The Spia Family Presses On

TEN

Looking For Honey Bear

Jade Batista, a twenty-something tour guide on Alcatraz Island—a coincidence, I’m sure—was dressed in black skinny jeans, four-inch black heels, a black thigh-length sweater, accessorized in dangly silver, sat on my sofa sipping tea after she had added two packets of that pink stuff, which she pulled out of her super-sized, black, hobo bag complete with Woodstock fringe.

According to my mom, who’d brought her to my apartment—thank you very much—Jade had arrived about an hour ago looking for her fiancée, Dickey Spia.

“Naturally, when my honey-bear didn’t return my calls I got worried,” Jade told us as she carefully placed the white mug down on the coaster on my coffee table.

“Naturally,” I said feeling a bit woozy from all the excitement.

Lisa also sat on sofa still wearing my oversized baby-blue flannel pajamas with the golden stars and quarter moons, sipping tea like it meant something. My mother sat in the rocker dressed in a deep red granny skirt she kept rolled at her waist and a floral peasant blouse with sleeves that covered her hands, also sipping on a cup of Palm Court tea. Go figure. I was perched on the arm of my sofa, next to Lisa, unable to commit to either sitting or standing, staring at our guest, who looked vaguely familiar in that extended-honorary-family sort of way.

And Dickey’s pinky finger was stashed in the back of my freezer, tucked inside a snack-sized Ziplock.

“What time did you last talk to him?” I asked, still working on that timeline for Dickey’s murder.

“I guess it was about seven-ish because that’s when the hybrid ferry docks to take some of us back to the city. I work for National Parks and Recreation and my shift ends at six-thirty, but the ferry doesn’t arrive until about seven. Anyway, that’s when I make all my phone calls or Twitter or text my friends. While I’m waiting for the ferry. One of my friends, Monica, wouldn’t stop talking, ya know? She’s like that, always talking even when she doesn’t have anything to say, ya know? Don’t you hate that?”

I nodded.

She continued without prompting. “That’s why I didn’t call Dickey until I got on the ferry. But we talked all the way in.”

“And how long did that take?”

“The usual time, fifteen minutes. I didn’t want to get off the phone with him, but he said he had to go because somebody wanted to talk to him. Then the phone cut out. I tried to call him back ‘cause I thought it was my phone, sometimes it does that, ya know? But when I called him he didn’t answer.”

“Did he ever pick up again?”

But I already knew the answer to that one.

She shook her head. “No. Isn’t that weird? I mean, I had no choice but to come looking for him. Right? He coulda been dead on the road or something, ya know? But when I pulled in by that barn building, like Benny told me to, and saw Dickey’s black SUV was still here, I was relieved that he wasn’t dead, ya know? Or lying in some hospital hurt and lonely for his baby-girl. That’s what he calls me, his baby girl ‘cause I’m so much younger than him. Not that it matters when you’re in love. Age doesn’t mean a damn thing when you’re in love, ya know?”

We nodded in unison.

“Anyway, where is he? I mean, I know how much my honey-bear has looked forward to sleeping in. They don’t get to do that in prison, what with all the noise. Plus, the guards wake ‘em early for breakfast.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s getting close to lunchtime. He likes that meal and probably won’t want to miss it. You think he’s still sleeping?”

We nodded again, like bobbing heads on a spring.

“Well, I don’t want to wake him, but—” she paused, placing her bent index finger up to her glossy pink lips, tapping, as if she was thinking of something. It was the first time I noticed the rather large pink rock on her ring finger, no doubt an engagement ring from Dickey. An engagement ring that was worth more money than an ex-con should be able to put together in the short time he’d been a free man, but I was digressing.

Jade’s blond hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail. Large silver hoops hung from her earlobes. “Maybe if you guys don’t mind, you can tell me where he is and I can surprise him. He might like that.”

“Sure,” my mother agreed, and before I could stop her, she was standing. “I put all his things in one of my upstairs bedrooms.”

