The Spia Family Presses On

SEVEN

Enter the Dragon

The good news was I didn’t actually faint, at least not flat out on the floor. I merely lost my balance for an instant, slumped, and fell into Leo’s eager arms. If I had planned this moment of feminine weakness, the game couldn’t have gone better. My “episode,” as it would later be referred to, caused one of those turn of events that truly amazed me.

“Let’s get her outside for some air,” Nick Zeleski said.

And with that, my entire outlook brightened, plus it gave me a strong lesson in feminine wiles. A trait Aunt Babe had always professed as our strongest defense against male dominance.

I played the part well, allowing Leo to slowly walk me out of the barn while I leaned into his fabulously muscled body. I felt safe and warm walking next to him surrounded by his familiar scent—a mixture of red wine, sweet grapes and a whole lotta trouble. The grape scent was even sweeter as I pressed my body up against his. I wanted to be swept up and taken off to his bed and made love to until my bones ached and I could no longer breathe.

The truth was that whenever I saw Leo all I ever wanted was to be in his bed, part of my irrational Leonardo obsession, my therapists had said. Right now, separate from the desire to be naked with him, I wanted to tell him about dead cousin Dickey, and I wanted to ask him what went on during his conversation with Dickey that morning.

But mostly, as I leaned into him and felt his arm around my waist, and his playful fingers pressing against my body, I wanted the two of us to be back together again.

Lisa must have sensed what was swirling around inside my head because when I gazed over at her once we were out of the barn she threw me one of those “you can’t be serious” looks and it was then that reality hit me right between the eyes.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, moving away from Leo and my momentary delusions. “I feel better. Must have been something I ate.”

“Or drank,” he joked, but I didn’t react. My drinking problem wasn’t up for ridicule, especially not with him.

“Always the wise guy,” Lisa quipped.

“Hardly, I believe that title better suits some of the characters who just bugged out of the barn. I’m just a lowly wine maker who sometimes oversteps his bounds.” He turned to me. “Sorry, Mia, but you had me worried for a minute. I guess a bad joke is my way of breaking the tension. I can be a real ass, but then you already know that.”

I gave him a guarded nod and let out the breath I’d been holding. That’s when I finally realized he was clean shaven. No beard or unkempt hair like I’d seen that morning. He was back to his usual, neat self.

We were now standing in my mom’s front yard. Everyone had gone except for my mom, Uncle Benny and Aunt Babe who sat in white rocking chairs on my mom’s porch talking, laughing as if they were oblivious to the fact there was a murdered cousin in our barn and a cop standing not more than ten feet from the murder scene.

Nick said, “I think the entire valley knows what an ass you are, but they tolerate you because your wine is so good. If you didn’t have that they’d have shunned you years ago.” He turned to Lisa and stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Nick. Don’t hold it against me that he’s my friend. It’s a childhood phenomenon. I’m an only child, and he’s the closest thing to a brother I’m ever going to have.”

Lisa took his hand in hers and in that instant I could see the attraction in her eyes. They were always her one tell, at least for me. I didn’t think anyone else noticed, but I always could, especially when she was fascinated by a guy. It was as if an inner glow radiated from her eyes. Those almond eyes of hers actually sparkled and the smile she threw Nick was genuine.

Problem was the man oozed law enforcement—from his clean-shaven face to his spit-shined black shoes. Not that he wasn’t easy to look at with those baby blues, and that dark blond hair flecked with golden highlights, a sharp nose and dark lashes that if, they were on a girl, they’d have to be fake. He wore a charcoal-gray knit shirt, black slacks and a smile that could melt even Lisa’s cynical heart.

Still, his timing couldn’t be worse, and I had no idea why he and Leo would show up when Leo was never invited. But the real question of the moment was why the hell didn’t I ever hear about Nick before?

“But Leo grew up here in the valley,” I said, then turned to Leo. “You never mentioned Nick before.”

“Didn’t I?” He shrugged. “I must have mentioned the summers I spent with my aunt Sophia?”

That I remembered. “Wasn’t she the one who forced you to learn Italian, and to cook, do your own laundry and essentially how to survive without the hired help?”

