The Spia Family Presses On

ELEVEN

The Kill Zone

Dolci Picolli sat at the end of a row of storefronts down the red brick path. Wine-colored mums bloomed from clay pots along the path and in front of most of the shops. Young olive trees lined the pavement with their slender leaves gently dancing in the wind, showing off their soft white underbellies. A few of the clay pots were filled with more traditional autumn colors of burnt orange or yellow mums, giving everything that wonderful fall glow.

My mom had said Aunt Babe was showing Jade around. She’d be safe with Aunt Babe . . . at least I hoped so.

The narrow path was dotted with shoppers meandering in and out of the stores, carrying bags announcing Spia’s Olive Press and the individual store name or logo. As I walked, thinking that not only was I suddenly desperate for a dozen Amaretto cookies (baked goods made with alcohol were my one allowable indulgence), but I hadn’t really eaten in over twenty-four hours. Murder was a great hunger suppresser.

When I walked into the Dolci Piccoli, Aunt Hetty was behind the large glass baker’s case helping a couple customers, an older man and an attractive woman with shiny gray shoulder length hair. They were speaking Italian with Hetty, who lapped it up. She loved to revert back to Italian whenever she had the chance. When she and Babe were growing up, their immigrant parents only spoke Italian to their children. Both she and Babe were fluent in the language. Me? I was third generation, and knew a few sentences, a mixture of good swear words and gestures, and could, if pressed, pick out a few words in a conversation.

From what I could make out, which wasn’t much, they were either talking about blow fish in the mountains, or Jordan almonds at a wedding. I was going with the Jordan almonds. They were a safer bet under the circumstances.

The top of the counter held several glass displays of cookies and biscotti. A large slate board hanging on the wall behind the counter announced today’s special: Two dozen cookies for the price of one.

Apparently, Aunt Hetty was trying to get rid of all the excess cookies from Dickey’s party. Usually, the relatives scooped up the excess food after one of these events, but when my mom yelled cop, leftovers was not something that took high priority, even for Zia Yolanda.

The bright yellow walls of the bakery gave the place a happy, light ambiance, and white floor tile with little yellow squares at the corners reflected that happy tone. A padded, red-checkered bench ran across the far wall, with square tables and chairs in front of it. Artwork hung on the walls depicting Italian baked goods and older Italian women pulling bread or trays of cookies out of rustic ovens.

Jade sat at one of only four small round tables in front of the floor to ceiling windows. Aunt Babe was nowhere in sight, but it didn’t matter because Nick Zeleski seemed to be a pretty good replacement. I didn’t know if I was happy to see him, or scared to death.

“Mia,” he yelled out. “Come join us.” And he pulled up a white chair from the empty table next to them.

I needed those cookies, bad.

Before I could get up to the counter to place my order, Aunt Hetty already had a dozen Amaretto cookies sitting on a plate waiting for me. “You want tea or coffee with these?” she asked, stone faced.

“A shot of brandy would be perfect, but short of that, Irish Breakfast tea, please,” I told her.

“I’ll bring it over.”

I nodded, took my plate of cookies, inhaled three of them before I arrived at the table, smiled at both Jade and Nick and sat across from Jade, right next to Nick.

Then I ate another cookie, this time I totally could taste the sweet Amaretto and a satisfied sensation momentarily washed over me.

Then Nick spoke. “Well, this is a nice coincidence.”

Satisfaction was replaced with apprehension.

I nodded, too busy eating cookies to actually speak.

“Isn’t this great?” Jade announced. “Nick’s been looking for Dickey, too. I told him about our phone call last night, and about your mom and me just missing him this morning. Nick thinks Dickey went off to town or something. We’re waiting for him to get back. In the meantime, I’ve been telling Nick all about my honey-bear.” She turned to Nick. “I didn’t ask how you know Dickey.” She leaned in closer. “Were you an inmate with him in prison? ‘Cause he told me he made a lot of friends while he was in there.” She turned to me. “He was a cook, ya know? For the inmates. Wrote a cookbook with all his recipes. I’m going to help him get it published. My brother-in-law is a literary agent in New York.” She turned back to Nick. “Were you his cellmate or something?”

