The Spia Family Presses On - By Mary Leo Page 0,112
Dickey we would have never found the body if either one of them did it. Those guys traveled in higher circles. No, either Jimmy did it himself or he’s connected to the person who did. I really need you to come with me when I talk to him.”
“Can’t,” Lisa said. “I have a signing in an hour, but it shouldn’t last more than a few hours. I can meet you afterwards.”
“Your signing’s go that long? What do you talk about?”
“I don’t. It takes that long for me to sign all the books.”
“Who are you and what did you do with my best friend who once refused to read anything other than comic books?”
“I shut her down and replaced her with a clone of an English major.”
“Oh, that’s right. I seem to remember a dorm room, and a campus of some sort, but everything else is just a blur. Too bad. I might have a different life right now if I’d paid attention. One that doesn’t include trying to finger my cousin’s murderer or talking to yet another family member behind bullet proof glass.”
“I’ve never done that. Take me with you next time?”
“I’m hoping there won’t be a next time.”
“Sorry, sweetie, that’s my life, not yours.”
“Rub it in why don’t ya?”
She giggled. “Gotta run. Call me later. I’ll meet you at Jimmy’s bar. Wait. I don’t think you should be hanging around there alone. Might not be safe. I have a bad feeling about this. On second thought, maybe you should wait for me. Safety in numbers and all of that.”
She had a point. Jimmy was now suspect number one, and he might not react well to my snooping. “I’ll call Federico and have him meet me there. He’ll act as my body guard.”
“Good idea. Where’s the ring?”
“Around my neck. Still seems like the safest place.”
“Seems like it makes you a huge target.”
“Only if the wrong person finds out about it.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. Federico won’t let anything happen to me.”
“Okay, but be careful. Damn, I wish you’d read my books.”
“Believe me, so do I.”
We clicked off and I immediately phoned Federico who was more than happy to meet me at Jimmy’s bar.
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