The Spia Family Presses On

by Mary Leo

  I wasn’t in the mood to calm down. Being Italian gave me that right. We rarely calmed down under stress. It wasn’t in our DNA. “I’ll try, but before we do anything else, or think anything else, we should talk to Hetty. Clearly that woman knows something. I’ve never seen her so upset. And you know how Hetty likes to talk, especially if I tell her someone tried to set up my mom. That should be enough to put her over the edge. She’s like a mamma bear to my mom.”

  “That gives Hetty motive, you know,” Lisa said.

  “Motive for what?”

  “Motive for Dickey’s murder. If she thought Dickey was going to try to take the orchard back, she may have made a preemptive strike to stop him.”

  She was talking nonsense. “It’s not that I don’t think she isn’t capable of whacking Dickey, I just don’t buy that she would whack him and set up my mom.”

  Lisa shrugged. “People try to save their own skin when they get pushed against the wall. I’ve researched this, believe me, you’d be amazed what some people will do when their world is threatened.”

  I felt sure Lisa was totally wrong about this. “Not Hetty. She may be nutty, but she would never kill anyone. Not even Dickey.”

  “Who else owns this place?”

  “Aunt Babe, my mom, of course, Uncle Federico and me. I guess that gives all of us motive. But anyone on this rehab farm could have fallen off the Mafioso wagon and done it. Let’s not forget that we’ve had to kick several of these Wise Guys off the property for thug behavior.”

  “Could one of them have done it?”

  I shook my head. “Not likely. Two of them are dead. One disappeared and the other one is doing life in Soledad.”

  “But the five who actually own this place have the strongest motive. Good thing you have an alibi. Me.”

  She had a point. It looked really bad for all of us, even me. “Let’s talk to Hetty, and if we’re lucky Babe will be there too.”

  “The girls didn’t look any too tired. I’d say there’s a good chance they’re still awake,” Lisa said.

  “Then let’s hustle up. I’ve got a few questions that need answers before I can sleep tonight.”

  “And speaking of sleep, what did you do with Dickey’s pinky?”

  I’d almost forgotten about his pinky. I wondered what that said about me. “It’s still in the freezer, why?”

  “And you have no problem sleeping with a severed body part in your fridge?”

  I thought about that for a moment. “No. I guess I truly am my father’s daughter.”

  “There’s a whole new side to you that I’m going to have to think about and reevaluate.”

  “Don’t think too long. Until we find Dickey’s killer, who knows what’ll end up in my freezer?” I meant it to be a joke, but from the glum look on Lisa’s face, I guessed she wasn’t taking it that way.

  “You’re into this whole mob world more than I thought.”

  A quote from my past flew into my head. “When you lie with dogs you’re going to get fleas.”

  “Where’d that come from?”

  “My dad. He was good at smart little quips.”

  “Wait, Mia. This is much more than I bargained for.”

  She stopped walking. I turned to her. “It’s too late to back out now. The killer already knows you’re in the game.”

  “I need a drink,” she said, and stopped walking.

  The mere thought of a drink—a shot of tequila preferably, with a wedge of lime and a lick of salt—made me want to give up this insane quest and take off for the nearest bar. But instead I continued on the path.

  Lisa followed close behind.

  “What I wouldn’t give,” I said when she caught up to me.

  “Maybe when we’re to Maui, a big fat Mai Thai in one of those bucket glasses with a pink paper umbrella stuck in a slice of cold pineapple hanging off the side,” she suggested, but I knew she was merely playing my put-it-off-until-later game. So far, the game was working. My resolve was still in check, but there was no telling how long that would last.

  It only took us a few minutes to walk to the bungalow where my two aunts lived.

  “Is it always this dark around here?” Lisa whispered as she climbed the porch stairs behind me.

  “No. Usually their porch light is like a beacon. This can’t be good.” Aunt Babe didn’t like the dark and their house reflected her fears. Every room usually glowed with light, even when they were sleeping.

  But not tonight.

  When I stepped up on the porch, I could see their front door was slightly open. “Okay, this is making me scared.”

  I slowly pushed the door open.

