The Spia Family Presses On - By Mary Leo Page 0,52
sizes and shapes, soaps, lotions and some hand-painted ceramics Mom found in Spain.
Three round tables held displays of various sized wooden spoons and spatulas, vibrant table linens, books, and more pottery. We also sold various posters with an olive theme and a few novels that featured olives in their plot. We were everything olive, and it seemed to be working well for us.
The room was crowded with customers and my mom was busy handing out samples of our oils in tiny white plastic cups, demonstrating the correct way to taste oil. She stood at the wooden bar, which we kept stocked with our best sellers. If sipping oil out of a cup wasn’t to your liking, we provided small chunks of bread for dipping.
Valerie, Uncle Ray’s wife, was also handing out samples, as Audrey, their nineteen-year-old daughter who helped out two days a week to earn extra spending money while she attended culinary school, busied herself with a tall male customer at the register.
The new tasting room was my baby, and soon we’d combine it with a small restaurant on the north side of the building. We would attract more tourists and locals if we also offered food. Of course, if I didn’t resolve Dickey’s murder soon, the whole place could come tumbling down around us.
I wanted to ask Valerie a few questions before I went on to talk to Aunt Hetty. I waited for her to finish demonstrating how to taste oil. Val was particularly loud when she sucked back the oil through her clenched teeth, and always drew curious stares from the customers around her. Mom loved her for it.
“Our beautiful oils take on many different characteristics as they travel down your throat. They can be a little grassy, fruity or peppery. Sometimes they even taste like chocolate or green apples,” Val said. She had several people captivated.
She poured a bit of the oil into her mouth. A few of the customers did the same. Then she sucked it back through clenched teeth, making her distinctive loud sucking noise. Everyone followed her lead. Two of the people, a man and a short stocky woman, instantly began coughing, while the rest seemed to enjoy the experience.
“I’m tasting our Artisan Blend, a smooth front body, with grassy, green apple tones, and a slightly bitter finish. There’s a hint of a peppery undertone, but not like the Seviano that our two coughing friends experienced.”
She smiled.
They smiled.
“I love it,” the coughing man said once he had control of his burning throat. “I’ll take a case!”
That got a burst of laughter out of the group.
The peppery fire they were experiencing was a result of the oil hitting the mucous membranes near the esophagus, and if you weren’t used to that feeling it could be a bit daunting.
Apparently, the coughing man delighted in it.
When Val finished her demo, and everyone was doing their own tasting, she turned to me, grinning. Val had one of those toothy grins that showed her gums, and made her slightly hooked nose prominent. Despite her gums and nose, Valerie was a handsome woman who loved hats. Today was no exception. She wore a black, wide-rimmed straw number with a lime green strip of cloth encircling it that matched her dress and heels.
“What’cha want, kid? I’m busy here,” she said low enough so only I could hear.
“This will only take a few minutes. Can we step outside for a few minutes?”
She leaned in closer, and whispered. “If this is about last night, I got nothin’ to say, and either do you. You should be happy the louse disappeared. He can’t bring nothin’ but trouble to this family.”
And with that she went back to her customers.
So far this was not going like any TV show where the witnesses voluntarily offered up information without much coercion. I thought I might have to get a little tougher.
I caught up with her and tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled around and flashed me the evil eye. I instinctively flashed one back, admittedly, not a true evil eye, but one that got her attention.
Again, she excused herself. This time I walked with her behind the counter, for a bit of privacy.
“You get one question, kid, so make it a good one,” she hissed through a phony smile.
I thought about this for a moment. If I knew Val, she hated violence against women more than anything. “Who would have the most to gain if my mother went to jail for Dickey’s murder?”