The Spia Family Presses On - By Mary Leo Page 0,24
we were standing in.
“Bullet in the left temple.” Lisa delivered the news like a pro, indifferent and to the point. “At close range, I’d guess.”
“Poor bastard. Not out more than twenty-four hours and somebody takes him out,” Federico groused. “You’d think whoever did this could have waited ‘til Dickey left the orchard. This is a problem for the family, especially Gloria.”
My thoughts, exactly.
Federico didn’t like anything even slightly off-color happening on the land, at least nothing that attracted the police. He was a tightly wound man and except for his weekly poker games with my mom and whoever else was willing to try their luck—Federico always seemed to win—the orchard was his only interest.
Suddenly the sound of sobs echoed through the barn. Zia Yolanda had arrived on the scene. “Somebody get her outta here,” Uncle Ray ordered.
Jimmy said, “I’ll do it.”
“Good, and keep the rest of the women outta here.”
Jimmy nodded and took off. Zia Yolanda’s sobs drifted off leaving a strange sort of echo inside the barn. Normally, her sobs didn’t bother me, but the lingering echo of genuine heartfelt weeping was enough to make me sad for Dickey’s demise, a man who probably was responsible for more human misery than I could ever imagine. That right there produced goose bumps, along with a few shivers for added emphasis.
“You girls should go. We’ll take care of this.” Uncle Ray liked giving orders, and most of the time I would follow them, but not this time.
I shook my head. “No. This family doesn’t cover up a murder anymore. Remember? We’re honest, law-abiding citizens now.”
“Tell that to whoever shot Dickey,” Uncle Benny said, chomping on his unlit cigar. Uncle Benny always carried a fat stogy. When it wasn’t peeking out of his shirt pocket he held it between his fingers or it dangled from the corner of his mouth. He was trying to cut back on his tobacco addiction, so he only lit up twice a day, but the habit of playing with a cigar was too imbedded in his psyche to abandon.
“Somebody shot Dickey?” Aunt Hetty’s voice rang through the barn. She walked up to us with Valerie, an overly fit redhead, mid-fifties, piercing green eyes, and an old scar that ran along her otherwise delicate jawbone. Valerie liked to say she got the scar in an old biker accident, but we all knew her first husband gave it to her one night during a battle over the correct way to prepare shrimp. Now Valerie was married to Uncle Ray, a man who had an unnatural aversion to anything that lived in water.
Aunt Hetty nudged Uncle Ray to the side, giving him one of her hard looks. He moved out of her way. “Is the horny devil dead, or do we have to call an ambulance? The son of a . . . probably doesn’t have any insurance and we’ll get stuck with the bill. Well, you can bet that I won’t be making any contributions. I’m done with this devil.”
No one said a word as she walked up to Dickey, crossed her arms in tight under her breasts, leaned in closer and said, “He looks dead to me. Ha! Finally you guys did something right. Dirty bastage should’a been knocked off years ago.” She stood up again, turned toward me and I noticed her moist eyes.
What was that all about?
Val said, “Babe can finally be free of the cheating, murdering louse.”
“I’ve been free of the louse for a long time, doll. I don’t need nobody to kill him on my account.” Babe’s husky voice rose from the shadows. “Especially not tonight.”
“Where the hell is Jimmy? That kid never could take orders,” Uncle Ray groused.
“Give it a rest, Ray. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” She peered down at Dickey. “I was kind of hoping he’d stick around for awhile for old time’s sake.” She struck a pose—one hip cocked, fluffed the bottom of her golden curls with her hand—then she spoke to Dickey. “Too bad it had to end this way, big guy. I was just gettin’ in the mood.”
In the mood for what, I wondered.
She turned and strolled away from the group, heels clicking on the tile in a slow rhythm that kept the men silently yearning until the sound of her shoes faded into the still night.
This was getting interesting.
Then Maryann, with her ample body and curly auburn-colored hair, steel-blue eyes and a sardonic outlook on life, showed up and made everyone guilty for our