The Spia Family Presses On

by Mary Leo

  “Surviving the Mob, that just might work if I can come up with the right angle,” she said, dreamily, as if she could already see the book on a shelf.

  “Anything you want. Just name it. I have secrets.”

  Her right eyebrow arched. “No you don’t. Not from me. I can get anything I want out of you.”

  Okay, so she knew me better than I knew myself. “I can’t do this on my own. At least help me get the gun out of the futso and come up with a plan. You’re in this now. You’re part of this murder.”

  “No I’m not. I can claim—” She stopped and looked at me. I guess I must have seemed exceptionally desperate because all at once her entire demeanor changed. “My mother always said you were a bad influence.”

  “You should have listened to her.”

  “I couldn’t. We were already best friends.”

  “And we still are . . . aren’t we?”

  She hesitated, dropped her hand from her hip and said, “What do you want me to do?”

  Those few words made me so happy, I hugged her and while we were hugging I said, “First off, Leo was lying about this morning. I know that was him talking to Dickey on his veranda.”

  “Why does that not surprise me? But why would he lie? What does it mean?”

  “It means he has some kind of connection with Dickey that he doesn’t want to admit to.”

  “But you couldn’t have been the only person who saw them this morning. It’s a busy winery.”

  “Exactly, and Leo had a full beard this morning, along with long hair. At first I didn’t even recognize him.”

  “Are you sure it was him?”

  I refused to second guess myself. For once I was going to stand by my Leo convictions.

  “I know his body and his gestures all too well. It was Leo all right.”

  “Then the man is hiding something, but what?”

  “I don’t know, and I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with the murder. We’ll have to figure that out later, right now we need to get rid of him and Nick, retrieve the gun, call the police and tell them everything we know, except for the bracelet and gun part.”

  “What about the weird-Leo part?”

  I considered that for a moment. “I’d like to talk to him about it first.”

  “This is so wrong.”

  I pulled away from her. “I know, but it’s only wrong for a little while. Just until we can find out who did this.”

  “And just how do you intend to do that in this family? These people go to the grave defending their secrets.”

  “Yeah, I know, but most of this group either turned state’s evidence or went straight after their time behind bars. They’re more likely to come clean.”

  “So is that why Dickey took a bullet in his head? Because of his willingness to come clean?”

  “Hadn’t thought of that one, but I’m sure we can figure it out as we go along. There’s one more thing I need to tell you, but it shouldn’t matter. Not really.”

  “Out with it.”

  “There’s a ring that my mom had been keeping for Dickey. I gave it to him right before the party and he told me it was going to give someone heartburn. It was the way he said it . . . as if someone in the group was really going to respond to seeing it. Well, when I was under that stone, I checked out Dickey’s pinky, and it was gone.”

  “Maybe it flew off or something, or it was in his pocket for safe keeping.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. His finger was covered in oil and there was an oil stain on his shirt and jacket. I remember he had a hard time getting it over his knuckle. I’m thinking whoever took it couldn’t get it off right away, so they slathered on the oil after he was under that stone.”

  She stared at me for what seemed like a long time. Then she said, “This is good. We have a real clue and a trail to follow. Somebody went to a lot of trouble for that ring.”

  “The killer?”

  “More than likely.”

  I had another idea. “Or somebody else could have grabbed the ring before we found him.”

  “Either way it gives us a starting point.”

  Finally, an opening in her closed mind.

  “You said us. Does that mean you’re in the game?”

  She hesitated for a moment, playing with the strap on her purse. “I know I’m going to regret this, but okay. I’ll help, but if I get knocked off in the process, I’ll come back and haunt you. I’ll make you read all my books, even the ones that were never published.”

  “How many do you have?” I was thinking this might not be an even deal, not that there was any possibility that Lisa would get knocked off, but still . . .

  She snickered. “A lot. Not everything I write gets published. It should, but the editors don’t always love what I give them. I personally don’t get it, but such is publishing. Deal?” She stuck out her hand.