  “Upon entering a situation that could potentially be dangerous, always be aware of your immediate surroundings and never let your guard down for an instant,” Lisa said, obviously quoting herself while stiffening her body and walking with her arms in some kind of martial arts readiness position.

  I tried to take on the same stance, but somehow I just wasn’t feeling it.

  The living room was dark except for the light coming from their thirty-gallon fish tank gurgling on a shelf to our left. Across the room, a sliver of light glowed from under the kitchen door. My aunts liked to do some of their special orders and try out new recipes in their own industrial strength kitchen where they could bake in their jammies.

  “I don’t like this,” I complained to Lisa.

  “That makes two of us. Maybe we’re being too stupid to live. The killer could be in there. Or maybe he’s already been here and gone. Finding one dead body is enough excitement, I don’t need to find another one.”

  “Don’t even think that. I love these ladies.”

  “Then we need to get some help.”

  “Don’t you have a black belt or something?”

  “Yeah, a lovely Prada silk number. It’s hanging in my closet. No. I don’t have a black belt. I took beginner classes last summer for research.”

  “Well, pretend you have one ‘cause I’m going in.”

  “Hello!” I yelled. “Anybody home? Aunt Babe, Aunt Hetty, are you here?”

  A loud pop then a crash blasted through the house. It came from the kitchen. Immediately, my mind latched onto the gunshot explanation, and my heart raced like a bunny rabbit’s.

  Then, a loud bang.

  “If this kind of stuff keeps up, we’re going to have to start packing a weapon,” Lisa said. “I’ve got a nice little Glock at home that would give me a lot more courage.”

  Without thinking, I took off for the kitchen moving on pure adrenalin. No way could I let anything bad happen to my aunts.

  I was fearless.

  Or extremely dumb, depending on the outcome.

  “Wait for me,” Lisa yelled as she raced up behind me.

  As soon as I swung open the door, something gooey hit me right smack in my face and clung on. It smelled and tasted a lot like Amaretto.

  I licked my lips.

  Definitely Amaretto.

  Startled, I attempted to open my eyes, but they were gooed shut. As I began to wipe off my face, I heard Lisa yell, “Incoming.”

  Another glob of something hit me on the left side of my head, and I felt it slowly ooze down my cheek. This one had chunks. I took a taste. Cannoli filling, the perfect blend of chocolate chunks, powdered sugar, a touch of vanilla extract and rich ricotta cheese.

  Yummy, but somehow it might taste better if it was served on a plate, stuffed inside a crispy cannoli wrapper rather than dripping down my face.

  I cleared off the excess goo around my eyes and opened them.

  The large, normally spotless kitchen was littered with flour, cake batter, and an assortment of cookies, smashed cakes and berry pies. It looked as if a pastry bomb went off. Aunt Babe and Aunt Hetty were hunkered down on either side of their huge wooden island flinging Italian baked goods at each other. Clearly, whatever this was about had escalated out of control , and it was up to me to stop it from going any further.

  “What t
he hell is going on?” I demanded as sight finally returned and a seemingly perfect meringue pie sped right for me.

  This time I ducked and it flew through the open doorway and landed splat on Lisa’s boots, her lovely expensive, high-end boots. She gazed down at the lemony mess then back up at me, a look of utter shock on her face. The woman could take almost anything, but you better not mess with her wardrobe. Her whole body tensed and I could tell there were some evil revenge thoughts going on.

  I had to take charge of the situation.

  “Wait a minute,” I yelled, but the words were stifled when a piece of rum cake landed directly in my mouth. There was so much rum rolling around in my mouth, it was as though the cake was simply a catalyst for the booze.

  I had no choice but to chew.

  It was then that a luscious thought occurred to me, perhaps if I stood there long enough, with my mouth open, I could get an actual alcohol buzz.

  “This is all your fault, you miserable old grouch,” Aunt Babe yelled as she hurled a ball of dough at Aunt Hetty, missing her shoulder by an inch. The dough struck Lisa right in the stomach. She doubled over for a moment, straightened, grabbed the ball off the floor and hurled it back at her. It landed on the island in front of Babe with a thud.

  “Is this any way for women your age to act?” Lisa shouted.

