The Spia Family Presses On

TWENTY

It’s All about the Ambiance

My mom was already seated on the other side of the Plexiglas when I walked into one of several tiny, cream-colored, private visiting rooms of the jail. The rectangular space was brightly lit, with a half-glass door behind me and the same behind her. The walls were constructed out of sturdy cinderblock, and thickly painted in that yellowish white that institutions seem to favor. All in all, it gave off that clean secure effect one comes to grow accustomed to when your last name happens to be Spia.

It was the first time I’d been in this particular institution, and it was far cheerier than say, Folsom, where Uncle Ray had spent a good portion of his life. There was nothing cheery about gray, overcrowded Folsom where Ray hobnobbed with the likes of Charles Manson and other more noteworthy villains.

Mom seemed almost jolly despite her incarceration. It wasn’t the first time she’d been booked and printed. According to what little I remembered this would be number three. Of course, the other two turned out to be misdemeanors, and let’s not forget she was taken in for questioning when my dad disappeared, but getting booked for an actual murder had to be an entirely different experience.

Still, she seemed in good spirits.

She made herself comfortable on the stool, but could barely see over the solid speaker at the bottom of the glass and had to lean forward on her elbows to talk to me. The speaker was controlled somewhere outside of the room.

Mom looked far better than most of my female relatives when I’d seen them behind glass. At least she wasn’t wearing one of those orange jumpsuits. Not in her color pallet. Orange made her ruddy skin glow. The standard issue gray oversized T-shirt with SO CAL JAIL emblazoned on the back in large black letters, and black pants were definitely an improvement over day-glow orange jumpsuits.

“Somebody should do something about the food in this place. It stinks,” she grumbled. “And the coffee tastes burnt. Horrible stuff. But my guard is sweet. I told her if she wore her belt lower on her hips it would make her appear taller, and if she rubbed olive oil into her scalp once a week it would get rid of her dandruff. I don’t think anyone’s ever told her these things because she looked genuinely shocked. It was a life-changing moment for her, I’m sure. She’ll be coming into our tasting room as soon as we’re open again. I offered her a free bottle of oil, but she said she couldn’t take bribes. Not that I had offered a bribe, it was simply a free bottle of oil. Geez, they’re so touchy.”

I didn’t know how to react to this. I thought she would be terrified over her potential fate, but instead she was busy pitching.

When was I ever going to learn that my mom always made the best out of whatever situation she landed in?

“Benny says he’ll get you out of here in time for the card game.”

“Good to know because that bed is a bitch and gave me a backache. I wouldn’t want to sleep on it for too many nights. No wonder some of these people in here are so cranky, everybody’s suffering from lower back pain.”

I didn’t think this was exactly the reason, but who was I to argue with my mom about such things. So far, I was probably the only one in my family who hadn’t slept on a prison bunk, and I intended to keep it that way.

“Mom, I have a couple questions for you.”

She leaned in closer. “I think they monitor these things. Maybe we should wait until I’m sprung.”

“This can’t wait, Mom. I need to know now.”

“Okay, but let’s whisper. It’ll be tougher for anyone to pick up what we’re saying.”

Anything to get her to open up.

I leaned in as close to the window speaker as I could. “Do you know anything about Dickey’s ring?”

“It belongs to your dad.”

I was confused. How did she know this and why was she talking about him as if she knew he was alive?

“Is that true?” I asked.

“Why would I say it if it wasn’t?”

“You’re using present tense when you’re referring to dad. You never did that before.”

“I am? Huh, the things you pick up on.”

“Mom, what does it mean?”

“What does what mean? Mia, we only have a short time. You should at least try to ask questions I can understand.”

I sighed.

“Mom, yesterday I learned that Dad is alive. Did you already know this?”

She leaned in closer, her head bobbing up to see me. “Yes. Isn’t it fabulous? Giuseppe told me after the meeting.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said in a normal voice.

“I would have, but you’re always so busy. I can never get a moment alone with you.”

I narrowed my eyes. If I wasn’t inside a jail I would have screamed. “Mom, we’re alone now, sort of. Tell me everything you know about that ring.”