Mom had me completely stymied. I couldn’t figure out what the woman was thinking. Either she had no clue that Dickey was actually dead, or she was simply playing some sort of elaborate game with Jade. Either way, from the look on Jade’s innocent face, Mom had her wrapped around her finger.

Jade smiled and stood to follow my mom’s lead to the door.

“He told me not to wake him, no matter what,” I blurted out for no other reason than to stall my mom’s departure.

“Yeah,” Lisa said. “I heard him. He looked exhausted when he said it.”

“Dead tired,” I added.

Okay, I knew that was over the top, macabre even, but I was desperate to stall her. Not that stalling her had much benefit in the long run, but I was hoping something might pop into my head that could somehow resolve this situation.

“That’s all right. I’m sure he won’t mind if I wake him,” Jade said, looking all vampy, running a hand down her full, round body. “He likes when I wake him up. I have my own special way of doing it, if you know what I mean,” she cooed as her voice trailed off.

“I bet you do, but Mia’s right,” Lisa said. “He was really tired last night, what with all the family stuff going on. Plus, he drank a lot of wine.”

“Yeah, a lot of wine. He’s probably going to have a mean hangover. It won’t be pleasant,” I added.

But Jade couldn’t be stopped. She had reached my front door, had the door open and was on her way to find her “honey-bear.”

“I’ve got just the thing for that,” she announced, all smiley faced. “Oral sex. It works every time. Something about their blood rushing down there that does it. It works for girls, too, but not as well. I never could figure that one out, but it sure does start your morning with a bang, ya know?”

She snickered.

That stopped me cold. In all my years of hangovers, and I’d had more than my share, I never thought about sex, much less oral sex as a cure. It was difficult enough just to open my eyes in the morning. If ever I drank again, which was looking more like a possibility, I’d have to try the oral sex cure.

Leo had that category covered.

My mother’s eyes fluttered about a hundred times. She turned a bright crimson, a sure sign she was desperately trying to gain composure and appear somewhat cool. Whenever someone other than Aunt Babe said anything even remotely sexual, Mom went into some kind of temporary meltdown. I didn’t exactly know why it never seemed to bother her when Aunt Babe started a sexual innuendo kick, but whenever anyone else did, she fell into an immediate tailspin.

Happily, it only lasted a couple minutes, if that.

“By the way, darling,” my mom said, speaking directly to me. “The clasp must have broken on my charm bracelet last night because I can’t find the darn thing anywhere. I really shouldn’t have worn it, but Dickey gave it to me for my birthday right before all the trouble started, and I knew he’d be tickled if he saw I was still wearing it. Which he was, but sometime during the night it must have fallen off. I’ve looked everywhere, but I can’t seem to find it. Do you think you might try? I feel awful about losing it.”

I walked over to my closet, and slipped it out of the pocket I’d shoved it into the previous night. “Is this it?” I asked holding the incriminating bracelet in the palm of my hand.

“You found it!” Her face lit up. “But where, sweetheart?”

“In the barn, under . . . something.”

I saw the flash of recognition in her eyes. But as quickly as it appeared it vanished and a cool smile shadowed her eyes. I knew that smile. It was forever present whenever we both knew there was avoidance circling around us.

“Thank you, dear. You have no idea what this means to me.”

“Actually, I think I do.”

We hugged briefly and she slipped out the door with Jade in tow. I suddenly had the sick feeling that my mom wasn’t completely innocent, but how much she knew, and how involved she may or may not be was now the burning question.

I could hear her chatting up a storm with Jade about Dickey, the orchard and the benefits of olive oil. I wondered if like Goldilocks, Jade would have a rude awakening when she crawled in Dickey’s bed, or if my mom had already figured out an exit strategy. Either way, Jade was not going away until she found her “honey-bear.”

I closed the door and Lisa said, “You realize you just handed over vital evidence? And don’t tell me your mom’s totally innocent of this. I saw that look she gave you. That woman knows something.”

“Yeah, but what?”

“If you weren’t my best friend, I’d start walking and never look back. Are you sure we can’t leave for Maui tonight?”

“Not a good idea, especially since the killer thinks we have his precious ring. We may never make it to the airport.”