I bit into another cookie and gazed over at Nick, waiting for his answer.

“Not exactly,” he mumbled.

“Oh, now I get it. She leaned in closer and whispered. I leaned in closer and listened. “You’re a friend from his Mafia days, aren’t you?”

I sat back, smirked and watched Nick’s face get all serious. “I’m with the Sheriff’s Department,” he told her. “I’d simply like to talk to Dickey.” He turned to me. “But that seems to be a bit of a problem.”

I swallowed, not wanting to say anything that might incriminate me later when and if the body ever did turn up. “I need more cookies. Can I get either of you anything?”

I stood.

Jade seemed to be in shock. She stopped talking. Nick was all smiles. “Yes, I’ll take an éclair, they look great.”

When I arrived at the counter with my empty plate, Aunt Babe was standing down at the other end, alone. I walked over to her. “Honey, you need to lose the cop and the dame.” She still had that Barbara Stanwyck thing going on.

“Want to give me a clue how I should do that? Where’s Dickey’s SUV?”

“Don’t fret, doll. Uncle Ray moved it.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense. Wouldn’t want the SUV sitting around attracting attention.” I sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a rush of frustration. “This is getting completely out of control. We’re diving in deeper and deeper. This is how to end up in jail, you know. I don’t think I’ll like jail. The jumpsuits are really unattractive.”

“I baked an Amaretto cake this morning. How about I cut you a big chunk?”

I narrowed my eyes at her, sort of an evil eye kind of thing.

“You getting a headache, doll?” she asked.

Apparently, I wasn’t very good at the evil eye thing.

“I’m thinking I should just tell Nick about the murder.”

“And what are you going to tell him happened to the body?”

“I don’t know. He’s the detective, maybe he can tell me what happened to it.”

“It won’t be pretty. This whole place’ll get locked down for days. We’ll all be suspects, and who knows what they’ll dig up. Don’t forget he’s got your mom’s gun.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Nothing escapes your Aunt Babe.”

She pulled out six more Amaretto cookies, added a rather large slice of Amaretto cake and placed everything on a large white plate. “Is this enough, or should I bring over the whole cake?”

“I’ll let you know.” I grabbed the goodie plate. “Nick would like an éclair.”

She slid open the glass door on the counter, pulled out an éclair, placed it on a larger dish, and added a cream puff and a cream filled horn. “These are for Jade. The dame already ate two puffs, but from the look on the doll’s puss, she’s gonna want more.”

“When was the last time you saw Dickey, alive?” I whispered.

“Now’s not the time to be asking questions. I might have something to tell ya, but lose the heat first.”

She patted the bottom waves on her hair, turned slightly and asked the middle-aged woman who had walked up next to me if she could help her. I thought about asking Aunt Hetty a few questions, but with Nick and Jade in the same room, I knew she would be even more uncooperative than Aunt Babe.

I turned and headed back to the table carrying the plates of goodies. My pot of tea had arrived along with a white mug. As I walked toward them I knew I had to figure out a way to get rid of them, if only for a little while.

“Is that for me?” Jade asked when I returned to the table.

“Yes,” I told her, and she grabbed the cream puff before I could put the plate down. I placed the éclair in front of Nick.

“Thanks,” he said. “What do I owe you?”

“On the house,” I answered.

He took a bite, custard oozed out the bottom and splattered on his plate. I thought it was too bad it didn’t land on his pants. He’d have to leave to change if it fell on his pants. Nothing stains like lemon custard, well, except maybe thirty liters of olive oil, but that was last night’s fiasco. I’d have to think of something else for today.

Nick calmly finished off his éclair while I finished off the Amaretto cake in three bites and washed it down with the entire pot of hot tea. This was getting scary. I didn’t know who in my family had killed Dickey nor did I know who wanted that ring, but the entire incident was enough to make me crave a good solid binge.

I had to get more aggressive with my interrogations if I was going to remain sober and figure out this murder game, or I was destined, at the very least, to become an Amaretto addict.

Jade’s phone made a growl. “It’s my honey-bear!” she trilled. “He’s calling me. That’s his ring.”