She let out a frustrated heavy sigh. “Now pay attention, sweetheart, so I don’t have to repeat myself. That ring once belonged to your great-grandfather, who gave it to your grandfather, who then passed it down to your dad. My great-grandfather passed down cuckoo clocks, but your dad’s great-grandfather passed down his ring.”

“There has to be more to it than just a ring that gets passed down through generations.”

“Of course there is, dear. Don’t be so impatient.” She took in a deep breath and continued. “Apparently, your grandfather, Dino, pulled the ring off his finger right before he died on the street in Cosenza from a bullet during a feud with another family. Anyway, both Federico and your dad were there. Federico was just a little boy then, so I don’t think he even understood what was going on. According to your dad, Dino ripped the ring off his finger, handed it to your dad, and made him promise to guard it with his life. Then the old man croaks right there in your dad’s arms, but he has the ring as a keepsake. About fifteen years later, the damn thing gets stolen. Don’t you remember it?”

I tried to think back, and once again I kind of remembered the ring, but not on Dad’s finger. It was on somebody else’s finger, and no matter how I tried, I couldn’t remember who that could have been.

“No,” I told her.

“Well, he didn’t wear it very often. He thought it was bad luck. Both your grandfather and your great-grandfather were killed while they wore that ring. Granted, your great-grandfather was killed in a freak olive picking accident, but he died wearing the ring and your dad couldn’t get past that fact.

“Anyway, like I said, somebody stole it while your dad lived with us, then years later it turned up on Carla’s finger, at least according to Babe, and then on Dickey’s finger. It has a long history. Kind of creepy, if you ask me, especially now that Dickey’s been murdered. Why your dad would want that damn bad luck bauble is beyond me, but he does. That’s why Giuseppe’s here, that, and to kill Dickey if he was reluctant to give it back. There was probably more to it than just the ring. Maybe a vendetta because your dad really thought Dickey killed Carla, but I think Dickey convinced Giuseppe that he didn’t do it.”

“What do you believe?”

“Dickey didn’t kill her. Had no reason to. Somebody set him up, just like the evidence proved.”

“No, I mean about Giuseppe.”

“I know that nice boy didn’t whack Dickey, because if he did, he’d be on a plane back to Italy with the ring instead of hanging around our land. Although, he does make a mean tapenade. Better than Federico’s, but don’t tell Federico I said that. He’d never forgive me.”

Facts were finally taking shape. I was able to understand a few more things about the past. But why would my dad want to kill Dickey for Carla’s murder? What was the connection?

I’d have to come back to that.

“Let’s put that aside for the moment. Were you ever in the barn with Dickey?”

She nodded. “Of course I was,” she whispered so softly I could barely hear her. “We planned it that way.”

“Explain please.”

“He wanted to nab the person who framed him for Carla’s murder. The ring was the bait. He figured that person wouldn’t try anything funny out in the yard, so he put himself in the barn where he could have some privacy.”

“Did he tell you who he was waiting for?”

“Carla’s killer. Try to keep up, dear.”

I sighed. “I mean specifically. I have a hunch who did it and I want to see if Dickey suspected the same person.”

“He told me he had a lot of time to think about the frame-up in prison, and he had crossed everyone off his list except four people. Personally, I think it was that damn Liz Harrington, but she was in a straight jacket in some mental institution when Carla was killed. I know, I checked.”

“Who are the four people?”

“Babe, because he knew she saw them together the morning of Carla’s murder.”

“Babe thinks he never saw her.”

“Yeah, but Jimmy was in the car, too.”

“So, he told Dickey?”

“You betcha.”

“Anybody else?”

“Jimmy.”

“Why him?”

“Because Jimmy can’t be trusted. Plus, Dickey always thought Jimmy was Carla’s secret lover and when he saw her kissing Dickey he went ballistic.”

“Wasn’t she a little old for him?”

“Cougars have been around for awhile, sweetheart.”

Still, I couldn’t picture Jimmy and Carla. Something didn’t quite fit there.

“Who else?”

“Federico, but I think his name came up because the two of them were at odds when they first bought this land and hired Federico to help him. Dickey wanted to grow grapes and Federico wanted olives. They fought long and hard, and some people even speculated that Dickey torched Federico’s restaurant to make his point.”

