The Spia Family Presses On (22 page)

Blend the Liquirizia, Mission EVOO, garlic, salt, pepper and a drizzle of hot-pepper EVOO in a large bowl. Add the scallops, and work them around so each one is sufficiently coated in the mixture. Refrigerate, covered for thirty minutes.

While that’s marinating, get the grill going and if it’s outdoors, enjoy your surroundings while you wait for the grill to come to life. Take your time. Enjoy the moment. Note: You can also cut the fennel meat in four chunks, coat it in olive oil, (add a little hot-pepper olive oil if you’re feeling daring) cracked pepper and salt to taste, wrap the chunks in foil and bake on the grill until the fennel is tender and almost soft.

30 minutes later: Skewer four scallops so they are lying flat and grill for about one to two minutes on a side making sure they are cooked through, but not dry. Remove them from the grill, de-skewer, and place them on a brightly colored serving plate. Generously drizzle the aromatic beauties with the dressing and serve.

Jade phoned a little over an hour later saying she arrived home safe and Jay-Jay had picked her up at the bus drop off. She told me that she and Jay-Jay would stop by to pick up her car in a few days, when she was feeling better. She sounded tired, but happy to be back with her old boyfriend.

I had taken my pain meds so I was feeling a little woozy, and in need of a couple hours of sleep, but sleep would have to wait until after dinner.

Lisa filled me in on what Nick had to say about Dickey, which wasn’t much more than he’d already told us at the hospital.

“But,” she cautioned, “we won’t be able to hold him off much longer. That blood stain is making him nuts. He already contacted that worker your mom told him about who disassembled the millstone, but good thing for us, they’ve been playing phone tag. He may have caught up with him by now, and if he has, we could be royally screwed.”

“Not necessarily. My mom doesn’t lie, she sometimes leaves out important details, but she never flat out lies, at least I don’t think she does. The guy probably did cut himself so that’ll buy us a little more time.”

I filled Lisa in on everything Jade had told me over broccoli sautéed in our Artisan Blend along with a clove of garlic, and sprinkled with pine nuts. Broccoli sautéed in our Mission extra virgin olive oil was just what we needed after the day we had. The combination is rich in phenols, vitamin C and minerals. For our entrée I served grilled marinated scallops drizzled with a lemony-fennel dressing. I might not be able to drive us out of danger, but I could cook us out of an adrenalin overload anytime.

Lisa sipped a glass of Moscato Bianco from Jacuzzi winery, one of my favorites, a wine with floral aromas and a tropical note. I drank sparkling water with a lemon slice. I whole-heartedly craved a glass of Moscato, but I didn’t think I was quite ready to partake. More therapy was required before those fine fermented grapes touched these wanton lips. It was bad enough that I’d made love to Leo
—
I knew a glass of wine would clearly throw me into the danger zone. A place I’d seen many times before and intended never to see again.

“So, what you’re saying is that you think whoever killed Carla De Carlo, set up Dickey to take the fall. And now that same person killed Dickey and tried to set up your mom?”

I dunked a piece of crusty bread in a mixture of Mission EVOO, our white balsamic vinegar and fresh chopped herbs that grew in pots on my deck. “It makes perfect sense.”

I took a big luscious bite of bread. A burst of flavors reminded me why I loved our oils so much. There was simply nothing that compared to the mild grassy taste with a hint of pepper, basil, garlic and rosemary.

“But why?”

“Because I think Dickey figured out who that person was and he was going to do something about it. Remember, he told me he didn’t hold a grudge, he got even. I think he was here to get even, not to take the orchard back like the rest of my family thought, and the killer figured that out.”

“Okay, and did you figure out who?”

“No. we’re going to have to do some digging for that answer, and I know just where to get the shovels.”

The secret meeting took place exactly at nine p.m., which had given both Lisa and me enough time to catch a couple hours of much needed sleep.