“Scare me more, why don’t you,” Lisa said.

“I think my family hid the body and the quest for the ring is something only one of them wants. A body has to be easier to find than a ring. If we find the body then the killer can’t blackmail us.”

“Okay, we concentrate on finding the body.”

But I still wasn’t sure. “But what do we do with it once we find it? How do we explain everything to Nick and not send everybody to prison, us included?”

I poured myself another cup of tea.

“I told you, I can take care of Nick.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. He’s all cop, and even you can’t change that.”

“But it’ll be a lot of fun trying.”

She beamed confidence.

“Okay, so we’re back on the trail of a missing body.”

“For now, that’s the plan,” she said.

“Good, ‘cause that part about how nobody will miss one less mobster, I think Jade Batista just became Ms Nobody.”

Thirty minutes later, dressed in hiking boots, jeans, and a long-sleeved, cream sweater, I was standing in my mother’s kitchen grilling Uncle Benny about the missing body. I hadn’t thrown in the part about the finger yet, or the missing ring bit. I guess I was saving that morsel of information for later when I was completely desperate. At the moment I was trying for somewhat optimistic, even with Jade’s appearance.

Benny sat at the table, drinking coffee out of an oversized pink mug with red hearts. He wore his threadbare picking clothes, complete with a Panama straw hat that had seen better days. Lisa was in my shower, and Jade was off somewhere with Aunt Babe who was probably trying to convince her to help pick olives. Everyone was recruited when it came time to harvest: relatives, friends, several day laborers who were familiar with hand-harvesting olives, and of course, a neighbor or two who had their own personal harvest to tend to and would be in need of help in the coming weeks.

We were currently picking our koroneiki olives in their young, deep green stage. This usually took a couple weeks of harvesting. Federico would oversee the first crush. We didn’t like our fruit to sit more than twenty-four to forty-eight hours, mold could set in. We’d store the oil for blending later with other more mature olives, like the mission or pendolino, depending on the label he and Mom wanted. The high content of polyphenols not only produced a higher level of antioxidants, but it also made for a longer shelf life, not to mention that distinctive grassy flavor with a peppery finish.

“Just tell me what you did with the body and I’ll take care of the rest,” I said, trying to sound as if I knew what “the rest” was going to be, because in truth, I didn’t have a clue.

“I am telling you, I am just as puzzled as you are,” he said while chewing on his cigar.

As it turned out, when Jade and my mom discovered that Dickey wasn’t in his room, and his SUV had gone missing Jade decided to wait for Dickey’s return.

How long could this family keep up the hoax?

“Oh, give it up. You expect me to believe you didn’t bury him somewhere? Like under the old olive tree next to the barn? That Jimmy and Ray didn’t help you?”

“I swear on my father’s grave, I have no idea what happened to that body. I am glad it is gone, but I did not move it.”

“Swearing on your father’s grave doesn’t work. The man tried to have your mother killed. You hate your father.”

“That is beside the point, Mia. I do not denigrate the dead.”

“I’d feel better if you swore on your mother’s grave.”

His face went hard. “That, I cannot do. She was a saint, may she rest in peace.” He softened, made the sign of the cross and looked toward the ceiling or heaven in his case. “I make it a point never to use my dear mother when I am swearing. Swearing in front of my mother is not something I would ever have done.”

“You’re not swearing, like in saying a dirty word, you’re taking an oath that you’re telling the truth. You, of all people know the difference.”

He smirked. “You can take it or leave it. It does not matter a lick to me. I have olives to pick, and so do you.” He drank down more coffee.

Mom’s kitchen still smelled sweet from all the cookies. Some of my favorites were piled on plates on her counter, covered in plastic wrap. A few of them were calling to me, but I didn’t want the distraction at the moment.

“I don’t have time to pick today. There’s a killer loose on the ranch and I have to round him up.”

I was suddenly feeling as though I were in a Clint Eastwood movie.

“Do not joke about this. It can be dangerous for you.”

“Is that a threat?”

