The Spia Family Presses On

SEVENTEEN

Who’s Gaming Who?

Nine o’clock that same night, after all the pickers and guests had gone home, my two aunts and I pulled into the parking lot of Cougar’s Bar and Restaurant on Arnold Road where the third annual Martini Madness Ball, not to be confused with the Martini Madness competition that was held sometime in January, was in full swing. This event was a sort of prelim to the competition and a more formal affair, though the drinks were still poured in those baby plasticware martini glasses somebody designed to keep everyone fairly sober, and still able to taste an assortment of concoctions.

Personally, I never found that “fairly sober” concept even remotely possible.

Leo had phoned me earlier to let me know that he and Nick would be late. Like at this point I even wanted to see Nick ever again. The man was a problem, and if I didn’t figure out who the killer was soon, Spia’s Olive Press would be a fond memory. For each day we were closed down, we collectively lost approximately thirty thousand dollars between the income of the shops, our olive oil store, electricity, upkeep and countless other things. We just couldn’t sustain that loss for very long. I had to figure this thing out, and fast. Too many lives depended on it.

Lisa, true to her code, was glammed up in two shades of gold, ready for a night of some serious partying. No doubt she’d found the designer dress she wore at My Roommate’s Closet on Filmore Street in San Francisco, her favorite boutique, and one that I no longer could afford. Even Lisa’s hospital-issued sling was adorned with gold bling, courtesy of her mom who collected jewelry like coastal kids collect sea shells. I guessed her brother, Henry, had driven her in, and was probably already inside sampling martinis, when I arrived with my mom, Aunt Hetty and Aunt Babe.

We took my mom’s car, a sporty new white Mercedes C350, which she barely drove, but had to own because she thought it made her look taller when she stood next to it. Something about its “squat little body” . . . the car’s body, not my mom’s.

The combination of three competing perfumes was enough to force me to keep the sunroof popped open even though Babe complained that the breeze was mussing up her hair. I knew my mom liked to pour it on heavy when she went out, but I had no idea my aunts had the same bad habit. Between the three of them the car reeked, but none of them seemed to notice.

Hetty was all atwitter in the back seat, hardly able to sit still. She never missed a martini event, even though she technically didn’t drink—which made sense to me now that I’d heard her declaration at the MA meeting. She went for the olives—the vodka or gin soaked olives, and by the end of the evening, after she’d pilfered olives from anyone who would give them to her, Hetty would be completely shitfaced.

The last time I attended one of these, at a location I had no memory of, I made an absolute ass out of myself with Leo, yelling at him for something I never could later remember, and ended up passed out in the ladies room while sitting on the toilet after I’d vomited up my guts. Not my best moment. My mom retrieved me after Leo called her, took me home to her house, and I’ve never left.

I was so hoping this wouldn’t be a repeat performance.

My mom, Hetty and Babe were in a hurry to get inside and couldn’t wait for me to park. “Just let us out by the front door, darling,” my mom ordered, her hand resting on the back of my seat. I glanced back in the rearview mirror and caught that she was wearing the Elvis charm bracelet. But hadn’t she said the clasp was broken? I never checked.

Another lie?

Mom continued, “I hate to have to walk through parking lots. They’re way too dark. I might fall and break a hip or something.”

I knew she was exaggerating her frailty, her last bone scan ranked her up in the bones of steel category, but I did as I was told and looked for a spot to pull over.

Mom hated to miss even a minute of the ball and we were already a half-hour late. She liked to be the first to taste some of the more exotic martinis, then chat them up with whoever would listen as if she was the expert. Afterward, as soon as she arrived home she’d write commentary about them on her blog, if she wasn’t too wasted. Of course, it was the olive factor that dominated all observations. Mom believed that without the venerable olive, there would be no martini.

I pulled up in front, and stopped. The three women were out of the car before I could slide the gear into park.

“See you inside,” Mom said, as she exited the car. Of course, before she took off for the party, she had to linger up next to her car, especially since bank-teller Liz Harrington, a woman my mom disliked ever since she confessed she didn’t care for the taste of olive oil and only used Canola oil, was pacing the front of the restaurant.