“None other. She also never spoke English in her house. It drove me crazy. Half the time I didn’t know what the hell she was saying. Nick saved my ass. He and I would get lost every afternoon, after my endless chores were done and I’d memorized my daily allowance of Italian.”

Lisa said, “My mother did that to me with Chinese. I hated it back then, but now I appreciate knowing the language.”

But that didn’t explain Nick. This man was a dyed-in-the-wool cop. I could feel it. “So how did you two meet? I thought Sophia never let you out of her sight.”

“She knew his dad from church, so I had an in. The good thing about Nick’s dad—he wasn’t anything like Sophia. The bad thing—he was the local Sheriff. We didn’t get away with anything. Probably what kept me out of real trouble and probably why my mom sent me to Wisconsin every summer, especially when I was a teenager. But that’s enough about us. We came here to see the man of the hour, Dickey. Where is he? I brought over a case of wine. A couple bottles of our Pinot included. But what’s up with the Spia clan? I’ve never seen them move so fast.”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “I’d like to meet Dickey. Didn’t see him leave with the rest of the folks.”

“Why?” I asked, desperately trying to remain calm. “Somehow I’d gotten the impression this was a social call.”

Nick smiled, but it was more of a smirk than a smile. “No reason. Just wanted to ask him a few questions. Get to know the locals, that sort of thing. I’ve only been in the valley for a couple weeks and haven’t had a chance to get to meet many people. When Leo mentioned this party, I thought it would be a great opportunity.”

“I bet you did,” I mumbled more to myself than to Nick.

“Come again?”

Fortunately, he didn’t hear me and I decided not to repeat myself. One absolute fact this family had taught me: never trust a cop when he/she gives an innocuous answer. Sure sign the cop was hiding something.

“So, where’s Dickey?” Leo asked. He was all smiles, as if seeing Dickey—again—was some big deal.

“He’s around here somewhere, I’m sure,” Lisa stated with all the coolness of a trained liar. I wondered where that trait had come from, but perhaps I didn’t really want to know.

“Great,” Leo said. “I was thinking he might have slipped out with the rest of your family, but if you say he’s still around then we’ll wait. I’d like to finally meet the guy.”

“I’m confused. You already met him. I’m sure that was you and Dickey out on the front porch of your tasting room this morning.”

“You already know the guy?” Nick asked.

“Me? No. I’ve heard stories about him for years, but never met him. Besides I was in a meeting for most of the morning. That couldn’t have been me you saw. He was there, all right. Bought a case of our wine, but I never saw the guy.” He said this with a straight face, a face I’d seen many times before, but could never read. That was before our last breakup. I’d learned some things about him since then. I was sure this was his big-fat-lie face: calm, no expression other than a hint of surprise that a stranger could never pick up, but I was certain I saw it in his eyes now. That flicker of guilt. It was only there for a moment, but this time I’d caught it.

That explained the Russo wine at the party. Dickey had brought it, proof positive that he’d been the man on the porch. But why would Leo lie about it? What was he hiding, and was he hiding it from me or from Nick? I had to know, but apparently I wasn’t going to get at the truth any time soon.

At that point the only thing I could do was smile and lead them to the chairs on the front lawn, away from the barn. I’d have to think of how to sneak back into it later to retrieve the gun.

Nick seemed like one of those cops who never went off duty, always carried a weapon and would turn in his own father at the hint of a crime. I wondered if he saw the lie in Leo’s eyes or was it just something I could see.

And, did he suspect Lisa and I were hiding something?

We’d have to be extra careful.

Just as we reached the chairs Lisa gazed down at her diamond studded watch. “I better get going. I have to get up early for . . . something important.”

“But—” I stammered.

“Yeah,” she let out a phony little yawn. “Too bad. I really would like to stay and chat, but it’s getting late.” She looked at the guys. “Nice to meet you, Nick. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” She tossed Leo a cool nod. He returned the nod and added a sheepish grin. I could tell she wasn’t receptive to his affable gesture.

“It’s not even nine o’clock. Since when is that late?” I asked.

“Since I have to get up early and do that . . . thing.”

