The Spia Family Presses On - By Mary Leo Page 0,55
the cop and the dame.” She still had that Barbara Stanwyck thing going on.
“Want to give me a clue how I should do that? Where’s Dickey’s SUV?”
“Don’t fret, doll. Uncle Ray moved it.”
“Oh, well, that makes sense. Wouldn’t want the SUV sitting around attracting attention.” I sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a rush of frustration. “This is getting completely out of control. We’re diving in deeper and deeper. This is how to end up in jail, you know. I don’t think I’ll like jail. The jumpsuits are really unattractive.”
“I baked an Amaretto cake this morning. How about I cut you a big chunk?”
I narrowed my eyes at her, sort of an evil eye kind of thing.
“You getting a headache, doll?” she asked.
Apparently, I wasn’t very good at the evil eye thing.
“I’m thinking I should just tell Nick about the murder.”
“And what are you going to tell him happened to the body?”
“I don’t know. He’s the detective, maybe he can tell me what happened to it.”
“It won’t be pretty. This whole place’ll get locked down for days. We’ll all be suspects, and who knows what they’ll dig up. Don’t forget he’s got your mom’s gun.”
“How did you know about that?”
“Nothing escapes your Aunt Babe.”
She pulled out six more Amaretto cookies, added a rather large slice of Amaretto cake and placed everything on a large white plate. “Is this enough, or should I bring over the whole cake?”
“I’ll let you know.” I grabbed the goodie plate. “Nick would like an éclair.”
She slid open the glass door on the counter, pulled out an éclair, placed it on a larger dish, and added a cream puff and a cream filled horn. “These are for Jade. The dame already ate two puffs, but from the look on the doll’s puss, she’s gonna want more.”
“When was the last time you saw Dickey, alive?” I whispered.
“Now’s not the time to be asking questions. I might have something to tell ya, but lose the heat first.”
She patted the bottom waves on her hair, turned slightly and asked the middle-aged woman who had walked up next to me if she could help her. I thought about asking Aunt Hetty a few questions, but with Nick and Jade in the same room, I knew she would be even more uncooperative than Aunt Babe.
I turned and headed back to the table carrying the plates of goodies. My pot of tea had arrived along with a white mug. As I walked toward them I knew I had to figure out a way to get rid of them, if only for a little while.
“Is that for me?” Jade asked when I returned to the table.
“Yes,” I told her, and she grabbed the cream puff before I could put the plate down. I placed the éclair in front of Nick.
“Thanks,” he said. “What do I owe you?”
“On the house,” I answered.
He took a bite, custard oozed out the bottom and splattered on his plate. I thought it was too bad it didn’t land on his pants. He’d have to leave to change if it fell on his pants. Nothing stains like lemon custard, well, except maybe thirty liters of olive oil, but that was last night’s fiasco. I’d have to think of something else for today.
Nick calmly finished off his éclair while I finished off the Amaretto cake in three bites and washed it down with the entire pot of hot tea. This was getting scary. I didn’t know who in my family had killed Dickey nor did I know who wanted that ring, but the entire incident was enough to make me crave a good solid binge.
I had to get more aggressive with my interrogations if I was going to remain sober and figure out this murder game, or I was destined, at the very least, to become an Amaretto addict.
Jade’s phone made a growl. “It’s my honey-bear!” she trilled. “He’s calling me. That’s his ring.”
I tried to remain calm as I threw Nick a “see, everything’s okay,” kind of look, but I could tell he was skeptical, while I was curious about the caller.
At first, Jade couldn’t find her phone in her oversized Coach tote. Then by some miracle of female determination, she came up with a pink Blackberry. She put the phone up to her ear and cooed, “Hi honey-bear, where are you?”
Both Nick and I were intent on the call. He pretended to be interested in the cream-filled horn still on his plate, while I