By the time we were headed down the path looking for the out-building somewhere in the middle of our property, we were both ready to get back in the murder game. There were no designated roads that led to it, only a maze through the olive orchard, and if you didn’t know the correct turns it was virtually impossible to find, especially in the dark. I knew the roof was camouflaged with fake olive branches and leaves so no one could pick it out from the air. My mom had told me at least that much about it, but even she wasn’t privy to its location, nor did she want to be. Of course, that little conversation took place about a year ago. There was no telling what she knew now.

Lisa, wearing my best white sweater with a Donna Karen gray suede vest lined with a trendy lighter gray faux fur, and my barely worn Diesel jeans
—
which fit her ass much better than mine
—
along with her Dolce and Gabbana boots, had brought along a night scope that allowed us to find our way without too much tripping. She told me she never went anywhere without her night scope, a stun gun, a Swiss Army knife, three feet of heavy string, two feet of rope, a pack of gum, and candy red lipstick. She said I’d be surprised all she could do with gum, string and lipstick. The woman was nothing if not prepared.

I thought I could find my way to the meeting because I had secretly followed my cousin Jimmy a couple times. The first time we were both drunk, and he had trouble finding the location, and I had trouble concentrating. That blind-leading-the-blind episode turned into a big fat bust. The second time he led me right to it. I was stone sober. Of course, he never knew I was following him. Even a savvy Young Turk wasn’t on his game after four shots of scotch.

“Are you sure about this?” Lisa asked as we rounded what seemed like the same olive tree for the third time.

“Yes. It should be only a few more feet.”

“That’s what you said a half-hour ago. It’s been a long day and I’m overdue for a bed.”

“I thought you were a survivor. Isn’t this all part of it?”

“I tell all my survivors to get their rest after an adventure. Eight hours of sleep is your most important weapon. Without the right amount of sleep you cannot function at top speed. No matter what the danger, you must find a safe and secure environment and get your eight.”

“You’ll just have to add an addendum in your next book. If the adventure continues and you can’t get your eight, buck up and try for a second wind.”

She didn’t say a word for several minutes. She merely followed. I could hear her doing a deep-breathing routine behind me.

I was tired as well, but I wasn’t about to give up now. This meeting could be key. I knew that if Dickey didn’t show up in the next twenty four hours, he would automatically turn into a missing person. Once that happened, Nick would be on our asses like wool on sheep. We had to name the killer by then or we’d all be in a whole lot of trouble.

We came around yet another row of trees and right ahead of us I saw a light coming from the small wooden building. I’d found it, which surprised even me. I stopped walking, frozen in my tracks. This was their inner sanctum, so to speak, and we were outsiders. I could only imagine what they would do if they caught us.

Lisa grabbed my arm. “Well, don’t just stand there. Let’s sneak in. Isn’t that what we came here for?”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I was, but now I’m not, so let’s go.”

“Admit it, my second wind theory worked.”

“Yes. Okay. You were right. I’ll give you credit in my next book. Now let’s go before we miss something juicy.”

We snuck up on the building like two cats stalking a bird.

“Now what?” Lisa whispered as we plastered ourselves up against the tan wood and stucco building.

“I don’t know. You’re the one who knows all about these things, I figured you’d know what to do.”

“Okay. Okay. Let me think. I wrote a chapter on breaking and entering, but I wrote it for an empty house, not for a room filled with ex-mobsters. This is an entirely different situation. Anyway, I wrote it in my first book. That was three years ago. I can’t remember all the details, but I think what we need to do is . . .”

Just then the tiny window right over our heads opened and Uncle Ray’s head popped out. “You girls want to step inside or do we have to come out there and get ya?”

And just like that, everything I had imagined about their secret meetings was turned on its head.

“My name is Mia Spia, and I’m a binge drinker,” I said in a clear voice while sitting on a black folding chair on the side of the crowded little room. From where Lisa and I sat, along with Jimmy and Maryann, we could see almost everyone.