I tried to remain calm as I threw Nick a “see, everything’s okay,” kind of look, but I could tell he was skeptical, while I was curious about the caller.

At first, Jade couldn’t find her phone in her oversized Coach tote. Then by some miracle of female determination, she came up with a pink Blackberry. She put the phone up to her ear and cooed, “Hi honey-bear, where are you?”

Both Nick and I were intent on the call. He pretended to be interested in the cream-filled horn still on his plate, while I pretended to be fascinated in the pot of mums on the other side of the window.

“Ah-huh. Yes. Sure. But are you okay? You don’t—”

She listened, head down, staring at the table. “Right away, sweetie. Okay. Love you.”

She disconnected.

“I’ve got to go,” she told us, grabbing her bag and standing, a concerned, rushed look on her face.

“Is something wrong?” I asked her.

“No. I don’t think so. I just need to go.”

“Go where?” Nick asked.

“Someplace,” she said. “I, I can’t tell you. Just someplace.”

Nick’s phone rang.

“Excuse me,” Nick said, pulling out his cell and greeting the person on the line with a, “Nick Zeleski.”

Jade turned to me, whispering, “What’s the fastest way to Glen Ellen? I have a GPS in my car, but sometimes it doesn’t tell me the best route.”

“Is that where you’re going to meet Dickey?”

She leaned in closer. “Yes, but I’m not supposed to tell Nick. Somehow Dickey found out he was hanging around here and he told me not to say anything to him about where I was going.”

A little warning flag sprung up in my head as she gathered her things, placed a five spot on the table and stood.

“Where in Glen Ellen?” I stood with her.

“Jack London Saloon. He gave me the street it’s on, London Ranch Road, but no actual address. Do you know where it is?”

I couldn’t let her go alone. “I’ll take you.”

She looked hesitant. “I don’t know if I should. He specifically told me to come alone. That he had a big surprise waiting for me. I couldn’t hear him too well. Our connection was bad. He said he was coming down with laryngitis, so he could only whisper.”

“I bet,” I said.

“Why? Was my honey-bear sick last night?”

“Deadly. I better take you just in case he needs to see a doctor. I know exactly where to find the closest Urgent Care.”

At least this part was true. I’d been to the one in Rohnert Park on several occasions. Mostly brought there by other people who thought I was going to die from all the alcohol I’d consumed.

“Okay, but if he gets mad at me you’ll have to tell him this was your idea, not mine, ya know?”

“Got it covered,” I said.

Nick joined us at the door. “I have something I have to do. I’ll catch up with you later.” And he hurried out.

Ten minutes later, Jade, Lisa and I were in Lisa’s now somewhat oil-free BMW driving up Highway 12 on our way to Glen Ellen. The black leather seats gleamed, and even with the open windows the car still had that lovely musky olive oil scent.

Yet another use for our oils.

Regrettably, not everyone in the car was enjoying the musky moment. Lisa seemed content enough, but Jade still wore a scowl. She had tried to argue away Lisa’s joining us, but there was no way to win an argument with Lisa once she set her mind to something. Besides, her car was much more comfortable than my pickup.

The drive from Spia’s Olive Press to London Ranch Road usually took about twenty minutes in light traffic. I knew this because Jack London Saloon had been my bar of choice since I turned twenty-one. They made a mean Sex with an Alligator. No skimping on the ingredients. The bartenders poured a generous shot of Midori into a shaker along with sweet and sour and ice. They shook that up and poured the chilled mixture into a cold martini glass, and added a float each of Chambord and Jagermeister. I could usually do three or four of these along with several shots of tequila in one night. That was on a good night when I didn’t want to get too drunk.

The taste and sensation of it swirled around in my memory as we drove closer to Glen Ellen. I didn’t like going anywhere near the saloon and usually stayed as far away from it as possible, but there was no way I could let Jade go alone. Way too dangerous for her. I was going for the safety-in-numbers routine.

Besides, I needed to see for myself who had made the phone call. I figured it had to be either the killer, or an accomplice. After all, it took a lot of muscle power to move that millstone, even if the killer used our forklift; it still took a lot of effort.