Aunt Babe, however, clearly didn’t care about anything or anyone and made a beeline for the open front door, tossing her vintage gray fox stole around her bare shoulders as she swung her hips in total siren fashion. She and Hetty hadn’t exchanged two words since I picked them up. I could tell they’d been fighting, but had decided to be civil to each other for the sake of the martini.

Of course, Aunt Babe had insisted on sitting in the front seat, and this time Hetty didn’t argue about taking the back, even though she usually got car sick, which didn’t seem to bother her on the drive over tonight. I wondered if that was simply another of her tall tales so she would always get the passenger seat.

Funny how a good murder could clear the air in this family.

“That woman gives me a rash,” Mom said, referring to Liz, and not Babe. “Why is she here, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?” I said.

“Now why would I want to do that? The woman eats Canola oil. Who eats oil that isn’t even a food? There’s no such thing as a canola. It’s just something those tricky Canadians mixed up out of rape seed ‘cause they had too many plants. Did you know that pure rape seed oil will kill you? Even insects won’t eat the rape weed because it’s so poisonous, but them tricky Canadians found a way to make it pass poison standards and now they tout it as a wonder oil. Yeah, it’s a wonder all right . . . a wonder why people eat that crap when they could be eating something good for them, like olive oil. Its name should be a clue: rape. That’s what those Canadians are doing, raping everybody out of their health.”

“Mom, I thought you discussed this with your shrink. Canola oil is an entire industry. You’re one person. You can’t do anything about it. Just try to have a good time tonight and stop obsessing over the Canadians.”

“How can I when I have to stare at that damn Liz Harrington?” She leaned in and whispered. “I bet she’s Canadian.”

“Even if she is, that doesn’t make her evil.”

“No, but it makes her stupid for believing in their oil.”

“Mom. Surrender. You can’t save everyone.”

She sighed. “Such a burden I have to carry.” She slammed the door shut.

But she wasn’t quite finished with me. “Be careful where you park my car. I don’t want any dings in my doors, or any rocks flying up and nicking the paint. And don’t, under any circumstances, park in that dirt lot next to the paved one. Benny parked there last week and ended up with a nail in his tire. He was lucky it didn’t go flat before he left. The place is full of all kinds of pokey things. Try to park on the end of a row or, better still take up two spaces. That’s the best.”

“Will do,” I said.

I found that in these types of situations it was best to simply agree with her then do whatever worked. It saved a lot of time.

Satisfied that I would heed her warnings, she finally smiled and walked off toward the open door.

Aunt Hetty hung around my window waiting to give me a last minute fashion critique, no doubt. I knew this because periodically Hetty noticed what I wore or how I looked. I didn’t know why, exactly, I just knew when the onslaught was about to begin and tried to brace myself as best I could.

I sat up straight and smiled out at her completely prepared for the commentary.

“Is that hairdo some kinda new style?” she asked completely serious. I had tucked my wet hair in an oversized clip on the top of my head. Admittedly, it wasn’t my best look, but who was she to criticize?

“No. I just didn’t get the time to—”

“What?” She leaned in closer, trying to hear over the roar of passing cars.

“I’ll fix it inside,” I shouted. “My hair. I’ll comb it inside.”

“You don’t have to get nasty about it.” She unfolded herself and stood up.

“I’m not. I mean—”

“You’re darn tootin’ you’re mean. Huh!” And she flounced off to join my mom and Aunt Babe, no doubt telling them what a nasty person I was.

Granted, Hetty was right about my hair, I’d been too distraught to think about hair after my shower, and I hadn’t been able to face the mirror, so no makeup. However, the dress was fairly new, and the red heels were still somewhat trendy. That should have counted for something.

The woman clearly had a bad attitude.

I drove off thinking how I had reached an all time low in fashion and tried to figure out what that meant to my future as a diva while I circled the paved lot searching for a parking spot. After ten frustrating minutes, I entered the dreaded dirt parking lot, which also seemed full. The lighting was almost nonexistent, but despite the lack of illumination I spotted a tight open space between an old blue Chevy pickup and a suspiciously familiar-looking black Tundra, sans plates, parked at an angle.