  Aunt Hetty turned toward her, eyes wild, face and body covered with way too much yellow and chocolate cake. Pink icing and some kind of brown goo dripped off her hair every time she moved. “Who invited you two?” she demanded, sticking a fist to her hip. “This is our war, not yours.” And she hurled a chocolate frosted bunt cake.

  The perfectly formed cake hit Lisa right between the eyes. Her nose poked out of the center for a moment, but only for a moment because the impact knocked her right off her feet onto her ass. She went down hard on the non-skid cork floor. My aunts stopped throwing things long enough to make sure Lisa was still breathing.

  There was a moment of truce, a sigh of relief, a collective intake of air while we all waited for Lisa to say something.

  Then, knowing Hetty was partially deaf, Lisa yelled, “Are you people all nuts?”

  “You’re darn tootin’ we’re nuts,” Aunt Hetty roared, while pitching another glob of cannoli filling at Aunt Babe. “Nuts because Babe killed Dickey. I have proof. She has that damn ring, and now we’re all going to lose everything we’ve worked for because she had to whack the bastard.”

  Then she began pitching and entire tray of cranberry-pistachio biscotti at Babe, and before I could think about it, I was pitching biscotti right alongside of her.

  Olive Oil Biscotti with Pistachio and Dried Cranberries – Level Two Or Three

  1/4 cup Koroneiki EVOO, or any delicate extra virgin olive oil

  2 tsp. vanilla extract

  1/2 tsp. almond extract

  1/2 to 3/4 cup white sugar depending on your sweetness level

  1/4 tsp. salt

  1 tsp. baking powder

  2 medium eggs

  1 3/4 cup unbleached flour

  1/2 cup raisins, or dried cranberries, or apricots

  1 cup unsalted pistachio nuts, or slivered almonds, or cracked hazelnuts

  To turn this into a level three, you can buy the nuts in their shells, crack them and slice each one by hand. Or for a level two, just buy them already shelled and slivered. Preheat oven to 300 degrees. In a pretty large bowl, mix oil, and sugar first. Blend well. Beat in extracts and eggs. Take a moment to breathe in the fragrant aroma, and let your body relax. In a small bowl, combine the flour, salt, and baking powder. Slowly add this to the wet ingredients, careful to scrape up everything from the side of the bowl. When this is thoroughly mixed, add the dried fruit and nuts with a wooden spoon lingering over the bowl to take in the sweet smells and how delicious the batter looks.

  Wet hands with cold water and divide dough into two portions, making a log out of each one. Logs should be 2 inches wide and about a foot long. Take your time making the logs as perfectly as you can. Get into it. The process will focus you. Place the logs on a parchment lined cookie sheet. Pat each one down just a bit and bake for 35 to 40 minutes. Logs should be lightly browned and the smell in your kitchen should put you in a candy-sweet mood.

  Remember to enjoy the moment.

  Remove the logs from the oven, cover with a lovely dishtowel and allow them to cool for ten minutes. Meanwhile, reduce oven heat to 275 degrees.

  Carefully move logs to a cutting board, and allow them to rest for another five to ten minutes. Using an electric knife, or a very sharp blade, cut logs into 1 inch thick slices. Lay on their sides on a parchment lined cookie sheet. Bake about 8 to ten minutes more, or until dry. Can drizzle one side with white or dark melted chocolate.

  Cool on rack and enjoy dunked in coffee or tea anytime you need a treat.

  FIFTEEN

  Sex, Lies and a Double-Cross

  “Wait a minute,” Lisa ordered, standing next to the island between us, arms stretched wide. “Somebody’s going to get hurt.”

  We stopped just long enough for me to come to my senses. I was participating in the madness. This had to stop, although the fact that Babe had the ring while the killer was busy planning his next attack on Lisa and me made me want to hurl more than cakes.

  “That’s the point,” Hetty quipped and flung a glop of red preserves, using a huge spoon like a catapult, right at Lisa. She ducked and it landed on the six burner stove behind her.

  Hetty reloaded and flung the glop at Babe. Hetty made contact and grinned her success.