He shook his head. “It is a warning.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, but in the meantime, what about that document I fetched for Mom yesterday? The one that turned all this land back over to Dickey if he was ever proven innocent of the murder of Carla DeCarlo? That document alone is motive enough to send the whole lot of you to prison for Dickey’s murder. I can’t believe you let her sign that.”

He pulled out a fancy gold lighter and lit his cigar; puffing several times to get it going.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” he said as smoke swirled around his head, the fragrance sweet and musky at the same time. My dad used to smoke that same cigar. I loved the smell, and it usually worked like a salve on me.

But not today.

“Oh please. Your name is on that document as one of the witnesses.” I thought I’d remind him just in case he overlooked that minor detail.

He slid the long fat stogy out of his mouth, blew out a plume of smoke and said, “I think you are mistaken. I would have never agreed to anything like that.”

I stared at him for a moment then decided to get the paperwork. I went to my mom’s room, walked in past her bed to the jewelry armoire and opened the drawer, which triggered the music as I grabbed the paperwork, then I shut the drawer, the music thankfully stopped and I turned to walk back out, but stopped at the sight of black men’s pants dangling from the hook behind Mom’s door. Pants that had tobacco stuck to the pocket.

Benny’s pants.

When I caught the brown men’s slippers sticking out from under the bed I cringed.

Mom was sleeping with Uncle Benny? How long had that been going on that he was comfortable enough to bring over his own slippers?

I didn’t want to think about it. This was all getting way too weird. How could I have not noticed the two of them had a thing for each other? I mean, I knew Mom had an unusual fascination with Benny, but this was more than just a fascination. Slippers bordered on commitment. Even Leo had never kept his slippers under my bed. Hell, I didn’t actually know if Leo owned a pair of slippers, probably one of our many commitment issues.

I walked back into the kitchen, just as Uncle Benny was up pouring himself another cup of coffee from the glass decanter on the counter. A large round crystal ashtray sitting on the table held his burning cigar. He slowly added cream and sugar to his pink cup.

“Here,” I tossed the papers on the table. “The last page might refresh your memory.”

He walked back to the table, sat down on his chair, flipped through the document, read the last page and slid the document toward me. “Like I said, I do not know what you are talking about.”

He blew on his coffee and slurped up a drink.

I picked up the papers going directly for the incriminating page, but it wasn’t there. I flipped through the rest of the pages, nothing.

It simply disappeared.

Of course it did.

“I should have known better. You took it, didn’t you?” He merely stared at me. “There will be copies of it, you know. The courthouse will have one.”

“You can check, but if it never existed, then it will not be there, will it?”

“What about the notary, Peter Doyle? He’ll have a copy.”

He turned to me. His black hair greased straight back, face smooth from a recent shave, but heavily lined from years of criminal stress. These older Made Men had the same set of lined foreheads, and deep creases cutting along the sides of their nose to their mouths. Their notorious lives showed on their faces, just as my years of binge drinking and smoking still lingered around my eyes and mouth. Those tell-tale lines, always visible, like stigmata, and there was absolutely nothing any of us could do about it.

I took in a deep breath and realized he smelled of my mother’s cherry-blossom shower gel.

“This is a matter of little importance, Mia,” he said with a forced smile while peering over the top of his glasses. “You were mistaken. The document never existed.”

There comes a time when a person has to take a step back from the notes to hear the melody. Poetic, but you get the picture.

I couldn’t get anywhere with Uncle Benny, but then Uncle Benny was a lawyer. If anyone knew how to make documents and bodies disappear, he did. It was like questioning a priest about something that was said in a confessional.

Impossible.

Benny knew the importance of keeping secrets, and I sure wasn’t the person who could penetrate that code of silence therefore I decided to take on a new course of action.

I left my mom’s house and headed back to my apartment to report to Lisa, but found her dressed in my clothes cleaning out her car for any leftover oil residue. I gave her a quick rundown of what happened with Benny and the missing document, then I headed off to do some investigative work.

