You Don't Want To Know

Chapter 16


He wasn’t getting it, Ava thought the following morning as she grabbed her jacket, slid her arms through its sleeves, and walked outside. Wyatt wouldn’t let himself see her need. He didn’t understand her and therefore wouldn’t, or couldn’t, help her. Ever since she’d returned from St. Brendan’s, neither she nor Wyatt had brought up the D-word. It was almost as if by silent, mutual agreement they’d decided to try to make the relationship work, that no papers would be filed.

But it wasn’t working.

They both knew it.

Wyatt had kissed her good-bye before he’d headed to the mainland yesterday, but the kiss had been a quick buzz on the forehead, nearly an afterthought. A duty.

Theirs was a complicated relationship, and maybe always had been. Maybe she’d been young, naïve, and hadn’t wanted to peel back the layers and look too closely at their marriage. She pocketed her phone, grabbed her purse, and was on her way outside when she ran into Ian on the first floor.

“I’m going into town to pick up Trent,” he said. “Need anything?”

“Trent’s here?” Ian’s twin lived in Seattle.

“In Anchorville. He texted a couple of hours ago and asked if I could come get him. He said he tried to reach you, too, but you didn’t answer.”

She must’ve missed the call that had come in.

“Ask your husband. He invited him.”

“Wyatt didn’t say anything,” Ava said.

Ian lifted a shoulder. “That’s just what Trent told me. I don’t think it’s a secret. No big deal.”

Ian was probably right and she decided not to start planting suspicions in her own mind. It was crowded enough as it was. “All I want is a ride across the bay, if you’re going.”

“You got it. So what is it this time, business or pleasure?” he asked as they walked toward the boathouse together.

“What do you think?”

He laughed. “That there’s not much of either going around right now.”

As they passed by the dock, she glanced at the graying boards and tried to convince herself that she hadn’t seen Noah the other night, that it had all been just a trick of the fog and her own willing mind.

Blue smoke and mirrors.

Ian ferried her across the bay and offered to pick her up later, but she declined and left him to meet his twin at the Salty Dog.

First stop: the Anchorville Police Department, where she was meeting with Detective Wesley Snyder.





“You know, Ms. Garrison, I’m sorry, but we don’t have any new leads,” Detective Snyder said from the other side of his cluttered desk. He was a tall man, his suit coat sleeves riding up his arms. Light gleamed off his bald head, and he looked at her from a face etched with genuine concern. His “office” was a cubicle, one of several with half walls that separated it from other, identical semiprivate offices. Though the walls were padded, the sounds of jangling telephones and other peoples’ conversations, the thud of footsteps, and the hum of printers and fax machines seeped into the space.

Ava was perched on the edge of one of the uncomfortable visitor’s chairs and trying to find a way to get through to the one man in the sheriff’s department she considered an ally. “I just thought that if I saw your notes, what you’d pieced together, and compared it to what I have, maybe I could find something that was missed earlier . . .” She saw the answer in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do that. We’ve been over this before.”

“I’m Noah’s mother.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not allowed to let anyone outside of the department see what we’ve got. It could compromise the case. You know that.”

“It’s been two years.”

He ran a hand behind his neck. “I know, but I can’t break the rules. However, if you have anything you think might help, by all means leave it with me.”

“I don’t have any hard evidence, if that’s what you mean. Just what I remember from that night.”

He found a thick folder on his desk and opened it as he plucked a pair of reading glasses from his jacket pocket, shook the bows open, and shoved the half-lenses onto the end of his nose. “Let’s see.” Flipping several pages over, he stopped halfway down the stack, grunted his approval, and pulled several pages from the clip that held them fast. He scanned the pages, then slid them across the desk.

She recognized her statement from the night of Noah’s disappearance. “This is what we’ve got from you. Oh, and I think this, too . . .” He dug a little deeper in the file and found a few more pages, this time part of an interview that had been recorded and transcribed. Most of the information was the same as what she’d compiled over the last few days. He said softly, “Was there something more you wanted to add?”

She started to feel foolish as she recalled when she’d made this statement. They’d been at the house, in the dining room, and Detective Snyder’s little recorder had been sitting on the table as the interview had progressed, its pinpoint, red light flashing as she spoke. She’d told him all about the party the night before, where everyone had been in the house, what she remembered of the night. It was the very same information she’d put together again.

“No,” she admitted, feeling the heat climb up her neck as she sat back in the chair. “This is what I remember.”

He replaced the pages and his eyes above the half-lenses were kind. “Well, if you think of anything else, please, let me or someone here know. And I promise, I’ll keep you in the loop if anything new develops.” He stood then, indicating the interview was over, and she left feeling deflated.

Of course the police wouldn’t listen to her; not without some hard evidence, something beyond conjecture, or her own visions, or her own damned needs.

She walked out of the station and took a deep breath. Clouds were rolling in off the Pacific, dark and gray. A blustery, relentless wind was chasing along the waterfront, and the temperature seemed to have dropped ten degrees since she’d entered the police department. Tightening the belt of her sweater coat, she walked the seven blocks to Tanya’s salon.

Raindrops were just beginning to splash against the sidewalk as she ducked under the striped awning of the Shear Madness salon. A small bell tinkled as she pushed open the door to the small shop. Along one wall was a row of three stations, each complete with pink sinks, pink chairs, and small faux crystal chandeliers sparkling overhead. The first station was occupied, a woman leaning back in the sink while her beautician washed her hair, the smell of recently used chemicals heavy in the air.

“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 minutes. 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!”