“What thing?”

“That thing we talked about in the barn. I have to go,” she said and walked toward her car.

I left the guys and followed close behind her. When we were out of earshot I said, “Oh, no you don’t. You can’t just walk away from this and leave me here. Alone. With a dead cousin, a meddlesome cop and my human addiction. I need you. You’re my best friend and best friends stick together in sickness and in health, for better or worse, till death—” I stopped myself.

She turned. “You have it right, sweetie. Till death and since there’s been a death that gives me an out, so I’m taking it.”

She secured her bag over her shoulder and continued walking toward her car.

“But you can’t go,” I demanded while trying to think of a compelling reason other than I didn’t want to go through this without her. Then just as she was about to open the wooden gate to the private parking area next to the barn a chilling thought flew into my head. “It might be dangerous for you go off on your own.”

That did it. She swung back around, and walked back toward me, a look of concern on her face. “Define dangerous.”

“Isn’t that rather obvious?”

“Not really. I’ve known your family my whole life. They wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Collectively, no they probably wouldn’t, but one of them killed Dickey and since you were first on the scene that person doesn’t know what you saw. You may have spotted just the clue that could finger the killer.”

“The killer wouldn’t even consider this if you hadn’t blabbed my finding Dickey to everyone.” She planted a hand on her hip, a sure sign she was angry.

“The killer would’ve found out anyway once the police got involved.”

Her eyes narrowed. “This is getting way too deep for my comfort zone.”

“Oh, and it’s not too deep for me?”

“You grew up with this kind of madness.”

“Not up close and personal. I was always sheltered from the realities.”

Which was basically a true statement. I always knew most of my family was mobbed up, but I never knew the exact extent of it. Still don’t, and from the looks of things, that fact might be changing rather quickly.

“Well, you’re all grown up now and the family wants to bring you into its bosom. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m Chinese. I fit the job description. Your family and mine don’t quite mesh.”

“You and I do. Always have, and I’m hoping always will. And besides, this will make the perfect survival book.” I thought I’d try to appeal to her artistic nature, or at the very least, her desire to remain on the best seller list. Her head twisted slightly, dark eyes peered out at me as if I’d hit a nerve. I knew I had. She was a sucker for good copy.

“Surviving the Mob, that just might work if I can come up with the right angle,” she said, dreamily, as if she could already see the book on a shelf.

“Anything you want. Just name it. I have secrets.”

Her right eyebrow arched. “No you don’t. Not from me. I can get anything I want out of you.”

Okay, so she knew me better than I knew myself. “I can’t do this on my own. At least help me get the gun out of the futso and come up with a plan. You’re in this now. You’re part of this murder.”

“No I’m not. I can claim—” She stopped and looked at me. I guess I must have seemed exceptionally desperate because all at once her entire demeanor changed. “My mother always said you were a bad influence.”

“You should have listened to her.”

“I couldn’t. We were already best friends.”

“And we still are . . . aren’t we?”

She hesitated, dropped her hand from her hip and said, “What do you want me to do?”

Those few words made me so happy, I hugged her and while we were hugging I said, “First off, Leo was lying about this morning. I know that was him talking to Dickey on his veranda.”

“Why does that not surprise me? But why would he lie? What does it mean?”

“It means he has some kind of connection with Dickey that he doesn’t want to admit to.”

“But you couldn’t have been the only person who saw them this morning. It’s a busy winery.”

“Exactly, and Leo had a full beard this morning, along with long hair. At first I didn’t even recognize him.”

“Are you sure it was him?”

I refused to second guess myself. For once I was going to stand by my Leo convictions.

“I know his body and his gestures all too well. It was Leo all right.”

“Then the man is hiding something, but what?”

“I don’t know, and I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with the murder. We’ll have to figure that out later, right now we need to get rid of him and Nick, retrieve the gun, call the police and tell them everything we know, except for the bracelet and gun part.”

“What about the weird-Leo part?”

I considered that for a moment. “I’d like to talk to him about it first.”

“This is so wrong.”

I pulled away from her. “I know, but it’s only wrong for a little while. Just until we can find out who did this.”

