by Lisa Jackson
“Hi, Ava,” Hattie, the stylist, said as she glanced over her shoulder. “Tanya’s in the back.” Then to her client, “Okay, that’s good,” as the woman sat up and Hattie started gently toweling her head.
Ava picked her way over hair clippings that hadn’t yet been swept up, past the two empty chairs, and a huge photograph of Marilyn Monroe on a back door where she knocked and found Tanya standing in the middle of the unfinished back room. A toilet, sink, and stacked washer and dryer were framed in. The rest of the space was still open, and from the temperature, without any heat vents.
Tanya was still wearing the gloves she used to color hair and a dark apron over a long skirt and sweater. She was standing square in the middle of the concrete floor. “Hey, hi,” she said, turning to look over her shoulder as Ava stepped into the unfinished room. “I was just trying to figure out for about the millionth time how to cram in a manicure and waxing station back here, maybe a tanning bed or massage table. Trouble is, I need a hallway to get to the washer and dryer and still have room for a back door and . . . oh, who knows . . .” She peeled off her gloves in frustration and tossed them into a basket near the washer. Then she turned to Ava and gave her friend a hug. “It’s good to see you. And you don’t need to hear about my space/construction/contractor problems. Besides, I’m going cross-eyed just thinking about them. Maybe I should just leave things as they are. C’mon let’s go eat! I’m starving!” She was already untying her apron and reaching for a jacket hanging on a bracket on one of the exposed two-by-fours.
“Perfect.”
“Guido’s?”
“You read my mind.”
Tanya opened the door to the salon and poked her head inside. “I’m taking off for an hour or two, Hattie.”
“Got it. I’ll hold down the fort,” was the muffled reply.
Tanya let the door to the salon close and, as she zipped her jacket, led Ava to the back exit. She snagged a pink umbrella from a stand, then unlocked the door and held it open for Ava.
Outside, rain was pelting the broken asphalt of the alley that ran the length of the tightly packed buildings. A black cat, belly low, scurried across the alley to hide beneath the loading dock of a furniture store. Beyond, the sky was an ominous, dark gray.
Ava flipped up the hood of her sweater and mentally kicked herself for not bothering with a jacket as Tanya fought with the umbrella. Together, half running, they skirted puddles, parked cars, and trash bins, then turned onto a side street, where they caught up with the sidewalk. Three blocks later, they jaywalked across a narrow street to an Italian restaurant tucked into a storefront. Guido’s, an Anchorville institution, had been run by the Cappiello family for as long as Ava could remember.
Inside, the restaurant smelled of garlic, tomato sauce, and warm bread. The floor was black-and-white tile, and a flag of Italy was proudly mounted over the arch leading to the kitchen. The walls were painted with fake windows opening to scenes from Italy. Seascapes of the Italian coastline or panoramas of hills of vineyards were interspersed with “views” of the Colosseum or Trevi Fountain or some other recognizable Italian landmark. Tanya picked a booth that cuddled up to a picturesque “window” with a view of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
“This is my favorite,” she explained, peeling off her jacket. “From here I can see the door. I always like that. My dad was a cop, you know, and always faced the door. Just in case.”
“You’re a hairdresser.”
She shrugged. “Old habits die hard.” She picked up a plastic-coated menu, scanned the items, and said, “I’m going to have the linguini with pesto. Oh, God, I shouldn’t. I’ve been dieting all week . . . no more than, like, a thousand calories a day, but the pesto, it’s all homemade and organic and just a-MAZ-ing!” She snapped her menu closed. “Trust me.”
“I do,” Ava said without thinking. It was true. Tanya was one of the few people she knew she could trust.
“Oh, God, I should really have a salad. With some kind of light dressing or no dressing or . . . oh, hell!”