“What are the odds?” I said aloud, as I pulled my mom’s car into the space mere inches away from the blue Chevy.

I could only hope the Chevy didn’t have a passenger who would ding my mom’s door or there would be hell to pay in the morning.

I slithered out, and immediately streaked tan dirt on my dress from the mud encrusted Chevy. When I threw my black shawl around my shoulders thinking it would cover the stain, it snagged something on the truck’s side mirror, and as I gently pulled the shawl toward me the sharp something naturally ripped a huge hole in the black mesh.

Okay, it didn’t matter. It was dark in the bar. No one would notice. I wrapped the now badly torn shawl around my shoulders so the rip was hidden, kind of, and I told myself the mud smear was hardly visible.

I was doing fine as I made my way around my mom’s car to check out the Tundra until I realized that my open-toed heels were sinking into the dirt and with each step I could now feel the grit between my bare toes.

Telling myself this was a naive move, that if the local Sheriffs couldn’t find the Tundra after Jade gave them a detailed description, the odds of me running into it out in a parking lot were a million-to-one. The driver probably had it stashed away in some secret garage or was busy getting a new paint job down in Mexico.

I couldn’t see inside without pulling myself up on the running board, which was no easy task in heels when the door was still closed, but I somehow managed, using the side mirror for support.

And there on the front seat, in the glow of possibly the worst imitation of a street light in all of Sonoma, sat the million-to-one cowboy hat and Chanel shades.

Our road warrior was hiding in plain sight, and now all I had to do was pick him out of a couple hundred people at the ball. Which shouldn’t be too difficult, considering not many of my family members attended this shindig.

Headlights from another car hit the side mirror I was holding on to and startled me. I let go of the mirror, lost my footing, bounced off my mom’s car right behind me, slid down into the black dust, and some poky thing bit me right in the ass.



“You look like hell, sweetie,” Lisa said, as I hobbled up to the front door of Cougar’s. A wide grin spread across her perfectly made-up face.

My ass was aching, my shoulder still felt tight, my dress was essentially ruined, my red shoes were now the color of mud, and a fine layer of dirt had totally covered every inch of bare skin. Olive oil was great for dry skin, but not so great if you didn’t wipe off the excess. Everything clung to it, especially dirt.

Despite all of this, I was feeling somewhat optimistic that I could correct all of my cosmetic challenges with a quick stop in the ladies room.

“Yeah, but I found the black Tundra in the parking lot.”

“Get out.”

I nodded. “I parked right next to it.”

“We should call Nick right now and tell him.”

“Not yet,” I said. “I want to look around a little and narrow down the pool of suspects. If we call Nick and he picks up this guy, it’ll throw off our search for the killer. Let’s just see who might be inside.”

She gave me the once over. “But what if Mr. Tundra leaves? Maybe we should go out there right now and watch his truck. Do a little surveillance. I took a course on it a couple summers ago. I know just what to do, how to hide, where to locate your car in front of someone’s house. It’s fun, especially when you catch the bad guy doing something stupid.”

“Trust me. Mr. Tundra won’t be leaving any time soon. He wouldn’t take the chance of pulling that thing out on the road without having some kind of game in mind. I think he’ll stay put for awhile, at least until he does what he came to do.”

“And what might that be?”

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t involve body parts or hand guns.”

“Okay, I won’t call Nick . . . yet, but what’s up with the limp?”

“I sat on something sharp.”

“You need a shot.”

“One won’t be enough. For or five might be better.”

“Not that kind of shot.”

“Oh, you mean like a tetanus shot? That’s no fun. I already had one of those last year when I scratched my arm on a rusty metal rake out in the orchard. I was hoping for a shot of something a bartender might pour, tequila preferably.”

I opened the front door of Cougar’s.

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Lisa warned. “After the raid on your apartment, and now seeing the Tundra in the parking lot, you seem a little vulnerable.”

