The Spia Family Presses On - By Mary Leo Page 0,105
in the morning, unless we find sufficient evidence that links your mom to the body. Your mom sure seemed to get mad over that bracelet. It mean something special to her?”
I didn’t want to make up something I could get caught up in later so I took the big stroke route, instead of the minor detail that it’s the bracelet that Dickey gave her, Oh, and by the way, did I happen to mention that I found it under his dead body in our barn? “She’s just had it for awhile, that’s all.”
He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but he let it slide, thank you very much.
He said, “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one night. Everyone is free to go. But I have a lot more questions, especially now that we found Dickey’s remains. Obviously, the man has been dead for awhile. So don’t anybody leave town. All right?” He was looking directly at me.
I tried to act as if he was totally off base, but I knew better. The fact of the matter was Nick seemed to already know my family pretty well. Which begged the question, would I actually get on that plane Sunday night even though Nick the Cop had told me not to?
The way I was feeling, anything was possible.
Once we were released from the crime scene, I went back inside Cougars and scrounged up every pitted olive I could buy from a friendly night manager who didn’t ask questions. He simply boxed them up and handed them to me, probably happy to see me finally leave the area.
Baked Reggiano Olives – Level Three Or Four
(recipe can be doubled or tripled depending on the need factor)
1 cup grated Parmesan-Reggiano cheese
2 tbs. softened butter
1/2 cup unbleached flour
1/8 tsp. cayenne
3 oz pitted or stuffed olives of choice (can be a mixture of favorites)
This recipe got me through countless nights when I absolutely needed to have a drink or six drinks, one olive at a time . . .
Mix cheese and butter. Add flour and cayenne and blend until the mixture is well combined and thick. Line up your olives in a row. (Not that you have to, but this gives you more stuff to do) To turn this recipe into a level four, stuff the olives yourself with a sliver of red pepper that’s been roasted, skinned and drenched in olive oil, or stuff with a sliver of garlic, or a sliver of roasted jalapeño pepper, or cream cheese, or whatever you think might make a tasty olive. This process can take several hours and is proven (by me) to get you through those pity-party moments, or those self-aggrandizing fantasies when you think you deserve to party all night long.
Drop batter by tablespoons onto a sheet of wax paper and carefully mold around each olive, then place the olives on a baking sheet that has been rubbed with olive oil. *Note: Make sure you use a sheet with sides, or these little puppies will roll right off. Bake at 400 degrees for about 15 minutes or until golden brown. Serve warm.
NINETEEN
The Devil’s in the Details
I went home with Leo, utterly scared to go anywhere near my apartment. Despite Leo’s corporal allure, I slept in his guest bedroom, alone. Although I was incredibly tempted, I wasn’t feeling as though sex was the answer to my problems. Basically, I was thinking sex would simply serve as another complication to my already overly complicated life. Therefore, I did the grown up thing and gave him a blow job and sent him on his way.
In my dreams.
In reality, he drove us to his house, and I was out of his car and in his guest room faster than a speeding bullet, or so it seemed. The only sex we had . . . hot and heavy with a lot of clutching and grabbing, and copious amounts of loud moans . . . was during an exceptionally long dream I had sometime in the early morning hours, while I dozed at his kitchen table. I had stayed up for most of the night baking olives, alone, in Leo’s kitchen.
I awoke a few hours later in bed, in the guest bedroom (I didn’t remember how I got there) satisfied that dream sex had been better than the real thing. Real sex would have led to mental anguish that I already had an abundance of, and any more would certainly cause my head to explode.