The waitress, a slim girl in a black pencil skirt, white blouse, and red tie carried two glasses of water to their table. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“A glass of Chianti,” Tanya said quickly, then checked her watch. “No, I can’t. Got one more color job this afternoon.” She glanced across the table at Ava and pulled a face. “Wouldn’t want to mess up Mrs. Danake’s streaks. Okay. No. I’ll have a diet soda. And a house salad. You know, I want half the items on the menu. Oh . . . damn, I should be shot, but I’ll have a side of the pesto linguini.”
“Lunch size?”
“Perfect.” She rolled her palms to the ceiling where a fan was slowly turning and intoned, “I had no choice.”
“A cup of the minestrone soup and the same pasta,” Ava ordered.
“Oh, wait. We could split an order of the linguini,” Tanya said, brightening. “Half the calories.”
Ava smiled. “Fine with me.”
Tanya, pleased with herself, turned to the waitress. “Could you do that, split the pasta, but maybe the dinner size?”
“Sure.”
“And I’ll want bread sticks with my salad.”
“A basket of bread is complimentary.”
“Awesome.” As the waitress disappeared, Tanya leaned back against the hard bench. “I hate dieting. It’s such a pain. What I really want is a three-course Italian meal, complete with sausage on the side and tiramisu for dessert, and then top it all off with a cigarette.” She sighed loudly. “I’m afraid those days are gone forever.”
“Sounds like what we had when we came here in high school, after a game. Maybe you should join the cheerleading squad again.”
Tanya laughed. “Shhh! No one knew I smoked.”
“Shhh . . . everyone knew you smoked.”
“Don’t tell my mom, okay?” she said with a sly grin. It was her joke. Tanya’s mom had been dead for six or seven years.
“I think she knew.”
“Yeah, she did. I borrowed one too many Salem Lights from her purse and she got wise.”
Ava chuckled. “So you promised me some recent pictures of the kids . . . ?”
“Oh! Yeah. Got ’em.” Tanya grinned from ear to ear, then began rummaging in her bag until she found her phone and started a slide show on the phone’s small screen.
Ava leaned across the table. “They’re so big.”
“Bella’s nine and Brent just turned seven. Already in first grade. She’s in fourth and has a boyfriend if you could call it that. You know when one of her friends whispers that some boy likes you and then all of the sudden they’re quote ‘going’? I ask, ‘Going where?’ and she just looks at me as if I’m from another planet. But nine. Really? A boyfriend? Isn’t that the time you’re still hating the opposite sex?” She shook her head. “So now I get to monitor the TV and the computer or before I know it she’ll be quoting one of those ridiculous reality stars.”
Flipping through a few more pictures, Tanya said, “Here’s a recent one of Brent, who, wouldn’t you know, wants to be a cowboy.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Like his dad,” Ava said, and looked at a picture of Brent wearing a Stetson that was at least three sizes too big and what appeared to be a brand-new pair of cowboy boots.
Tanya scowled. “Anything but that.” She moved through the rest of the pictures quickly, showing off images of Bella dancing or riding on a boat or playing soccer, while Brent was with a mottle-colored dog, or on a horse, or looking so small in a football uniform. “I’m not big on this, either. I think he’s waaaay too young, but Russ paid for the sport and supposedly it’s not tackle and I don’t know. It’s hard raising kids these days . . .”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she pulled a face and looked contrite. “God, Ava. I’m sorry. I’m so dumb sometimes!”
“No, it’s okay,” Ava said quickly, but it was a relief when the waitress appeared with their drink orders, saying their meals would be there in a few minute
s. She turned her attention to another booth, where a couple was so in love, they’d squeezed into the same side and were making cute little jokes about tossing coins into the fountain painted onto the wall next to their seating area.
“Young lust,” Tanya said, and the moment passed.
“So, how are you and Russ getting along?”
“Let’s see . . . He’s an ass. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Marrying him was kind of a rebound thing, you know, after Trent. Russ knew all about how I felt about Trent, and he never seemed to believe that I was over him.” She twirled her straw in her drink. “Maybe he was right. I mean, Trent . . . he’s . . . got ‘it,’ whatever that is.” Her ice cubes danced as she added, “I saw him the other day, you know.”
“Who?”