Federico owned and operated a successful Italian restaurant on Columbus Street in North Beach. It burnt to the ground about two years before Dickey went to prison. If this was true, Federico had motive.

“I thought there was a fire in the kitchen. Hot oil or something. Why didn’t I know about the suspected arson?”

“You were too under the weather to focus, darling.” Another of her terms for my binges. “But Federico was in Texas buying olive trees the night Carla was murdered. I think the cops questioned him. Hell, they questioned everybody who knew her, but he was released. I guess his alibi stuck, at least for the cops. Dickey, not so much.”

“Who else?”

“Me,” she giggled. “Can you imagine?”

I somehow could imagine, even though I knew she didn’t do it. “Why would Dickey think you killed Carla and set him up?”

“Well, Carla was an odd duck, and went around telling everyone that I killed your dad because he had been cheating on me with her, and I buried him in Babe’s garden in San Francisco. Do you remember her garden? It was quite spectacular.”

“Had he been cheating on you with Carla?”

She sighed. “Sorry to say, yes. He did.”

I had to hand it to Carla, the woman really got around.

I knew how vindictive my mom could be, but looking at her now, behind the glass, I seriously doubted she could ever murder someone. Punch out their lights a few times, yes, but murder?

Not likely.

She adjusted herself on the stool and continued. “I could see where Carla might get the idea that the lovely flowers were feeding off a corpse, but at the time I was sure she was lying about their affair, so I didn’t take her accusations seriously. I now know better, but I can’t talk about that here.”

“Why not? It might be information that I can use to clear you.”

“Don’t be silly, sweetie, that’s Benny’s job.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Benny knew less than I did. I still had one more question.

“What about your bracelet under Dickey’s feet?”

She sighed.

“Well, after I gave him my gun, I—”

I had to stop her right there. “You want to tell me why you gave an ex-con mob boss your grandmother’s pearl-handled girly gun?”

“I had to. He couldn’t be messing around with a murderer unarmed. It wasn’t fair. The man just got out of prison and getting access to a weapon can be a real challenge. You lose all your contacts while you’re doing time. I thought I’d be a good cousin and lend him mine. He didn’t want it at first, and we argued, but he finally came ‘round and took it. In hindsight that may not have been a good idea. Dickey must have been woefully out of practice and the killer somehow took it away from him. I imagine there was one hell of a struggle. Dickey was always a scrapper. I mean, how else could that millstone have fallen on top of him? It’s too heavy for anyone to push, don’t you think?”

I nodded at her point, although I wasn’t sure it happened that way.

“Whatever. Okay, so you gave him your gun.”

“Shhhh, you’re much too loud, Mia.”

I leaned in even closer. “So he has your gun, and . . . ?”

“He slips it in his jacket pocket. I give him a kiss on both cheeks and a big hug, careful of the gun, and that’s when I notice my bracelet is missing. We looked around for it, but couldn’t find it. I figured I must have lost it before I came in.” Then, as if a light turned on in her head, she sucked in air and leaned closer. Her face twisted with anger. “Do you think somebody found it out in the yard and planted it under Dickey’s feet? The dirty louse. Trying to set me up? That must be it.” She smacked the glass between us. “Some low down dirty bastard, pond scum of an ungrateful prick, in my own family, tried to set me up. Of all the shit things to do, and after all I’ve done for him.”

“Him? Who’s him?”

“That rotten . . . but he’s the only person who could have done this, dear. He had motive. I should have known better than to ever trust him.” She was talking more to herself than to me. “That two-faced, lying . . . your father always said to be careful of him.” Her face went serious. “Look, this is what you have to do sweetheart, Jimmy’s . . . ”

But I couldn’t hear her anymore. I slapped the window, but no sound came out. The door opened on her side, and a female guard with a low-slung belt helped my mom off the stool.

“Wait. Can we have a couple more minutes? Mom, was it Jimmy? Mom!”

She tried to mouth something, but I couldn’t read her lips very well because she was both talking to me, and saying something to the guard. I made out two names, Jimmy and Federico, but that was all I could catch.

And just like that she was gone.