Need to Know by Fern Michaels

Author:Fern Michaels [Michaels, Fern]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-11-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Café Davino wasn’t exactly a landmark, but it was close to it if you counted all the years the Mongellos had operated their Italian eatery. Fifty long years of serving, with cheerful smiles, good Italian food, cooked by four different generations of Mongellos, constituted landmark status in the ever-changing restaurant scene in the nation’s capital.

Natives to the area swore you could smell the garlic and cheese a block away. Tourists grumbled and complained because they couldn’t get near the eatery to sample what was reputed to be the best Italian food in all of Washington, D.C.

There was nothing glamorous or upscale about Café Davino, which was little more than a hole-in-the-wall. It had all of twelve tables, which seated four to a table. A tiny counter with two stools for single diners completed the seating. On any given day, the Mongellos could turn the evening tables over at least four times starting at four o’clock, with the last diners being seated at nine o’clock. Lunch turned over three times.

The décor was simple, almost rustic, with red-checkered tablecloths, empty green Chianti bottles hanging from the rafters, the rattan chairs more duct tape than rattan, and sawdust on the floor. Napkins, along with containers of hot pepper flakes and grated cheese, graced every table. There were also the obligatory artificial flowers along the shelves that lined the walls and painted murals of long-ago Italy. In one corner stood an Italian flag, and next to it was the American flag.

The menu was simple and hadn’t changed in the fifty years that the restaurant had been around. Diners were given exactly two daily choices, and that was it. Everyone knew what it was because it never changed. The eatery was known for its soft, yeasty, melt-in-your-mouth garlic twists, which were in the ovens by seven o’clock every morning. And that was the main reason the restaurant didn’t open till 11:00 A.M. It took a long time to bake the delectable treats, which could also be bought by the dozen.

Today the dinner choices were lasagna, with a side of meatballs, or shrimp scampi, with a side of spaghetti. Of course, there were also the garlic twists, which came six to a table. If you wanted more, you had to pay extra. No one complained, and everyone ordered more. Dessert was cannolis. And, of course, good, old, rich Italian coffee and espresso with which to wash it all down.

Seating time was ninety minutes. If you weren’t finished by then, courteous waiters and waitresses, the Mongellos’ offspring, appeared at your table with a take-home bag. It wasn’t a subtle hint; it was a flat-out, time-to-go reminder. Again, no one ever complained.

The moment Matthew Spicer stepped out of the Town Car he’d engaged to take him to the airport, he swooned at the tantalizing aromas swirling around him. For years, he’d heard about the restaurant, but this was the first time he was going to eat there. At least he had assumed he was going to eat there when Henry Ballard had extended the invitation.

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