“And just how do you intend to do that in this family? These people go to the grave defending their secrets.”

“Yeah, I know, but most of this group either turned state’s evidence or went straight after their time behind bars. They’re more likely to come clean.”

“So is that why Dickey took a bullet in his head? Because of his willingness to come clean?”

“Hadn’t thought of that one, but I’m sure we can figure it out as we go along. There’s one more thing I need to tell you, but it shouldn’t matter. Not really.”

“Out with it.”

“There’s a ring that my mom had been keeping for Dickey. I gave it to him right before the party and he told me it was going to give someone heartburn. It was the way he said it . . . as if someone in the group was really going to respond to seeing it. Well, when I was under that stone, I checked out Dickey’s pinky, and it was gone.”

“Maybe it flew off or something, or it was in his pocket for safe keeping.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. His finger was covered in oil and there was an oil stain on his shirt and jacket. I remember he had a hard time getting it over his knuckle. I’m thinking whoever took it couldn’t get it off right away, so they slathered on the oil after he was under that stone.”

She stared at me for what seemed like a long time. Then she said, “This is good. We have a real clue and a trail to follow. Somebody went to a lot of trouble for that ring.”

“The killer?”

“More than likely.”

I had another idea. “Or somebody else could have grabbed the ring before we found him.”

“Either way it gives us a starting point.”

Finally, an opening in her closed mind.

“You said us. Does that mean you’re in the game?”

She hesitated for a moment, playing with the strap on her purse. “I know I’m going to regret this, but okay. I’ll help, but if I get knocked off in the process, I’ll come back and haunt you. I’ll make you read all my books, even the ones that were never published.”

“How many do you have?” I was thinking this might not be an even deal, not that there was any possibility that Lisa would get knocked off, but still . . .

She snickered. “A lot. Not everything I write gets published. It should, but the editors don’t always love what I give them. I personally don’t get it, but such is publishing. Deal?” She stuck out her hand.

“Deal,” I said, giving her our girly-girl handshake. Then we hugged again. Such was our ritual ever since we saw Sister Mary Benedict, our second grade teacher, give Miss Carson, the music teacher, a limp girly-girl handshake when she agreed to allow Miss Carson to teach the students how to read music. Sister Mary Benedict had sealed our fate for the next four years with the limpest of handshakes. Lisa and I assumed that was the correct female handshake. It wasn’t until we were well into our teens that we learned otherwise, but she and I never changed that handshake. It was our way of making a sacred pact.

For the next couple of hours, Lisa and I tried to get Nick and Leo to leave. Nothing seemed to work, and at some point Lisa began to show real interest in Nick, in that I-could-date-you sort of way. I just sat there stressing.

At one point, I played the sleepy hostess trying to get them to leave, yawning, stretching, even stating that I needed sleep. Everyone ignored me.

We still had the minor problem of Dickey’s body to contend with, and Lisa was acting as if it didn’t exist. Either she was the best actress I’d ever seen, or she simply forgot about it. Neither of which satisfied my burning desire to come clean or run, I couldn’t decide which would be more effective under the circumstances.

I thought about disappearing into the barn, grabbing the gun, hiding it somewhere then screaming as if I’d just found the body. A simple, straightforward plan. One that seemed to fit the evening, considering that both Nick and Leo were determined to wait for a dead man, but every time I stood, Leo took the opportunity to try to get me alone. Any other time I would be thrilled to have all his attention, something he rarely gave, but not now. Not when I was trying to save my mother from a life sentence in Soledad.

When Leo opened the bottles of his prize winning Pinot Noir, my mom and Aunt Babe stepped off the porch to join us. Mom wore one of her expressionless grins, which had me wondering what she knew—had Aunt Babe told her everything?—but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get her attention, so getting a read on her was impossible.

Botox had its advantages.

Uncle Benny didn’t join us. He hadn’t really moved from his perch in the rocking chair, except once when he and my mom disappeared inside the house for about a half-hour. Uncle Federico went in the house with them for awhile, but then he came out and walked off toward his house, wishing us a good night. Other than that, Uncle Benny sat in his chair watching, puffing and rocking. About the only body part of his body that moved was his hand to remove his cigar from his mouth so he could take a swig of wine, then he’d replace the cigar and stared at us once again. It would have been creepy if I didn’t know there was a body in the barn, which in the scheme of things was far creepier.