  “Deal,” I said, giving her our girly-girl handshake. Then we hugged again. Such was our ritual ever since we saw Sister Mary Benedict, our second grade teacher, give Miss Carson, the music teacher, a limp girly-girl handshake when she agreed to allow Miss Carson to teach the students how to read music. Sister Mary Benedict had sealed our fate for the next four years with the limpest of handshakes. Lisa and I assumed that was the correct female handshake. It wasn’t until we were well into our teens that we learned otherwise, but she and I never changed that handshake. It was our way of making a sacred pact.

  For the next couple of hours, Lisa and I tried to get Nick and Leo to leave. Nothing seemed to work, and at some point Lisa began to show real interest in Nick, in that I-could-date-you sort of way. I just sat there stressing.

  At one point, I played the sleepy hostess trying to get them to leave, yawning, stretching, even stating that I needed sleep. Everyone ignored me.

  We still had the minor problem of Dickey’s body to contend with, and Lisa was acting as if it didn’t exist. Either she was the best actress I’d ever seen, or she simply forgot about it. Neither of which satisfied my burning desire to come clean or run, I couldn’t decide which would be more effective under the circumstances.

  I thought about disappearing into the barn, grabbing the gun, hiding it somewhere then screaming as if I’d just found the body. A simple, straightforward plan. One that seemed to fit the evening, considering that both Nick and Leo were determined to wait for a dead man, but every time I stood, Leo took the opportunity to try to get me alone. Any other time I would be thrilled to have all his attention, something he rarely gave, but not now. Not when I was trying to save my mother from a life sentence in Soledad.

  When Leo opened the bottles of his prize winning Pinot Noir, my mom and Aunt Babe stepped off the porch to join us. Mom wore one of her expressionless grins, which had me wondering what she knew—had Aunt Babe told her everything?—but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get her attention, so getting a read on her was impossible.

  Botox had its advantages.

  Uncle Benny didn’t join us. He hadn’t really moved from his perch in the rocking chair, except once when he and my mom disappeared inside the house for about a half-hour. Uncle Federico went in the house with them for awhile, but then he came out and walked off toward his house, wishing us a good night. Other than that, Uncle Benny sat in his chair watching, puffing and rocking. About the only body part of his body that moved was his hand to remove his cigar from his mouth so he could take a swig of wine, then he’d replace the cigar and stared at us once again. It would have been creepy if I didn’t know there was a body in the barn, which in the scheme of things was far creepier.

  Then my mom got into the forties thing along with Aunt Babe, who began reciting whole scenes from noir films. Nick admitted to being a huge fan, which only fueled the Barbara Stanwyck fire. Of course, Lisa played right into it with her own extensive background in classic films.

  I sat in silence wondering if Lisa and I would be sharing the same jail cell since it was obvious we were all doomed to a life of judi
cial confinement.

  Aunt Babe said, “I’ve got one: Yes I love him. I love those hick shirts he wears with the boiled cuffs and the way he always has his vest buttoned wrong. He looks like a giraffe, and I love him.”

  Nick jumped up from his chair. “Wait, I know that one!”

  Lisa nudged his arm. “Too slow. I’ve got it. Ball of Fire, nineteen-forty-one, Stanwyck and Cooper, and she’s a showgirl with the regal name of—”

  “Sugarpuss O’Shea,” Nick bellowed.

  “You know that?” Lisa asked, obviously impressed by Nick’s knowledge of movie facts.

  He nodded. “Named a stray cat Sugarpuss right after I first saw the film.”

  Leo said, “So that’s where that name came from. I thought it was because . . . when you’re ten everything is sexual innuendo.”

  “And when you’re thirty-two?” I asked.

  “Everything still has sexual innuendo, honey. It’s what spins the globe,” Aunt Babe chided, while sipping her wine.

