when he ran outside in winter?”
Cammie patted his cheek. “Poor baby, you have such a tough job.”
He eyed her with a worried look. “You landed on a new expensive hobby, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” She winked and blew him a frosted-pink lipstick kiss.
“Moving on,” Mia said, to get Pete back on track. “How did Violet figure into their plans? With her as co-owner of the company, she had to.”
“The goal was to get rid of Ariadne and replace her with Violet. Being new to the business, Violet needed them more, and they assumed they could manipulate her better. But if Violet wasn’t willing to promote Planko or make Chiara a reality star, you can bet her fluffy little kitty would’ve ended up orphaned.”
“We’re done, hon.” Cammie clapped her hands together to rid her original white-lace fingerless gloves of dust they’d attracted.
“Your desk is clear now,” Mia said. “Lots of room for the files from our bookings.”
Cammie chortled. “I love how you think that’s gonna happen.”
Mia rose from her chair. “Thanks for the intel, Pete. I guess that’s that.”
“Not exactly.” Pete assumed a crafty expression. “Before The Dons of Ditmars Boulevard even started casting, NYPD received an anonymous tip about some sketchy doings at Giles St. James Productions. How would you like to take part in a sting operation?”
CHAPTER 31
Mia was a bundle of nerves waiting for the sting to commence the next day. Pete refused to give her any details about what he was planning. On his orders, she sent the cast and crew invitations to an impromptu screening of the Dons of Ditmars Boulevard pilot, which would take place in the second-floor Bay Ballroom. The first floor’s Marina Ballroom was playing host to the goldfish memorial Shane had booked.
Mia peeked into the Marina Ballroom, where a slide show commemorating the lives of Bubbles, Buddy, and Goldie played on a large screen for the Woods family of four: father Tom, mother Kelly, ten-year-old Brianna, and grieving goldfish dad, six-year-old Justin.
“This is the sweetest thing,” Mia whispered to Shane, who stood watching from the back of the room.
Shane, holding back his emotions, gave a brusque nod. “Just so you know, I’m not charging them for the room or the luncheon. Which will be fish-free. I didn’t bother to run this by you because if you didn’t approve, I’d pay for it myself.”
“Of course I approve.” She noticed something orange sticking out from under Shane’s arm. “What is that?”
“A goldfish.” He showed her the large, adorable goldfish plushie under his arm. “I bought it for Justin. I thought it might make his loss a little less painful.”
“Ooooh . . .” Mia swallowed back tears. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”
Hearing muted conversation coming from the lobby, Mia left to see Nicky Vestri enter, with Ariadne on his arm once again. She welcomed them with a polite greeting. “I need to freshen up,” Ariadne told her date. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”
“You got it, babe.”
He sent Ariadne off with a pat on the backside, much to Mia’s disgust. She decided to confront him. “I saw you with Violet. Outside the B&B in Connecticut. I know you’re up to something.”
Nicky held up his hands. “Just keeping my options open. Like I do with all the super-hot ladies. Feel free to count yourself among them.”
“Hard pass on that.”
Nicky responded with a casual shrug. “By the way, Violet sends her regrets. She can’t make it today. She had to take that furball of hers to get groomed. So I’m here with her co-boss. While she’s in the john, I’m gonna give you one last chance. Say the word and I’ll fit you into my sex schedule.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“You make me physically ill,” Mia said, grossed out. “Go upstairs. Now.”
She dodged her own backside pat from the don, who scampered up to the Bay Ballroom.
Belle View’s lobby double doors flew open, and the Dons of Ditmars Boulevard cast and crew poured in. The space rang with excited chatter about the pilot screening. Francesca gave Mia a hug. “How are you?” Mia asked. “I know you were kinda-sorta close to Chiara.”
“I’m . . .” Francesca mimed her head exploding. “It’s so crazy. I blame this stupid show. I’m never doing another one.” She blushed and added shyly, “I registered for classes at Queens College.”
“Francesca! That’s so great.”
The donette gave an embarrassed shrug. “Yeah, well, I decided instead of playing a feminist on TV, I should become one in real life. I’m gonna be a women’s studies major. Who knows? Maybe I’ll become a lawyer someday.”
“If you become a defense attorney, you already have a client list.” Mia gestured to the dons milling close together. The women chuckled without any idea how prophetic Mia’s joke would prove to be.