I turned to her and pasted on one of my mom’s phony smiles. She didn’t know the half of all that had happened today. “Moi? I’m a rock. All I need is a little soap and water and I’m as good as new.”

“Okay, but no shots.”

“Nothing but sparkling water, babe. We’ve got a killer to catch.”

I washed up in the ladies room as best I could, checked out my ass for a cut, which thankfully there wasn’t one, only a red mark, and popped a pain killer to ease all my body aches. Lisa applied a bit of her makeup to my now squeaky clean face. I re-clipped my hair in a more suitable fashion, brushed off my dress with some damp paper towels, brushed off my shoes, and fifteen minutes later as we made our way to the bar in the middle of the room, I was somewhat presentable, at least in the dark.

The place was noisy, and crowded, just the way I remembered it. The music was too loud, and the room smelled like a mixture of perspiration and booze.

I loved it.

I hadn’t been inside a bar of any kind in over two years, and with good reason. I could feel my resolve flowing out of me as we walked. All I needed was for one more thing to go wrong, and it was all over.

“On second thought, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. My resolve is waning,” I told her.

“We can go if you want, sweetie. We don’t have to stay. I’ll call Nick, tell him about the Tundra and—”

That was exactly what I needed to hear. “I’m feeling much better, besides I want to see Leo. I have an apology to make.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you apologize to Leo? Isn’t that game played the other way around?”

“Not this time.”

“I won’t ask, but whatever you need to do just let me know.” She led the way through the thick crowd, toward the glow emanating from the center of the room, which could only be the bar. I’d heard about it, but had never seen it before due to my two-year self-imposed bar restriction. Now, I was anxious to finally get to see it. My ass was better, so the limp was essentially gone and I was feeling a bit spunky as we walked closer to the bar.

On our way, we passed Jimmy yucking it up with Uncle Federico. I immediately thought it was odd that Jimmy would be there considering it was a Friday night and the man had his own bar to run in San Francisco. He never liked to stray too far from his “baby” on the weekends; at least he never did until tonight.

He nodded his recognition. I nodded back. Ships passing, or better still, warships passing in the night.

I wondered if the Tundra belonged to Jimmy, but immediately thought better of it. I mean, why he would he take the chance and drive the Tundra in from the city when he owned a perfectly fine BMW Roadster?

It just didn’t add up.

I was busy arguing with myself when turned to take another look and spotted her standing next to him, holding his hand, whispering something in his ear. Jade, Dickey’s Jade was hanging onto Jimmy, wearing a black, radically short, spandex dress, and strappy four-inch heels, your average borderline hooker attire. She sported long bangs, presumably to cover up that forehead bump. When she finally spotted me she gave me a slow finger wave, Dickey’s engagement ring prominently displayed.

I felt like a deer in the headlights, unable to move. What happened to that frightened girl sneaking home on a tour bus?

Lisa stopped walking and turned to me. “Isn’t that Jade?”

“None other,” I answered.

“What the hell is she doing here, and with Jimmy no less?”

I had a bad feeling about this as my mind raced to come up with some sort of reasonable answer.

“Picking up her car, perhaps?”

Lisa threw me a sarcastic look. “That chick and Jimmy were gaming us, big time.”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it? The girl seems to have a thing for older guys.”

“What happened to that Jay-Jay guy she was rushing home to see?”

“Jay-Jay was Jimmy’s childhood name. I never thought he—”

“So who the hell is this chick? And what’s her story? And if she and Dickey were pretending to be engaged, was Jimmy in on it all along? And why didn’t she show up at the freedom party? Was she telling you the truth about Dickey going off without her?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. She seemed genuinely concerned over Dickey’s disappearance, but with this family it’s all about who’s gaming who, and right now I’d say Jade has the upper hand and she’s flaunting it.”

“Let’s go over there and talk to that girl. I have a few hundred questions,” Lisa said. She looked angry and I knew if we confronted Jade now while she was flanked by Jimmy and Federico we wouldn’t get the truth.

I pulled Lisa back. “Let’s hold off for now and I’ll try to get her alone, later.”

We stood there gawking at the loving couple. Jimmy intently listening to everything Federico had to say, while Jade held onto Jimmy’s hand looking bored with the conversation.

