The Spia Family Presses On

TWENTY-ONE

That’s What Friends Are For

I left the jail and headed straight to San Francisco feeling somewhat confidant now that Jimmy was the killer, and my mom was trying to tell me to get Federico’s help. In order to prove it, though, I needed to bait him with the ring, and trap the little psychopath at his own game. This time I felt certain I was on the right track. My mom practically told me it was Jimmy. Besides, there was no one else left with opportunity and motive.

I wished we could have talked for five more minutes. Damn prison rules. Just when I started getting some real information out of my mom, they shut off the audio and took her away.

I was thinking like some sort of prison babe, those women who visit the inmates all glammed up and complain they don’t get enough time with their lover who just happens to be in there for some horrendous crime.

Like murder.

I took a deep breath and tried to relax the tension that was building in my neck.

All paths led to Jimmy, and he was just scummy enough to do it all. I had to find a way to trap the little shit and perhaps with Federico’s help, I could do just that. I didn’t exactly know how I would accomplish this act of daring, but I had one thing in my favor: Jimmy liked to brag, especially in front of women. Maybe I could get him to spill something if good ole, double-crossing Jade was there. Especially if I showed off Dickey’s ring. I’d pick the right time, maybe when Lisa arrived, and pull the damn thing out. His reaction alone would probably be all I’d need to bring in Nick, who I intended to call as soon as I was sure. No family meeting needed for this one. The man was pond scum.

It was almost five o’clock now and my stomach begged for food. I stopped at a Starbuck’s and picked up a large hot tea with plenty of milk and honey, bought the most decadent pastry they had, a cranberry scone with icing, had them warm it and applied three squares of butter. I figured I would need all the fat I could get to settle my chronically aching stomach. Having to deal with Jimmy would only make it worse.

I ended up eating two entire scones and topped them off with another hot tea for good measure.

I was loaded for bear and ready to take on anything Jimmy could throw at me when I parked around back of his bar, La Bella, in a private tight parking area that I only knew about because Lisa and I had used it as a shortcut to get to school when we were kids. It had recently rained giving the cement street, walls and buildings a brown glow. The rain would curb our picking abilities, which meant the olives would hang on the trees longer. But at the moment, that was Federico’s headache, not mine.

A damp chill sent a shiver deep into my bones, and I was wishing I’d worn a coat when I spotted Jimmy’s BMW parked in tight between a foul smelling open Dumpster and the back of the building that housed both Jimmy’s bar and his upstairs apartment.

My stomach did a couple swirls as I stepped out of my pickup and headed to the back door of the building. The musky scent of damp city filled the air as I crept around his car and headed for the back door.

I phoned Lisa.

The call went directly to voicemail. I hoped she would actually listen to the message this time. “I’m at Jimmy’s bar. I know I’m on the right track. My mom pointed me in his direction and told me to get Federico’s help, which I did. Jimmy’s here. His car is parked out back. Get here quick. Federico should already be here, although I don’t see any sign of his Nissan, but I have a feeling we’ll be needing your kind of backup support. Okay, girlfriend, I’m going in.”

I snapped my phone shut, slipped it into my pants pocket along with my keys and walked up to the back door, leaving my purse behind in my locked truck. I didn’t need any extra baggage. This could get ugly.

The door was unlocked and I slipped in hoping no one would be around so I could check out Jimmy’s office before I went up to his apartment. I was hoping to find some hard evidence that might link him to Dickey’s murder, like perhaps Dickey’s pinky finger hidden in a desk drawer or a filing cabinet, but I knew I was being too optimistic.

His office was a large room a few steps from the back door, and handy for me, there was no one around. I could hear voices coming from the kitchen area, so I figured I had to snoop fast.

The office contained a bank of filing cabinets, a large wooden desk, a round table with two chairs, and a brown leather sofa, complete with a decorative pillow and a blanket. I could only imagine what happened on that piece of furniture.

I opened drawers, fished through files, even searched a junk drawer on his desk. As it turned out, Jimmy was a neat freak, and everything was in perfect order, including his junk drawer which contained three Bic lighters of various colors, several packs of gum, Orbit, various sizes of Post-Its, an unopened pack of cigarettes, Winstons, three pens, two pencils, an open box of condoms, and a copy of Girly Girls’ Guide to Bad Boy Survival, Lisa’s latest book.

The woman was a great equalizer when even ex-Mafiosi were interested in what she had to say about dating bad boys. I opened the book, curious to see if he had marked a passage or dog-eared a page, wondering what this sleaze thought was important. I fanned the book. Nothing. No marks of any kind. It appeared as though the book had never been read. I stopped on the title page and there was Lisa’s flowery autograph written under the title in bold black ink. The date under her name was for this last Wednesday, the day she’d signed at Readers Books in the village. But the book wasn’t addressed to Jimmy.

It was addressed to Federico.

“What?”

“I said hello,” a voice said behind me. I jumped, slammed the book shut, closed the drawer and turned to face Federico.

“You scared me,” I told him.

“I should have. What are you doing poking around in Jimmy’s stuff?”

“I, umm, was looking for a pen.”

He took a few steps closer, reached around me and I swear my heart stopped, and came up with a cup filled with pens.

“Take your pick,” he said, grinning.

“Thanks,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry.

“There’s a pad of paper to your left.”

“Great.” I turned and scribbled down my social security number for lack of anything better, tore off the paper and shoved it into my pocket.

I turned back to face Federico and tried to understand what his name was doing on that book in Jimmy’s drawer.

“Wasn’t that Lisa’s latest?”

“Sure was,” I told him.

“Did you get to her signing at Readers the other day?