“Trent. He was here. In town. Well, at the marina.”
“Really? I know he’s here now. Ian said so and was going to meet him, but when I talked to him on the phone, he never mentioned being in Anchorville.”
“Okay,” she said with a shrug.
“You’re sure you didn’t see Ian?” Ava questioned.
“I can tell the difference,” Tanya said with a snort. “I dated Trent for over a year and he was my first, you know. I’d never done it with anyone before. So, yeah, I think I can tell him apart from his twin. It’s not like they’re identical.”
“They look a lot alike.”
She lifted a shoulder, unconvinced.
“You talked to him?”
Tanya shook her head. “Nah. I was surprised to see him and didn’t look my best and”—she grimaced—“I should have said hi or something.” More rapid twirling of her straw. “And he was such a big presence in my marriage, you know, I figured I’d leave it be. Russell and I are still arguing about money and . . . even though just talking to Trent might not lead to anything, it might get back to Russ and fan all those old jealous fires.” She gave a mock shudder. Then she looked back at Ava again, focused on the here and now. “I know it shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t let anything Russ does change my life, and I try not to, believe me. But he’s still the father of my kids and I still have to deal with him. It’s just easier sometimes if I don’t rock the boat.”
“Come on, you have a life to live, too. You can’t let Russ control you. That’s emotional blackmail.”
“Maybe.” She shot Ava a look. “So tell Trent to call me when you see him.”
“How about I give you his new phone number.” She found a pen in her purse and a napkin on the table, then found Trent’s number in her phone and wrote it down. Sliding the napkin across the table, she added, “This is really none of Russ’s business.”
“Tell him that.” Tanya tucked the napkin into a pocket of her jeans. Sighing, she glanced over at the young couple, then at the painting of the leaning tower. “I remember being ‘in lust’ with Russ, but I’m not all that sure we were ever ‘in love.’ Not like you and Wyatt—Oh, here we go!”
The waitress deposited their first course on the table, then added a basket of warm bread wrapped in a napkin. Ava tested her soup and Tanya fished out a bread stick and dunked it into her dressing before twirling it deftly to remove the excess dressing before taking a bite. “Oh my God, this is good.” She washed her bite down with diet soda, then said, “So tell me about the other night. You know, when you took your little dive into the sea.”
“I jumped,” Ava corrected. “And it was off the dock, in the bay, not exactly the ocean.”
“Why did you do it?” Tanya asked, dipping her bread stick in the dressing again.
“I thought I saw Noah again. I know it sounds crazy, and . . . maybe it is, but I know what I saw.” She sighed. “You think I’m ready for the loony bin, too.”
“Of course not. But there are a lot of mental . . . issues in your family. I mean, kind of a crazy streak that goes through the generations? You told me that.”
“I know.”
“Didn’t your great-great-grandmother throw herself off that widow’s walk at Neptune’s Gate?” she asked. “And Trent’s father had some kind of mental blackout while he was driving, right? Killed his wife?”
“Uncle Crispin. His first wife.”
Tanya looked at Ava, and they both knew what the other was thinking: the rumor that the accident wasn’t really an accident at all, that Crispin had already been involved with Piper and a divorce would just be too expensive. Nothing had ever been proven, but the taint still remained.
“We’ve got our crazy stuff,” Ava admitted. “I’m just the craziest right now.”
“You came unhinged when Noah disappeared. You can’t be blamed for that. You freaked. I would, too.”
Ava thought a moment, then said, “Tanya, can I tell you something?”
She leaned forward. “Oh, goody. Some deep dark secret?”
“When Noah went missing, we searched the entire island. I even went down the ridge stairs and spent the rest of the night there.”
She nodded.
“But now, when I see Noah, it’s always at the dock. There’s nothing that connects the boathouse or the dock or anything to his disappearance, but there he is. It just feels so damn real.”
Tanya stared at her friend, and Ava braced herself for another lecture about how she was fantasizing, wishing her boy alive and tricking her mind into creating images of him, creating false hope, but Tanya reached across the table and took Ava’s hands in hers. “Okay, then let’s say he’s alive,” she said, nodding slowly.
