You Don't Want To Know - By Lisa Jackson Page 0,66

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