  I couldn’t take the tension anymore and decided to slip away while everyone was playing the “name that movie” game. The night had succeeded in giving me a royal headache, and unless I got rid of that handgun soon my head was going to explode.

  I walked to the barn via my mom’s house. I figured everyone would think I was simply making a bathroom run. I walked across the lawn, up the front steps, past Uncle Benny who gave me a slight nod, through the living room, past my mom’s room, made a quick pit stop in the bathroom and downed a couple aspirin, continued through the kitchen, which still housed an abundance of food and baked goods, and walked directly out the back door. This time the lure of the cookies couldn’t deter my mission. In truth, their sweet smell sickened me, the complete opposite of my normal response to anything baked with sugar and fat.

  I made a beeline straight for the barn, jogging across the small gravel parking area, which was now eerily devoid of my relatives’ cars. Of course, Lisa’s red BMW was still there, and Leo’s Mercedes XL was tucked in close to the barn alongside a black BMW SUV, which had to belong to Cousin Dickey, the now deceased Cousin Dickey.

  My head throbbed with a vengeance. Apparently, it was going to take more than two aspirin to quell what was going on in my overtaxed head.

  When I opened the barn door, it suddenly occurred to me that I had made no plan for the handgun once I retrieved it. Where would I hide the damn thing? I didn’t have a pocket deep enough that wouldn’t announce hand-gun, and if I moved it somewhere else in the barn, the police would eventually find it.

  This deception game was getting entirely too complicated. The bracelet was one thing—I still had it tucked away in my pocket—but that handgun required some creative thinking. Besides it would be dripping with olive oil.

  Just as I reached for the light switch, I heard a car door slam, and the distinct sound of footsteps crunching up behind me across the gravel. I hoped it was Uncle Benny coming to assist with my handgun dilemma, but when I turned and saw Leo only a few feet away carrying a case of his wine, the Russo name prominent on the deep red logo, my heat skipped a beat.

  Now what?

  “Hey,” he called out. “Your mom insisted that I couldn’t just leave this wine without taking some oil in return. I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how she can be. Once she makes up her mind, there’s no room for debate.” He balanced the box up on his right shoulder as he walked in closer. “I hear you’ve got a couple new oils I haven’t tried so I decided not to fight her. She said they’re stored in the middle of the barn on the right, if that makes any sense. Maybe you could show me.”

  My mouth went dry. My mom had sent Leo to the exact murder spot.

  I froze for a moment trying to think of what to say, what to do. Then, without hesitation, I did the only thing I could think of to keep him from taking another step into the barn.

  I leaned in and kissed him.

  EIGHT

  And Then There Was None

  Leo’s mouth tasted sweet and familiar, and when his tongue touched mine, those old feelings flooded my body with intense desire. I wanted him so much it hurt; funny how something so bad for you could feel so damn good. I pressed my body up against his as tight as I could, going for all the sensations I could stand and still not lose my cool, although if it went on much longer I’d be pleading with him to take me on the floor. The kiss lasted until I was on the brink of complete surrender, with enough heat between us to power half the county. My only holdout in all of this was the simple fact that he couldn’t combine his kiss with an embrace, because if he could it would have been all over.

  Leo still held onto the case of wine, thank you very much.

  When he pulled away, there was a look of both uncertainty and lust on his beautiful face.

  The good news was my headache had vanished.

  The bad news was I wanted more of him.

  Much more. I took a few steps backward.

  “Where are you going with this, Mia? I thought we were through, forever, this time. I’m quoting,” he said, looking all flushed putting the box down and walking toward me looking totally hot and sexy, a look I could never resist.

  I held up both hands and gently pushed on his chest, stopping him from getting any closer. “We are through. We both know that. So why did you stop by tonight?” I asked, knees weak, the taste of him still caressing my lips.

  He was so close I could feel the heat coming off his body.

  I wanted him more than I had ever wanted him before. My body ached for his touch.