Not that I knew the first thing about investigative work, but I’d seen enough TV shows to be able to fake it. Of course, my family was more into the Jack Bauer method of interrogation, but I didn’t think I had the stomach for it, so I’d stick to the more direct tactics of some of the CSI heroes. One of my interrogations had to be with Aunt Hetty. I wanted to know what she meant when she said “she was done with the devil.” And why were her eyes moist when she turned away from Dickey? I could only hope she would be more forthcoming than Uncle Benny.

But first I needed to check out the soil near the old olive tree next to the barn. I mean, after all, this family might very well have buried Dickey under that tree just like Ray suggested. At this point, I wouldn’t put anything past them.

I came upon the old gnarled tree with mixed feelings. On the one hand, if I found evidence that Dickey was buried there, what would I do? Would I actually call the police? What if someone had set up my mom again? Would I have to unearth the body to check it out first and then bury him again?

Way too much effort.

Fortunately, on closer inspection the earth around the tree was packed solid. Tall grass and weeds lined the ground, providing absolutely no evidence of any activity near this hundred-year-old specimen. I was glad for that. It would have been almost sacrilegious to bury a murdered mob boss under this tree.

This olive tree, with its ripening mission olives, dated back to the time the Mission San Francisco Solano was built on First and Spain Streets in the village of Sonoma in the eighteen twenties. The Mission was the last one in the chain of California Missions. The first one was down in San Diego. Every time I passed this old olive tree I thought of its history. Father Jose Altimira was responsible for the construction of the final mission, which had a sordid past. If I had my history straight, at one point the buildings were sold to a man named Schocken, who built a saloon in front of the chapel. Eventually, the place was restored with the help of the Women’s Club and became a state park in nineteen twenty-seven.

I had no idea how this tree ended up here, so far away from the Mission, or why, but for me it was as if the tree stood as a symbol for more than a hundred years, just waiting for somebody to get a clue and cultivate the land around it into an olive grove.

Unfortunately for this magnificent tree, with its twisted limbs and silvery leaves, it was my family.

On the way over to Dolci Piccoli, I walked through our new store, a long room painted a soothing green. Two of the walls were lined with dark wooden shelves that held our various oils in smoky glass bottles with gold embossed labels, our balsamic vinegars, a few imported labels that we knew to be pure, imported Italian olive oil candles of all sizes and shapes, soaps, lotions and some hand-painted ceramics Mom found in Spain.

Three round tables held displays of various sized wooden spoons and spatulas, vibrant table linens, books, and more pottery. We also sold various posters with an olive theme and a few novels that featured olives in their plot. We were everything olive, and it seemed to be working well for us.

The room was crowded with customers and my mom was busy handing out samples of our oils in tiny white plastic cups, demonstrating the correct way to taste oil. She stood at the wooden bar, which we kept stocked with our best sellers. If sipping oil out of a cup wasn’t to your liking, we provided small chunks of bread for dipping.

Valerie, Uncle Ray’s wife, was also handing out samples, as Audrey, their nineteen-year-old daughter who helped out two days a week to earn extra spending money while she attended culinary school, busied herself with a tall male customer at the register.

The new tasting room was my baby, and soon we’d combine it with a small restaurant on the north side of the building. We would attract more tourists and locals if we also offered food. Of course, if I didn’t resolve Dickey’s murder soon, the whole place could come tumbling down around us.

I wanted to ask Valerie a few questions before I went on to talk to Aunt Hetty. I waited for her to finish demonstrating how to taste oil. Val was particularly loud when she sucked back the oil through her clenched teeth, and always drew curious stares from the customers around her. Mom loved her for it.

“Our beautiful oils take on many different characteristics as they travel down your throat. They can be a little grassy, fruity or peppery. Sometimes they even taste like chocolate or green apples,” Val said. She had several people captivated.

She poured a bit of the oil into her mouth. A few of the customers did the same. Then she sucked it back through clenched teeth, making her distinctive loud sucking noise. Everyone followed her lead. Two of the people, a man and a short stocky woman, instantly began coughing, while the rest seemed to enjoy the experience.

“I’m tasting our Artisan Blend, a smooth front body, with grassy, green apple tones, and a slightly bitter finish. There’s a hint of a peppery undertone, but not like the Seviano that our two coughing friends experienced.”