Ava could scarcely believe her ears. Someone was actually listening to her. “But he looks the same as he did the last time I saw him, two years ago. He hasn’t changed.”
“You trying to talk me out of this now?”
“No! But it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe you just need to figure out what the hell’s going on.”
“Meaning?”
“Either you’re hallucinating or you’re seeing a ghost . . .”
Ava yanked her hands back, not liking where this was going.
“Or someone’s messing with you, yanking your chain.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know. Psychotropic drugs? Hallucinogens?”
Ava thought of the pills she was asked to ingest. “Either way, you’re saying that my visions of Noah are all in my head. That he’s not really there.”
“You said it yourself. He’s not the same age. I’m just saying that whatever happened to Noah, your visions are something else.”
Her insides turned cold. “You mean, someone wants me to believe he’s alive when he’s not?”
“I don’t know about that. I mean, you’re seeing Noah, right? Not purple dragons or palm trees growing out of icebergs or your dead mother or even Kelvin. Just Noah. I’m not sure any drug can induce a specific manifestation. No, you’re putting Noah in there. But the hallucinations might have a cause.” She grabbed her fork again.
“You’re saying someone wants me to see him.”
“No, I’m saying someone wants you to think you’re crazy. And you’re using Noah. Or, more accurately, your own grief is using Noah’s image.”
“But why would anyone do that?”
“You tell me. Who would have the most to gain if you were out of the picture? Or institutionalized?”
“Or dead?” Ava suggested, taking Tanya’s logic to the next level.
“No, not dead.” Tanya was shaking her head so violently, her curls bounced around her head. “That would be easy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Killing someone. Easily done. Weapons, assassins, pills, whatever. You can get killed a thousand different ways. It’s the getting away with it, that’s the problem. So, if you want to keep your hands clean, maybe you just drive the person crazy. Gaslight ’em.”
“You’re starting to really worry me,” she said with a smile.
“Har, har, har. Tell me I’m wrong. What if someone really wants you to believe you’re going off the rails . . . way off the
rails?”
“To get rid of me?” she asked skeptically.
“Get you out of the picture, anyway.” She tucked into her linguini.
“Who? Why? Church Island?”
“That’s a good guess.”
“I don’t even own all of it. And believe me, it comes with its own problems. Big, big problems.”
“Then name something else. I’m just sayin’,” she muttered around a forkful of pasta. Her eyes seemed to glaze over. “God, this is good!”
CHAPTER 17
Trent didn’t answer.
Not on the new number he’d given her nor on his old cell number, which she tried again out of desperation. No voice mail had been set up on the new phone, so she texted him, asking him to call her as she hiked up the side streets to Cheryl’s studio.
Had Tanya really seen him recently? Especially since he’d been in Anchorville?
And if so, what did it matter? He’d never really said where he was calling from, but since he lived in Seattle, it was possible he’d arrived unannounced. It wasn’t impossible, just out of character. One more thing that didn’t seem right and tickled Ava’s radar.
Deep in thought, she pocketed her phone and felt a light mist against her face. The rain had stopped for the most part while she’d been in the restaurant with Tanya, but now the temperature had dropped again and a thick blanket of fog had rolled in.
The narrow streets were deserted, no pedestrians out, only a few cars rolling by. Here and there she saw patches of light, warm spots glowing in the gloom of coming evening. Twice she felt as if she were being followed, as if she’d heard the scrape of footsteps on the pavement behind her, and twice she’d been wrong. When she’d looked over her shoulder, she’d seen nothing but wisps of fog and a deepening night.
“Get over yourself,” she said just as a dog started barking crazily. She jumped before realizing the sound was coming from at least a block away. Still, she glanced behind her and for just a split second thought she saw movement near a tall fir tree, but as she stared at the conifer’s wide trunk, she realized she was seeing only a broken branch that nearly scraped the ground as it was buffeted by the wind.