“You’re not getting anyone alone later. Wherever you go tonight, I’m right behind you. Especially when it comes to Jimmy. I don’t trust that dude. Besides, Mr. Tundra is lurking around here somewhere. Neither one of us should be alone tonight. Maybe we should hang with my brother. He drove me in.”

I’d guessed right. “Your brother’s here?”

“Yeah, but he’s probably already itching to leave. He gets bored at these things pretty quickly. He never was one for the bar scene.”

“The exact reason why I never dated him. Maybe I ought to reconsider now that I’m sober.”

“Too late. He’s engaged. Spring wedding. I’m a bridesmaid.”

I had no idea. “We really need to keep in touch.”

“The phone works both ways,” Lisa countered.

“I’ll try to remember that when you don’t return my phone calls for weeks at a time.”

She winced. “Guilty, but I was under a deadline and . . . that’s no excuse. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, promise.”

“It’s because of my drinking. I know how much you hated it. But I’m sober now and I intend to stay that way.” I didn’t want to tell her I was tempted every other minute, especially after the day I had and more especially in this place. “Now, where’s that damn bar I’ve heard so much about?”

Lisa giggled. “Follow me.”

She took my hand and she weaved us through the crowd, the glowing colored lights getting more intense as we neared the bar itself. Soon the gyrating horde parted and there in front of us stood my nirvana, the famed square bar at Cougar’s. I swear angels sang and I could hear harps playing. I stood in awe of the miracle that was all things alcohol.

She pulled me forward, saying something about empty seats, but I couldn’t really hear her over the angels’ sweet hymn. . . or it could have been Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody vibrating the room from the surround sound speakers, but at that moment I wasn’t entirely sure.

We settled on our stools at the altar—or bar—depending on your point of view. Lucky for my sore ass, the stools were thickly padded.

The actual bar was a huge square with some kind of a clear resin top that glowed with colored lights that slowly faded into each other. The center of the square held all the booze in a tiered arrangement with coordinated lighting emanating from the center, like some gigantic mood ring that cycled between calm blue and intense red every few minutes. The ever-so-eager-to-please bartenders, about eight of them, six amazingly sexy looking men and two chic women, were dressed entirely in black, resembling disciples of a religious cult.

It felt as if I was bellied up to a liquor shrine and any moment we would begin praying to the God of all things fermented.

My mind raced. My palms were moist. My heart thrummed against my ribs. This was my nirvana, only I couldn’t partake. That right there had to be some kind of sacrilege. But I was sure the God of fermentation would forgive me if I offered up a sacrifice.

I turned to Lisa. “Don’t mind me. Go ahead and drink till you drop.”

She crinkled her forehead. “Are you all right? You look a little pink.”

“It’s the lighting.”

She tilted her head, narrowed her eyes and stared at me. “Maybe we should go.”

“And leave all this?” I opened my arms wide, embracing the glorious moment. Queen’s Mamma Mia, Mamma Mia reverberated through me.

“You’re scaring me.”

I took hold of my emotions, allowing the song to wash over me and sat up straight, breathing in the smells of all that was sacred. “You’re simply reacting to the intense red colors. Look, we’re blue now.”

And we were. Calm, mellow blue.

She gave me a skeptical look, but then settled on her barstool, while I let out a long slow breath. Of course it was difficult when Queen kept reminding me of murder and mayhem.

Will not let me go . . . for me . . . for me.

I took in another deep breath, but the music just kept pounding its way into my brain.

Then the words nothing really matters ended the song and I was suddenly okay. Better now. Blue helped. Green was also a calming color. I could handle my emotions with green.

Red and gold, not so much.

Abruptly. some repetitive beat blasted its way through the building, no words, no real melody, just a pulsating sound.

But I felt much better, wondering now if Bohemian Rhapsody had merely been something I imagined. I considered asking Lisa if she’d heard it, but then thought she might think I’d gone off the deep end for sure.

