The Spia Family Presses On - By Mary Leo Page 0,67

gum, string and lipstick. The woman was nothing if not prepared.

I thought I could find my way to the meeting because I had secretly followed my cousin Jimmy a couple times. The first time we were both drunk, and he had trouble finding the location, and I had trouble concentrating. That blind-leading-the-blind episode turned into a big fat bust. The second time he led me right to it. I was stone sober. Of course, he never knew I was following him. Even a savvy Young Turk wasn’t on his game after four shots of scotch.

“Are you sure about this?” Lisa asked as we rounded what seemed like the same olive tree for the third time.

“Yes. It should be only a few more feet.”

“That’s what you said a half-hour ago. It’s been a long day and I’m overdue for a bed.”

“I thought you were a survivor. Isn’t this all part of it?”

“I tell all my survivors to get their rest after an adventure. Eight hours of sleep is your most important weapon. Without the right amount of sleep you cannot function at top speed. No matter what the danger, you must find a safe and secure environment and get your eight.”

“You’ll just have to add an addendum in your next book. If the adventure continues and you can’t get your eight, buck up and try for a second wind.”

She didn’t say a word for several minutes. She merely followed. I could hear her doing a deep-breathing routine behind me.

I was tired as well, but I wasn’t about to give up now. This meeting could be key. I knew that if Dickey didn’t show up in the next twenty four hours, he would automatically turn into a missing person. Once that happened, Nick would be on our asses like wool on sheep. We had to name the killer by then or we’d all be in a whole lot of trouble.

We came around yet another row of trees and right ahead of us I saw a light coming from the small wooden building. I’d found it, which surprised even me. I stopped walking, frozen in my tracks. This was their inner sanctum, so to speak, and we were outsiders. I could only imagine what they would do if they caught us.

Lisa grabbed my arm. “Well, don’t just stand there. Let’s sneak in. Isn’t that what we came here for?”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I was, but now I’m not, so let’s go.”

“Admit it, my second wind theory worked.”

“Yes. Okay. You were right. I’ll give you credit in my next book. Now let’s go before we miss something juicy.”

We snuck up on the building like two cats stalking a bird.

“Now what?” Lisa whispered as we plastered ourselves up against the tan wood and stucco building.

“I don’t know. You’re the one who knows all about these things, I figured you’d know what to do.”

“Okay. Okay. Let me think. I wrote a chapter on breaking and entering, but I wrote it for an empty house, not for a room filled with ex-mobsters. This is an entirely different situation. Anyway, I wrote it in my first book. That was three years ago. I can’t remember all the details, but I think what we need to do is . . .”

Just then the tiny window right over our heads opened and Uncle Ray’s head popped out. “You girls want to step inside or do we have to come out there and get ya?”

And just like that, everything I had imagined about their secret meetings was turned on its head.

“My name is Mia Spia, and I’m a binge drinker,” I said in a clear voice while sitting on a black folding chair on the side of the crowded little room. From where Lisa and I sat, along with Jimmy and Maryann, we could see almost everyone.

“Welcome, Mia,” everyone chanted.

It seemed the “secret bi-monthly meetings” were actually Anonimo Cosa Nostra meetings, as in Mobsters Anonymous.

Who knew?

There were six rows of chairs with five chairs in each row. Most of them were occupied. I knew nearly everyone there, but a few men were complete strangers. However, they had that “extended family” look to them, and I was positive that in the next few months they would be working for my mom in some capacity like everyone else.

Coffee and hot water carafes sat on the far end of the room on a long folding table covered with a white tablecloth. Italian cookies, including cream filled horns, and Neapolitans were piled high on paper-doily-clad