She smiled.

They smiled.

“I love it,” the coughing man said once he had control of his burning throat. “I’ll take a case!”

That got a burst of laughter out of the group.

The peppery fire they were experiencing was a result of the oil hitting the mucous membranes near the esophagus, and if you weren’t used to that feeling it could be a bit daunting.

Apparently, the coughing man delighted in it.

When Val finished her demo, and everyone was doing their own tasting, she turned to me, grinning. Val had one of those toothy grins that showed her gums, and made her slightly hooked nose prominent. Despite her gums and nose, Valerie was a handsome woman who loved hats. Today was no exception. She wore a black, wide-rimmed straw number with a lime green strip of cloth encircling it that matched her dress and heels.

“What’cha want, kid? I’m busy here,” she said low enough so only I could hear.

“This will only take a few minutes. Can we step outside for a few minutes?”

She leaned in closer, and whispered. “If this is about last night, I got nothin’ to say, and either do you. You should be happy the louse disappeared. He can’t bring nothin’ but trouble to this family.”

And with that she went back to her customers.

So far this was not going like any TV show where the witnesses voluntarily offered up information without much coercion. I thought I might have to get a little tougher.

I caught up with her and tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled around and flashed me the evil eye. I instinctively flashed one back, admittedly, not a true evil eye, but one that got her attention.

Again, she excused herself. This time I walked with her behind the counter, for a bit of privacy.

“You get one question, kid, so make it a good one,” she hissed through a phony smile.

I thought about this for a moment. If I knew Val, she hated violence against women more than anything. “Who would have the most to gain if my mother went to jail for Dickey’s murder?”

She blanched. Was it a sign she had nothing to do with the frame-up or did she blanch because she knew something? My gut told me this was news, and now she would be a more willing snitch.

“Is that what this is all about, kid? Somebody tried to frame your mom? Again?”

“What do you mean, again?”

“Don’t you remember? You’re mom was a suspect when your dad disappeared. Them cops sniffed around her for a long time, even tapped her phone.”

“But I always thought the phone tap had to do with everybody else.”

“You was young, probably why you don’t remember the facts so good. And now somebody set her up for wastin’ Dickey? Sporco Diavolo.”

I didn’t want to tell her any of the details just yet, so I didn’t answer, but I knew she could read me. Val could always read me. It was as if she had a window into my head.

She shook her head, and let out a couple sarcastic little guffaws. “Ain’t nothin’ changed? Ain’t nobody sacred in this family?” She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the room. Then, satisfied with what she saw, she whispered, “Look for the person who maybe’s got a f*cked up past with your mom, might have the most to gain or was scared of Dickey’s return ‘cause Dickey knew that person set him up for Carla’s murder. If that’s the case, then your mom, unfortunately, was the easy scapegoat. That’s all I’m gonna say on the subject, kid. But, my advice? Like Paul McCartney says, Let it be. Dickey screwed me over with my first husband and he’s the reason why I got this here scar to remind me of them two every day. Dickey got what he had comin’.” She started to turn away, but something else was on her mind. “Oh, and one more thing. Get that Jade girl outta here. Never know what could happen if she hangs around too long. She’s trouble. Past trouble, if you know what I mean. But you didn’t hear any of this from me.”

With that she sashayed back to her customers.

My head raced with information. What did she mean that Jade was “past trouble?” This was the first time I’d heard about her, and I thought the first time for everyone. But once again, the family was hiding something from me.

And what was she talking about that my mom had been a suspect for my missing father? How could that possibly have happened? Did my mom know what happened to my dad but neglected to tell me?

The possibility was too disturbing to dwell on, so I told myself I’d deal with it later. One disappearance at a time, and right now, Dickey’s was on the top of my list.

I hadn’t really focused in on the fact that Jade could be a threat to the killer, but Val knew what this family was capable of better than I did. She was privy to the monthly secret meetings, and I wasn’t. Not that I couldn’t attend, I simply never thought they were something I needed to hear, until now.

The next meeting started at nine, and this time I intended to be there.