“Welcome, Mia,” everyone chanted.

It seemed the “secret bi-monthly meetings” were actually Anonimo Cosa Nostra meetings, as in Mobsters Anonymous.

Who knew?

There were six rows of chairs with five chairs in each row. Most of them were occupied. I knew nearly everyone there, but a few men were complete strangers. However, they had that “extended family” look to them, and I was positive that in the next few months they would be working for my mom in some capacity like everyone else.

Coffee and hot water carafes sat on the far end of the room on a long folding table covered with a white tablecloth. Italian cookies, including cream filled horns, and Neapolitans were piled high on paper-doily-clad platters. Various types of domestic and imported cheese, cured olives, and Federico’s tapenade sat next to the desserts. There were several bottles of our award winning oils waiting to be poured. A tray of sliced Italian cold meats and several loaves of crusty Italian bread along with a large Caprese salad would tempt even the strictest of dieters, not that you could find one such person in this group. Good food was our life, and we had the bodies to prove it. Not that any of us was obese, but anorexia was not a disease anyone in this family would ever have to battle.

And of course, what Italian feast would be complete without several bottles of red wine? I counted fifteen, but I felt certain that was just for starters.

I sighed at the thought.

“I think I have my drinking under control, but lately I’ve been craving alcohol more than usual. No wonder, considering what’s been going on around me.” I decided to spill my guts a little, just to see if I could catch a tell from one of these rehab cases who might lead me in the right direction. “I just want to let the person who whacked Dickey and tried to run us off the road today know that I’m closer to finding you than you think.”

This was a total lie, but I figured it might make somebody a little nervous and that somebody might give me a clue to his or her identity.

Of course, I was taking a risk that the relatives who were visiting didn’t know about Dickey’s demise, and that my mom was somehow still in the dark, which was doubtful, but I figured my confession served as a future warning that murder was no longer an acceptable form of self expression.

Then I gave the entire room my best evil eye, a sort of squint mixed with tight lips and a slight furrow on my forehead. My dad had taught me this technique when I was a kid. Some of the women in my family could no longer do it because of all the Botox they’d had injected. That stuff should come with a warning label for Italians: After use of this product, the evil eye is no longer possible.

I waited and watched, but no one moved or coughed or even blinked for that matter.

And just as I was about to give up, I saw a guy on the far end of the third row shuffle his feet and rake his fingers through his long dark-chocolate hair. Then, as if someone had given the all clear signal, everyone moved or coughed or twitched. My plan had completely failed except for the guy I couldn’t quite make out. Could he have been the killer? I tried to get a better look, but Uncle Benny was blocking my view.

Suddenly Lisa spoke. “My name is Lisa Lin and I’m a lingerie junkie.”

“Welcome, Lisa,” the group echoed. I turned and stared at her. This was total news to me.

“I have drawers and drawers filled with expensive underwear and I can’t stop buying it.”

She shrugged. I continued to stare at her, fascinated by this revelation.

The only way Uncle Ray and Uncle Benny had agreed to let us in was if we participated. Apparently, Lisa took them seriously. The one rule Uncle Ray insisted we follow was the rule that all AA meeting attendees abide by: what’s said in the AA meeting stays in the AA meeting, or in this case the MA meeting.

All my relatives listened as Lisa spoke, especially the men, who seemed to be especially focused on her every word.

“It’s like every time I pass a Victoria’s Secret or the lingerie department in Bloomingdale’s I have to check it out. And once I step inside I turn into another person. I lose all control. I now own an abundance of fancy underwear, from lacy thongs with real pearls embroidered on the tiny bit of fabric on the backside, to silky bras with crystals stitched across the tops of the cups. I have so much of the stuff that most of it still bears the price tags. I simply don’t know how to stop myself.” Big tears rolled down her cheeks, and Uncle Ray reached across the aisle and handed her his white hankie.