Instead, I focused on the edge of the bar, closest to the bartenders. It was lined with those baby martini glasses prepped and ready to be filled with any variety of concoction. A few of them were rimmed with tiny chopped black olives, while Mary’s Pizza Shack served up a bite of pizza on a stick, along with an Asiago cheese stuffed olive. Saddles Steakhouse served up an olive that was coconut battered, stuffed with Jack cheese then deep fried. I knew all this because of the info cards set out in front of the rows of glasses.

Lisa chose a simple cucumber-wrapped olive in her glass.

“Can I see the olive?” I asked.

“Knock yourself out.” She handed me the glass with the speared olive.

At once I knew it was a Picholine olive from France because of the pinched, elongated ends and the brownish-green color flesh.

“This is one of our olives,” I told her. “It’s a mild tasting olive with a slightly nutty taste. When we press it for oil, it has a nice anis finish. A good choice.”

One of the bartenders stopped in front of us. His eyes sparkled and his grin said, I like what I see. “How are you girls tonight?”

I liked that he called us “girls.”

“Better now that you’re here,” Lisa teased.

His grin grew wider. He gazed down at Lisa’s mini glass. “Wise choice. A version of this martini, an Apertini, won the competition a couple years back. It was created by the mixoloigist from the girl & the fig restaurant.

“Perfect,” Lisa said. “But I want the grandé size, please.” And she slid the tiny glass back to join its companions.

He looked my way, showing off his pearly whites.

“Club soda with three olives, please,” I told him.

He didn’t flinch. I liked that in a bartender, non-responsive to my non-alcoholic request.

In less than five minutes he returned with our drinks, and was on to the next believer.

“So, tell me why haven’t you been answering your phone today? I’ve been trying to get you for hours,” I said, while readjusting my position on the barstool.

She set her glittery gold bag down on the bar and leaned forward. Her eye-makeup all smoky and her lips a shiny pink, hair partially up, with long curls caressing her bare shoulders. A bronze colored scarf served as a wrap. She looked positively gorgeous next to my positively like-hell.

“Apparently, iPhones don’t work too well after an olive oil bath. It worked yesterday morning, but it hasn’t worked all day today, only I was too tired to realize it. I guess the oil finally seeped in where no oil has gone before. I should’ve gotten another phone this afternoon, but I couldn’t get out of bed. I really needed that sleep, but I’m charged up now, and ready for anything.” She gave me the once over. “Well, almost anything. So exactly what horrible thing happened today and how can I avoid getting involved?”

“You can’t. What I’m going to tell you is going to rock your world.”

“That’s impossible. My world hasn’t stopped moving ever since I first saw those brown shoes sticking out from under that millstone.”

“Well hold on tight, because my dad is alive.” Just saying it out loud caused my eyes to water.

“Get out! Are you sure?”

I nodded, unable to actually say anything that would make sense.

“Oh sweetie! This is fantastic news.” She leaned across our stools and gave me a hug. “And it couldn’t come at a better time. Everything else stinks, but your dad is alive. Where is he? Is he coming here?”

She pulled away and I grimaced.

She said, “Wait. Why am I getting the idea this is not the good news we were hoping for?”

“Because, my dear old missing dad just happens to be some big mob boss, possibly the boss of all bosses in Italy. And, here comes the best part, according to Giuseppe, who has moved into my mom’s house by the way, my dad’s the one who put the hit out on Dickey. Apparently, Giuseppe was sent here to get that ring. I figure that’s what he and Dickey were arguing about on Leo’s porch when I saw them the other day. Dickey wouldn’t give it up, so Giuseppe was supposed to whack Dickey and take it, but somebody got to Dickey before Giuseppe could do the deed.”

Lisa leaned back, looking confused. “And you believe this Soprano knock-off because . . . ?”

“Because he has no reason to lie to me, and it was the way he told me. As if we were sharing a secret that could get us both in deep shit.”

“Does Babe still have the ring?” she whispered.

“No. I have it hanging around my neck under my dress.”

She gazed down at my chest, but the dress was loose-fitting. No way could anyone tell there was a man’s ring dangling between my breasts.