“No. Something came up.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I couldn’t make it either. Jimmy picked up a copy for me on his way over to the party. That must be my copy.”

Total relief saturated my very pores. “Yeah, it’s made out to you.”

If Federico had been in the village getting a book signed then he had lied about his not leaving the property for three days, and if he had lied about that, what else had he lied about?

I believed him, but for some reason I wanted to double check it with Lisa.

Where was she, anyway?

“I’m sure he’ll give it to me later. We don’t want him to know you were snooping. We’ll keep that our little secret. So, why did you want me to meet you here? You sounded a little stressed on the phone.”

If I was going to use him to help me trap Jimmy, I had no choice but to tell him the truth. “I think Jimmy killed Dickey and possibly Carla DeCarlo.”

He smirked, walked over and sat down on the sofa. “What gives you that idea?”

“A lot of things, mostly a strong hunch. I think he was in love with Carla and killed her when he saw her kissing Dickey.”

Another smile. “When did this happen?”

“The morning she was killed. The morning Babe called you asking for a ride from the airport. You were in Texas so you sent Jimmy.”

“Huh, I don’t remember that. But at any rate, what proof do you have that Jimmy is our killer? What I mean is, do you think he killed Dickey as well as Carla?” He slipped a small leather pouch from his pants pocket, unsnapped it and pulled out a brown pipe.

“Yes. I think he stole the ring from my dad, for whatever reason, then gave it to Carla and when he saw Carla giving it to Dickey he freaked, and . . . ”

A chill went through me and I stopped talking. As I stared at Federico, my father’s younger brother, I thought of how he must have felt when his dying father gave his big brother a ring, and didn’t give him anything.

“And what?” Federico asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You were saying something about Jimmy freaking when he saw Carla giving Dickey the ring.”

“I was?”

My head was suddenly bogged down with conflicting emotions.

“Yes. You were. What ring are you talking about?”

He coughed and I was able to focus again. “The one Dickey wore the night he was killed.”

“The one you’re wearing around your neck?”

“But how . . . ?” I instantly looked down to see if it had popped out over my shirt, but it hadn’t.

“I felt it poke me last night when we hugged at Cougar’s, and I took a chance that you were still wearing it today.”

He pulled out another leather pouch, and dug his pipe inside, packing it with tobacco.

“But what made you think it was Dickey’s ring? It could have been anything.”

“Not likely. A woman likes to display her jewelry, not hide it under her dress.”

This was getting weird. My neck was beginning to tighten, and my gut was telling me something wasn’t right here, but I pushed my apprehensions aside and kept on talking.

I decided to play him a bit. “That ring has some kind of history that I can’t figure out yet. My mom told me grandpa Spia gave it to my dad. Do you remember that?”

He shrugged. “Not really . . . ya know, now that you mention it, I do remember something about a ring going missing. He was pretty upset about it. Do you think Jimmy took it?”

I nodded, but for some reason my theory wasn’t feeling right. Wasn’t holding up. Something was clearly wrong.

He smiled while he patted his tobacco down in his pipe.

“That’s a pretty big theory. One that can get Jimmy put away for life, or were you thinking of not turning him over to the cops, and sending him off to Italy instead? Like some of our other relatives that couldn’t go clean.”

I shook my head. “You must be kidding. The guy is a cold blooded killer. He needs to be behind bars, and soon. Problem is I don’t have any evidence against him other than theory. I can’t seem to find that one thing that he screwed up on. So what we need is a confession. I’ve got my phone in my pocket. It records. Maybe if we work together we can get him to brag about what he’s done. I figure at some point, I’ll pull out the ring and bait him with it. You think Jimmy will go for it?”

“Go for what?” Jimmy appeared in the open doorway. “Did somebody mention my name?”

I instantly stood. “Yes. No. What I mean is. . .”

“. . . we were just talking about you,” Federico said.

“Hope it was good.”

“Nothing but,” I squeaked out.

Jimmy gave me a quizzical look. “What’s wrong with you? You’re as jumpy as a rabbit. And what are you doing here, anyway? You haven’t stepped foot in my bar since you stopped drinking.” He stared at me for a moment. “Oh, I get it now. You’re drinking again, ain’t ya? And you came here to get away from the rest of the family, right?” He walked in closer. “Well, little cuz, whatever happens in my bar, stays in my bar. Got it?”

He put an arm around my shoulder, and pulled me in closer.

“Perfect,” I mumbled.

Federico was busy working on lighting his pipe while I was in the arms of a killer. Wasn’t he supposed to be helping me?

“What can I do ya for? Bourbon? Scotch? Vodka?”

“I think she’s more of a tequila drinker. Am I right, Mia?” Federico told him.

I so needed Lisa to pop in and break this thing up. I felt as if I was being forced to drink by my own stupidity. And what was Federico doing promoting it? I thought he was on my side. “Yes, but—”

“Well, let’s get to it. The day’s young. You got a lot of catchin’ up to do,” Jimmy said taking my hand and escorting me out to the bar area.

I had no choice but to follow him out.

In the meantime, Federico walked close behind, and I could hear him puffing on his pipe.

As we walked toward the bar, the strong scent of sweet berries permeated the air. The same exact scent I had smelled on Dickey when I was lying on top of him on the barn floor. At first I thought it was coming from something in the bar, until I realized the scent was coming from Federico’s tobacco.

My heart raced up to my throat. Everything finally made sense. My mom had tried to warn me, but I couldn’t or wouldn’t hear her. Jimmy wasn’t the killer, it was Federico. The man who practically raised me. The man who had taken care of my mom and me when we needed him most. The man who had taught me how to shoot a gun was a cold blooded killer, and I was walking right into his trap.

Where the hell was Lisa when I needed her?