* * *
Director Lysette stood in front of a large screen Belle View kept on hand for when organizations renting out the banquet facilities needed to display visuals at their events. “Welcome, everyone, to our surprise screening.”
“It’s a surprise to me, and I’m the producer,” Ariadne said with a flip of her dark mane, to scattered laughter from the attendees.
“Just to warn you, this is a rough cut,” Lysette said. “Some of the footage is grainy. Especially where it was shot by a hidden cell phone camera.”
A murmur of confusion and fear rippled through the viewers. Mia, standing in the back, found herself joined by Pete, his partner Ryan, and several uniformed officers.
Lysette gave the high sign to Kelvin, who was operating an electronic projector. A logo for The Dons of Ditmars Boulevard flashed on the screen, earning applause and whoops from the cast. However, the scene appearing onscreen was new to everyone. As Lysette warned, it was shaky and grainy. Nicky sat on the bed in his New Orleans hotel room, talking to a couple of his fellow dons. “I’m telling you, the crew on this thing is a bunch of idiots. They got no protection on what they’re shooting. My hacker’s got copies of every scene. I got a guy in China I already sold a few days of stuff to. You gotta come in on it with me.”
“Wha-wha-wha . . .” Nicky followed the stutter with a choking sound.
“How exactly does it work?” said the unseen person he was talking to. Mia recognized don Vincent Moltisani’s voice.
“NO!” Nicky yelled this as he jumped out of his chair. He went for the projector, but two of the uniformed officers grabbed him. Vincent strode in from the outer hallway. Gone were the don duds, replaced by a sport coat and jeans. He flashed a badge at Nicky. “Nicholas Cariolo Vestri, you’re under arrest for video piracy and sale of stolen goods.”
“That’s where the water flats went,” Kelvin exclaimed.
“Among many other set items.” Ariadne glared at Nicky, who Vincent was in the process of cuffing. “And our footage. You’re despicable. What’s that American expression? I hope they throw the book at you.”
Vincent led a very unhappy Nicky up the aisle. Francesca reached out to stop him. “You’re an undercover cop? That is so hot.”
Vincent responded with a sexy grin. “We’ll talk.”
Ariadne placed a manicured hand on her heart. “This has certainly been illuminating. I don’t know about anyone else, but I could use a drink.”
Pete stepped forward. “Sorry, but that’ll have to wait.” He sauntered to the front of the room. “Detective Moltisani’s undercover operation was separate from ours. He got clued into Mr. Vestri’s illegal actions by a fellow don. But prior to that, we received an anonymous tip regarding the financials of St. James Productions.”
Intern accountant Jason Stern stood up. He waved. “Not anonymous anymore.” He held up a flash drive. “Here’s a copy of all the documentation I turned over to NYPD showing a pattern of off-the-books compensation on the part of Giles and Ariadne St. James in the form of apartment rent, vehicle rent, entertainment expenses . . . I could go on and on, but I don’t want to bore you with dull felony financial details.” He fixed a speechless Ariadne with a dark stare. “You better think twice before you ever hire a professional accountant to do an intern’s job. Not that you’ll be doing any hiring from jail.”
“He’s going to make a wonderful chief financial officer for the newly formed St. James, Stern, and Princess Productions, don’t you think, love?”
Violet St. James, clad in her requisite tiny skirt and sky-high heels, made a grand entrance into the room. She delivered this statement to Ariadne with a sneer. Mia could swear kitty Princess Kate also sneered at the producer being handcuffed and led out of the room by Pete and Ryan.
The room erupted into a cacophony of chatter prompted by the dramatic events that had unfolded before everyone’s eyes. Mia made her way to Lysette. “How’d you like being part of a sting?”
“A little scary, but I like the results,” the director said with a satisfied smile.
“I bet you wish you could’ve filmed it.”
“We wouldn’t have a place to use it. The pilot’s not moving forward.”
“Really?” Mia said, surprised to hear this.
“Yeah. Someone put out the word to potential outlets it would be in their best interests not to buy it. But that’s okay. Violet okayed putting Kelvin’s documentary project into production. With me as both the director and executive producer on it.”
Lysette went to join up with her crewmates, leaving Mia to assume the person who just texted her was also responsible for scaring off the pilot’s potential buyers.
EPILOGUE
Mia re-read the document on her computer screen one last time. Violet St. James had requested a proposal for an event celebrating the launch of her reorganization of the company founded by her late husband, Giles, and his potential felon of an ex-wife, Ariadne. The proposal was pro forma. Violet’s gratitude for Mia’s help in nabbing her husband’s killer guaranteed Belle View would get the job.