“Are you nuts walking around with that thing? It’s like a ticking bomb. From what you’re telling me, Giuseppe still wants it, and if he was willing to whack Dickey, won’t he be willing to do the same to you? Okay, so maybe he won’t whack the bosses’ daughter, but he can cause you a lot of pain. Then there’s Dickey’s killer who turned your apartment upside down last night looking for it, and took back Dickey’s pinky. This person is serious, honey. Take that thing off and give it to somebody. I don’t care who, but get it away from your body.”

“And just who am I giving it to? Giuseppe or the killer? Either way, we’re all screwed, especially my mom.”

“This is getting way out of control. Just sitting here with you is dangerous.”

“I don’t know what else to do with it.”

“Throw it in a futso.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll work.”

She swirled the olives in her glass. “Did Giuseppe happen to mention why your dad wants that ring? Is it worth more than we think? What’s the big attraction?”

I shrugged. “He couldn’t answer those questions. It’s not something one of the crew can ask the boss when he sends them out to do a piece of work. Besides, I was way too stunned by the whole your dad is alive thing, to think straight.”

“Wow! Your dad’s alive.”

I watched as she took several sips of her martini. A pang of envy tore through me.

“Wait, there’s more to this. Nick and his team of rather exceptionally well dressed detectives, who look way too Italian, closed down our business this afternoon while they were busy dusting for clues. I have no idea what they found, but they took a bunch of stuff with them when they left.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell her about Peter Doyle’s demise just yet. It might put her over the edge.

Lisa chewed on her top lip. A sure sign the next thing that came out of her mouth was guilt. “Mia, you should know they already know it’s Dickey’s blood on the millstone.”

My calm meter jumped up a notch. I shook my head. She didn’t know what she was talking about. “It’s too soon. They couldn’t possibly know already.”

“I spoke to Nick. He shouldn’t have told me, but—”

“I can’t get a hold of you, but Nick can? How does that work?”

“I called him, but I had to. I needed to know if he was driving into the city to pick me up, or if I should catch a ride here.”

I stood, angry that my best friend wouldn’t bother to call me when she learned that this evidence could potentially shut us down for good.

“And you didn’t call me, because?”

“Because I just learned about this right before I left and I figured it would be better if I told you in person.”

I folded my arms. “You should have called me. I would have never come to this thing. I would have stayed home and . . . and done something. Maybe I would have found Dickey. He’s got to be there, the vultures are circling.”

An eyebrow went up. “And then what? What would you do if you found him? Especially after today. Like you’d call Nick. That’s why I didn’t tell you on the phone. I think we should tell Nick what’s going on when he gets here. What we know. What we saw. That the Tundra is parked in the parking lot— hopefully it’s still there—and that potentially the killer is in this very room. Never hide anything suspicious from the authorities. Eventually they will find out you were involved and this will only cause more problems for you. It’s best to—”

“Stop quoting yourself! Do you even know how annoying you are? Like I’m going to tell Nick anything in a bar? This isn’t your game. It’s mine, and so far all I have is a hunch that whoever is doing this is out to destroy my mom, me and Spia’s Olive Press. It’s more to the killer than just getting that ring. This person wants total destruction. And as of this afternoon that person is succeeding.”

Lisa reached out for me, but I pulled back, eyeing her drink. Then in one quick move, I picked up her full glass.

“No. Don’t.”

But it was too late. I fished out the olive, popped the damn thing in my mouth, chewed and swallowed. At once a sense of calm came over me.

Fortunately, it was pitted.

“Thanks. I needed that.” I slammed the glass down, hard, splashing the mind-altering elixir all over the bar. It took every ounce of my inner fortitude not to bend over and lap it up.

Such a waste!

“Now,” I said, as the bar color changed to an intense red—which sent my blood surging through my veins—and I pulled the clip out of my hair, freeing it to fall around my shoulders, “to hell with Dickey’s murder. He’s ruining everything, even our friendship. So I say again, to hell with Dickey! Right now the only thing I need is a man. Where the hell is Leo? I need some heavy-duty quality mattress time, and I want it right now!”

I slapped the red bar.