Of course, I didn’t know exactly what I would do once I cornered the killer, but I figured Lisa would know what to do when the time came for physical action.

Lisa and Jade sat in the front chatting about Alcatraz Island and the Al Capone years, while I sat in the back alone with my thoughts. I wasn’t paying attention to their conversation, too busy going over the list of possible suspects, Uncle Benny taking slot number one because of that codicil. He especially had motive now that he was sleeping with my mom, a vision I didn’t want to dwell on. The one problem to that scenario was her setup. Why would Benny set up the woman he was sleeping with? That made no sense. Still, did anything ever make sense with these Wise Guys?

Cousin Jimmy stood at number two because he still followed orders, and would have no problem with slicing and dicing Dickey then spreading him around. I’d heard stories about Jimmy, and although he was never indicted for murder, I suspected he was a good little enforcer to the rest of his crew. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had been the Dickey impersonator on the other end of Jade’s call.

Uncle Ray came to mind next because of Val’s hatred for Dickey; Ray could easily shoot Dickey to avenge his wife. Valerie was a powerful force and for all of Ray’s bravado, Val was the master of that household.

Then there was always Hetty and Babe, two women who truly had motive and opportunity.

And I couldn’t rule out Maryann just because of her peculiar accordion connection with Dickey. Who knew what secrets that woman could be hiding?

My head was spinning with various compare scenarios when I felt a slight smack on our back bumper.

“What the hell?” I said as Lisa swerved toward the ditch on the passenger side of the road.

“I got it,” she croaked then sped up. She pressed a button on the car door and her seat automatically adjusted, along with the steering wheel, and side mirrors. I wondered if this feature came standard.

Lisa sat up straight, locked each hand on either side of the wheel then gazed in the rearview mirror. “Prepare for evasive action,” she ordered, voice laden with authority.

“Evasive action?” I didn’t know if she was kidding or completely serious.

“Yes. When you’re being pursued while in a car do not allow the pursuer to gain the upper hand. Be prepared to take evasive defensive action. This is a contest of both wills and skills.”

I tightened my seat belt.

Apparently, she’d already written this section of her book.

I really needed to catch up.

“Shouldn’t we just, like, stop?” Jade spluttered, leaning forward in her seat. “Share information? Ya know, call the police? Do all those accident things?”

“Not a chance. That guy’s been tailing us ever since we left the orchard. I think we’ve got something personal going on.”

I turned to grab a better look. “This is so not good.” A black Tundra was gaining on us.

“But who . . . are you sure?” Jade asked.

“Positive. My radar’s been up for the last ten minutes, but I didn’t want to alarm you guys. He fits all the criteria for a road warrior: no plates, smoky windows, aggressive driving and I can’t shake him. This bad dude is nothing I can’t handle.” Lisa focused on the street and cars ahead of her. “I’ve been through the Bob Bondurant Tac Mob course. I know exactly what to do to avoid the kill zone. This fool is messing with the wrong chick.”

“The kill zone?” I asked.

“Any place your attacker tries to trap you,” Lisa calmly said.

“Anyone you know?” I asked Jade, not wanting to think it might be the killer giving us yet another warning. Or was this warning meant specifically for Jade? After all, Lisa and I had already gotten the finger . . . so to speak.

Jade twisted around and stared at the Tundra, then shook her head. “No. Like, I don’t think so, but I can’t see his face too well. And nobody I know would hit our car like that, or wear those awful shades. Those are, like, so last year.”

I turned and caught the double-C logo for Chanel on the sides of his shades. What guy would wear big Chanel glasses with a cowboy hat? And didn’t he have a mustache?

Something very odd was up with this bumper dude, but I didn’t have time to think about it because Jade was still talking. “This is so not cool. I mean some of my friends are crazy, but not this crazy, ya know? Besides, I didn’t tell anybody I was coming to Sonoma. It was a spur of the moment kind of decision. I’m supposed to be at work today.”

“Can’t this thing go any faster? He’s going to hit us again.” I said, bracing for the next impact. The Tundra couldn’t have been more than two feet from our back bumper. I glanced back trying to make out the face, but the window was too dark and the sunglasses too big.