  “You invited me,” he said in his raspy bedroom voice while gently running two fingers down my cheek then over my swollen lips. I stopped breathing and walked in closer, nodding, longing to be wrapped tight in his arms, kissing him, loving him . . . “Wait, what did you say?”

  “You invited me,” he repeated.

  That broke the spell. I moved to the other side of the doorway. “Where did you get that idea?”

  He looked genuinely confused.

  “My assistant left a message that a woman called inviting me to the party. I naturally assumed it was you. Wasn’t it?”

  I didn’t reply.

  He went on despite my silence. “Plus she said that you wanted to buy two cases of red wine, and could I please bring them? You know I would never take your money for my wine. Whatever you want, kitten, it’s yours.”

  He moved in closer, but this time when I took a step back I was thinking someone had gone to a lot of trouble to get Leo to come to the party. But why?

  “I’m sorry I was so late, but I had a dinner party that I couldn’t blow off. Two wine critics from Italy. I know how the Spia parties usually go well into the night, so I didn’t think my timing would be that far off. Obviously, I was wrong. I left you a message that I’d be late. Didn’t you get it?”

  “No. Sorry, it was a busy day.” How could I have missed his call? This wasn’t making any sense, unless he was lying again.

  I had to find out the truth in all of this. I didn’t want to believe that Leo could somehow be mixed up in Dickey’s murder.

  Leo flung the box off his shoulder. “I need to put this down. I have one more case out in the car. It’s our Muscato and Chardonnay blend. I brought it especially for your mom. I know how much she likes a sweeter wine.”

  “You can leave the wine here,” I said, standing directly in front of him. “I’ll take care of it later.”

  He peered around me. I knew there wasn’t one empty shelf. They were all filled with rows of our bottled extra virgin oils, and our flavored vinegars. If he left the wine on the floor it would be in the way of the doorway. This was becoming a problem. He readjusted the box in his hands. “That’s not looking like a good idea. I’ll just put this down where—”

  “No!” I said with a little too much force. He ducked, as if he was bracing for some kind of attack. I took in a breath and let it out, trying for what Lisa had said about a clear head and breathing. “Tell you what, I’ll take this i
nside while you run out for the other case.” I reached over for the case of wine, hoping to have just enough time to retrieve the handgun while he was busy getting the other case out of his car.

  But he pulled back just as I heard my mom’s laughter closing in on us. “That’s okay. I’ve got it,” he protested.

  I tried to rip the case out of Leo’s hands, but he held tight. My mother was getting closer, which was bad enough until I heard Nick Zeleski say, “I’d like that, Mrs. Spia, thanks.”

  And just like that, my mom and Nick walked right in the barn, past Leo and me and headed straight for Cousin Dickey. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to react. Once my mother had someone interested in our oil, there was no stopping her. She was like a one woman campaign for the benefits of olive oil, and heaven help anyone who got in her way . . . me included.

  “It’s also great for dry skin and dandruff, and—” But I wasn’t hearing her anymore. Lisa had entered the barn, shaking her head and mouthing that she was sorry.

  I wanted to yell for my mom to come back. Surely she had to know about Dickey, but she was acting as if it didn’t matter. Yet another reason to believe the shooter was trying to set her up for the fall. After all, no killer would purposely lead an officer to the crime scene knowing the evidence could potentially give her a death sentence. At least that’s what I was thinking as my mom cavalierly walked toward the crime scene.

  Then as if it wasn’t bad enough that Nick was headed right for bumped-off Dickey, Leo had also slipped away and gone off toward the crime scene. Was there no justice in this world? Was I completely powerless over these people?

  I reached out for Lisa’s hand and waited for my mom’s scream. Fake or not, I figured Mom would do a good job of reacting to the grizzly sight.

  “You realize that as of this moment, my life is over,” I told Lisa.

  “No worries, sweetie. I’ll bring you reading material in prison,” she quipped.

  “How can you joke when my whole life has come down to this moment? When everything my mom and I have worked so hard to achieve is about to come crashing down on our heads?”