  “She’s full of bunk,” Babe yelled after the red preserves splashed on her now pink hair. “She’s the one who snuffed out Dickey and now she’s trying to pin it on me just because I have that damn ring.”

  She threw a plate of almond biscotti at Hetty. Fortunately, the plate was of the thin plastic variety, so when it crashed into my nose spilling the biscotti all around me, it didn’t hurt . . . much.

  Lisa was up and grabbed at Hetty’s arms. “You ladies have to stop. What about, you can poke an eye out?”

  “Two eyes would be better!” Babe retorted.

  “You’re full of dog doo, Babe,” Hetty yelled. “You know you did it, you little vixen. Admit it before I go for what’s in the walk-in.”

  The walk-in contained anything they may have baked for an event, such as a wedding. I knew for a fact they had two weddings coming up that weekend. The walk-in would be full. This had to end or we’d have the wrath of two bridezillas on our hands, not to mention two mamazillas, who, I was sure, would be much worse.

  I ran for Babe just as she was about to hurl an entire perfectly frosted Snoopy sheet cake, with the words Happy Birthday Sammy emblazoned on Snoopy’s belly in bright red letters.

  “Put Snoopy down and step away from the table,” I ordered in my most commanding voice.

  She poised Snoopy for launch, his little smile looking almost sinister as he bobbed up and down next to Babe’s head. “I will if she’ll admit the truth.”

  “You did it, and that’s the truth,” Hetty said.

  “Whore,” Aunt Babe yelled.

  “Liar,” Aunt Hetty countered, her eyes narrowing to tight little slits.

  I thought I’d go for the heartstrings. “You don’t want to do this. Little Sammy will be so disappointed without his Snoopy cake. He might cry all day.”

  “It’s Sammy Nagossi,” Babe told me.

  “Isn’t he in his nineties?” I asked.

  “Ninety-four. He’s lucky if he knows it’s his birthday,” Hetty quipped.

  “But it’s Snoopy. You can’t fling Snoopy. That’s like a sin or something.”

  “She doesn’t care one hoot about Snoopy or Sammy or anybody,” Hetty protested. “After all these years, I finally figured out that my sister is heartless. The only thing she cared about is her personal vendetta—getting even because the bastard cheated on her with me and Carla. So she pushed that millstone on top of him, pulled off that stupid ring
, and shot Dickey in the head so she could get her revenge. She’s worse than the men in the family. At least they wouldn’t have squashed the prick first.”

  “Like I have the strength for that kind of action,” Aunt Babe shot back. “You’re the doll who can boost a fifty-pound bag of flour over her shoulder. You did it because you still think the son of a bitch killed your precious Carla. DNA proved he didn’t.”

  Babe got a better grip on the cake. Hetty quickly went over to the walk-in and pulled out the top of a perfectly frosted wedding cake.

  That’s when what Babe had just said struck me.

  “Wait,” I yelled turning to Hetty. “Your precious Carla? What does that mean?”

  Lisa said, “It means what you think it means.”

  I turned to Babe. She nodded and shrugged.

  I turned back to Hetty. “You’re a lesbian? Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I—”

  She flung batter at me. “Don’t give me that Seinfeld bunk. In this family there’s a lot wrong with it.” She turned to Aunt Babe. “Now you’ve done it real good. She’s going to blab it to Benny and Ray and pretty soon no one will talk to me. I may as well wear a big red L on my back.”

  Hetty put the wedding cake down, dropped to the floor, sat with a plop right on a smashed pound cake and began to cry.

  Babe carefully placed Snoopy back on the island, pushing broken cakes and globs of cookie dough out of her way then she rushed over to Aunt Hetty, plopping down on the floor next to her.

  “I won’t tell anybody, honest,” I said, but it was too late. Tears gushed as Hetty slid down on the floor in a heap. I’d never seen her cry before, not even at funerals, and believe me, in this family, there were a lot of funerals. I somehow thought she was incapable of any other emotion but contention.

  Lisa glared at me as she walked over. “Nice move.”

  I shrugged. “I had no idea.”

  She leaned in and whispered. “Do you live on another planet or what? I think you’re the only one who hadn’t figured it out years ago.”

  “Then why is she so upset if everybody already knows?”