It suddenly occurred to me that maybe I’d been seeing a lot of this Tundra lately. Who the hell owned it and why were they following me?

“Traffic’s too heavy. Prepare for impact,” Lisa yelled.

The second bump was harder and threw us into oncoming traffic. Lisa swung the wheel to the left and managed to somehow avoid the other cars. My blood thrummed through my veins as I braced my hands on the back of the front seat. Probably not the best idea, but what did I know of car chases and evasive defensive action.

Suddenly we were driving on the opposite shoulder, which wasn’t wide enough. Dirt and gravel flew up alongside of us. Horns blared, Jade screamed, I held on while Lisa remained totally focused on her driving.

“Everybody hang on,” Lisa warned as she maneuvered the car over ditches and gravel. We were fast approaching the end of said shoulder, and a deep drop-off loomed before us. Jade’s eyes went wide. I put my head down, closed my eyes, and held my breath, hoping for the best. All I could think of in those few seconds of terror was how I couldn’t die yet. I needed to have sex with Leo one more time.

Adrenalin rushed through my veins. The car lurched back onto the tarmac, and lost traction for a moment. My stomach spun and I had that sick falling feeling. When I looked up we were headed straight for a tour bus.

I couldn’t help myself. The yell just seemed to happen without my being conscious of actually making a sound. Jade’s frantic voice mixed with mine and we were a chorus of panic.

“You son of a bitch,” Lisa roared as she swung the car out of harm’s way. The bus driver laid on his horn, but kept right on going.

I swear we missed the bus by inches.

Once we crossed back over to our own lane, we were directly behind the black Tundra. The driver immediately hit the brakes causing his backend to fishtail. Lisa veered onto the shoulder to avoid hitting him, drove down the embankment onto a dirt service road passing rows of grapevines and the Tundra.

Luckily, the service road forked and she made a sharp right onto a dirt feeder road that led into the orchard. We were going so fast we took out some vines along the way, but the good news was the Tundra was no longer following us, and the airbags didn’t deploy. By the time we came to a complete stop we had managed to take out almost an entire row of vines.

Then there was silence—street silence—but our car still made little pinging and ticking noises as if it had been just as scared as we were and needed a moment to calm down.

One by one we slowly exited the car and sat down in a row, next to the fallen vines. The car was cloaked in a thick layer of dirt, leaves and scattered vine limbs. We were no different. Dirt caked in the corners of my mouth, my eyes and I could feel it tickling my nose. I spit out torn leaves and pulled a twig out of my ear. Lisa was in worse shape. The leaves had managed to cling to her hair in such a way that she no longer had actual hair, giving her that coveted mythical goddess look.

Jade was totally covered in dirt and twigs.

We looked like children of the grapevines.

That’s when I started laughing, really laughing. That kind of nervous laughter that makes your eyes water, your cheeks ache and your belly hurt. Soon Lisa stepped back, took a look at me and let it rip. We were hysterical.

Jade didn’t get it. Didn’t get the fact that we had almost died, but because of Lisa’s determination we were still taking in air.

After a few minutes, Jade said, “Holy shit! And I thought driving in the city was bad. Does this happen, like, all the time? I mean, I’m glad you were driving, ‘cause I would have been dead a long time ago, ya know? Look at me.” She held out her hands. “I’m shaking.”

“Believe me, you’re not the only one,” I told her, rubbing my arms. Then the three of us held onto each other for a long time.

“Is everybody all right?” Lisa asked when she finally pulled away.

Jade nodded.

“I think so,” I said. That’s when I noticed the blood on Lisa’s shirt, actually it was my white shirt, but that was beside the point. “You’re bleeding.”

I visually checked her over, while she quickly ran her hands down her body.

“Nothing’s broken. I seem fine,” she said. “Except for this.”

Blood oozed from a nasty gash on her thumb. I instantly knew where this was headed from all those scraped knees she had as a kid. Lisa had a stomach like a rock when it came to other people’s blood. It was her own blood she could never handle.

I ran over and caught her just as she passed out in my arms.





The big lesson of life, baby, is never be scared of anyone or anything.

Fear is the enemy of logic.—Frank Sinatra