Mia hit Send. She heard someone at her door and looked up from the keyboard.
“Hey, boss.”
Mia glanced around her computer screen. The person standing in her doorway wasn’t who she was expecting to see. “Little D, hi.”
“Forgot I worked here, didn’t ya?”
Little Donny flashed a grin. Once annoyed by his arrogance, Mia now welcomed it as a sign he was back to his old self. He’d shaved, too, getting rid of the stubble that made him look like a parolee on the lam rather than a hipster, and had trimmed his thick black hair, which was held in place by product.
“To be honest, I did. You worked here, what? All of a day or two? But we’re happy to have you back.”
“Actually, I just came by to give notice. That’s how they say it in business, right? As a nicer way of saying you’re quitting?”
“You could put it that way. I appreciate the sensitivity.” She motioned for him to sit down. He parked himself in one of the office guest chairs and put his feet on her desk. Happy for another sign he was on the mend after the Dons debacle, Mia didn’t swat them off. “You have any plans for the future?”
“Big ones.” Little Donny helped himself to a handful of the Jordan almonds Mia kept in a bowl for visitors. Their candy coating crunched as he spoke. “Working here taught me something.”
“Really? I thought you hated it. You sure seemed miserable the whole short time.”
“I know. I think because I was miserable about my life in general. But I liked the event-planning stuff. You know, shaking down suppliers for the best prices. Coming up with party ideas.” He paused. “I wanna say shaking down suppliers for the best prices again. That really felt like it was in my wheelhouse.”
“It was. It is.”
“I know, right?” He beamed. “Anyway, I was at Singles the other night, drinking away my sorrows, and I got to talking about all this to the owner. He offered me a job drumming up events and running them.”
“So now you’re my competitor.” Before he could protest, Mia held up a hand. “I’m kidding. Plenty of room in Astoria for all of us. Besides, we’ll have very different clienteles. I’ve been in the Singles event room. My first piece of advice is to fumigate it.”
She made a face and pinched her nose. Little Donny laughed. “Yeah, twenty years of booze, BO, and barf.” He leaned back in the chair. “I finally got what you said about how good it feels to help people make memories through events about the most important moments of their lives. I even turned down a chance to be in Violet’s new show to take this job.”
“She’s doing another reality show?”
“Not just doing, starring in it.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask what it’s about.”
Little Donny let out a guffaw. “You should be. It’s called Hot Young Widow. Thirty guys compete to hook up with her. No pilot this time. Got what they call a straight-to-series order.”
“Speaking of pilots . . .”
Mia stood up. She walked to the office door and closed it, then returned to her office chair, pulling it closer to Little Donny. “It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one who killed the Dons of Ditmars Boulevard pilot.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny this,” Little D said, cagily. “I’ll just say I’m happy certain TV people saw how important it was to step up and do the right thing.”
“So, it’s a yes.” She mimed clapping. “Nicely done. Can I assume you’re the one who narc’ed on Nicky about the piracy and stolen goods?”
“Any one of us could’ve done that, he was such a loudmouth about it. But . . . maybe.” Little Donny stood up. “I gotta go.”
“You sure? Why don’t you stay for lunch?”
“Can’t. I ran into this model in the lobby out there. She took a ride share here. I offered to drive her back to Manhattan.”
Mia’s heart hammered. “It’s not Petra Vilsni, is it?”
“Sure is. She told me she’s here to see Shane. The way she said Shane”—Little Donny delivered the name with a lot of disdain and a slight Eastern European accent—“told me I got a shot with her.”
He flicked up his shirt collar and left the office with a swagger to his step.
Mia placed a hand on her heart, willing it to ratchet down its heavy beating. She picked up her cell phone to text Shane, then put it down. After the fourth time of repeating the gesture, a knock on the office door distracted her. “Come in.” And please be Shane with good news.
The visitor was Shane. He waved a sheath of papers in the air. “You’re looking at the ex-Mister Petra Vilsni. Woot woot!”
Mia’s usually reserved boyfriend hopped around the office in a happy dance while he continued his joyous shouting. Mia jumped up from behind her desk. He grabbed her hands, and they jumped up and down together. Mia suddenly stopped. “I feel bad for Petra that we’re celebrating like this.”