Then my mom got into the forties thing along with Aunt Babe, who began reciting whole scenes from noir films. Nick admitted to being a huge fan, which only fueled the Barbara Stanwyck fire. Of course, Lisa played right into it with her own extensive background in classic films.

I sat in silence wondering if Lisa and I would be sharing the same jail cell since it was obvious we were all doomed to a life of judicial confinement.

Aunt Babe said, “I’ve got one: Yes I love him. I love those hick shirts he wears with the boiled cuffs and the way he always has his vest buttoned wrong. He looks like a giraffe, and I love him.”

Nick jumped up from his chair. “Wait, I know that one!”

Lisa nudged his arm. “Too slow. I’ve got it. Ball of Fire, nineteen-forty-one, Stanwyck and Cooper, and she’s a showgirl with the regal name of—”

“Sugarpuss O’Shea,” Nick bellowed.

“You know that?” Lisa asked, obviously impressed by Nick’s knowledge of movie facts.

He nodded. “Named a stray cat Sugarpuss right after I first saw the film.”

Leo said, “So that’s where that name came from. I thought it was because . . . when you’re ten everything is sexual innuendo.”

“And when you’re thirty-two?” I asked.

“Everything still has sexual innuendo, honey. It’s what spins the globe,” Aunt Babe chided, while sipping her wine.

I couldn’t take the tension anymore and decided to slip away while everyone was playing the “name that movie” game. The night had succeeded in giving me a royal headache, and unless I got rid of that handgun soon my head was going to explode.

I walked to the barn via my mom’s house. I figured everyone would think I was simply making a bathroom run. I walked across the lawn, up the front steps, past Uncle Benny who gave me a slight nod, through the living room, past my mom’s room, made a quick pit stop in the bathroom and downed a couple aspirin, continued through the kitchen, which still housed an abundance of food and baked goods, and walked directly out the back door. This time the lure of the cookies couldn’t deter my mission. In truth, their sweet smell sickened me, the complete opposite of my normal response to anything baked with sugar and fat.

I made a beeline straight for the barn, jogging across the small gravel parking area, which was now eerily devoid of my relatives’ cars. Of course, Lisa’s red BMW was still there, and Leo’s Mercedes XL was tucked in close to the barn alongside a black BMW SUV, which had to belong to Cousin Dickey, the now deceased Cousin Dickey.

My head throbbed with a vengeance. Apparently, it was going to take more than two aspirin to quell what was going on in my overtaxed head.

When I opened the barn door, it suddenly occurred to me that I had made no plan for the handgun once I retrieved it. Where would I hide the damn thing? I didn’t have a pocket deep enough that wouldn’t announce hand-gun, and if I moved it somewhere else in the barn, the police would eventually find it.

This deception game was getting entirely too complicated. The bracelet was one thing—I still had it tucked away in my pocket—but that handgun required some creative thinking. Besides it would be dripping with olive oil.

Just as I reached for the light switch, I heard a car door slam, and the distinct sound of footsteps crunching up behind me across the gravel. I hoped it was Uncle Benny coming to assist with my handgun dilemma, but when I turned and saw Leo only a few feet away carrying a case of his wine, the Russo name prominent on the deep red logo, my heat skipped a beat.

Now what?

“Hey,” he called out. “Your mom insisted that I couldn’t just leave this wine without taking some oil in return. I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how she can be. Once she makes up her mind, there’s no room for debate.” He balanced the box up on his right shoulder as he walked in closer. “I hear you’ve got a couple new oils I haven’t tried so I decided not to fight her. She said they’re stored in the middle of the barn on the right, if that makes any sense. Maybe you could show me.”

My mouth went dry. My mom had sent Leo to the exact murder spot.

I froze for a moment trying to think of what to say, what to do. Then, without hesitation, I did the only thing I could think of to keep him from taking another step into the barn.

I leaned in and kissed him.