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door.
    He opened my car door, reached out his hand and said, “Hi, Dave Paisley. Indoor parking’s available for just a bit extra. No more clearing snow off the car.”
    “Hi, Raquel Flanagan.”
    “I guessed as much. C’mon, we can take the elevator to the unit.”
    Paisley pressed “2” on the elevator panel. “This is real handy when carrying groceries. Of course, there’s a washer-dryer in a hall closet so hauling laundry really isn’t a problem.”
    We exited the elevator and he opened apartment 211. It was beautiful with freshly finished hardwood floors and a separate bedroom. The kitchen was big enough to fit a small bistro table and the view from the living room was a big green hill. I walked over to the window and opened it.
    “Phew! What’s that stink?”
    “Oh, that’s the landfill. There’s still an open section they haven’t completed yet.”
    “Does it always smell like that?”
    “Well, it varies with the wind.” He reached for the window. “C’mon, let me show you the washer-dryer.”
    “When will the open section be done?”
    Paisley closed the window. “Hard to say, soon, I believe. Shall we look at the bedroom?”
    “Soon next month or soon next year?”
    “I don’t really know. It’s a city project. Did I tell you the rent includes basic cable?”
    “I’m sorry. I love this place but I don’t think I could live with that smell.”
    “How ‘bout I drop the rent $20 a month for the first year?”
    I said, “No, thanks,” and headed for the door.
    As I closed it behind me, he asked, “What if I included indoor parking for free?”
    * * *
    The hostess looked up from her podium and greeted us with a smile. “Welcome to D’Raquelos. Do you have a reservation?”
    Robby said, “Yes, Carlyle, party of two.”
    She marked something in the book in front of her, held two menus against the front of her classic black cocktail dress and said, “This way, please.”
    We followed her through the main dining room where I ate the first time here. During my senior year in high school, a boy in my class wanted to impress me and he did. Tonight was Robby’s turn and he looked great in a navy sports jacket and a white silk shirt.
    The hostess lead us to a booth in a dark quiet corner in a smaller room where she lit a candle sticking out of a chianti bottle. Soft Italian opera played in the background.
    Most women would have found it romantic but I knew romance is more “who you’re with” than “where you are”. My abuela, Miranda, used to tell me, “A hot dog with the right man is better than a feast with the wrong one.”
    As soon as we opened our menus, a black suited waiter appeared. He brushed his moustache with his fingertip and bowed.
    “Good evening and welcome to D’Raquelo’s. Would you care for a cocktail?”
    We started with a carafe of the house red wine the waiter recommended. He called it a Montepulciano D’Abruzzo. It was so smooth, it would be easy to overindulge. I had the eggplant parmigiana and Robby ordered the mussels. He attacked them like he hadn’t eaten all day. As we ate, Robby said, “Got the OK for the ride along. Tomorrow morning all right?”
    “Sure.”
    “Also spoke to Cavanaugh, He still thinks the Farmer died by accident but says I can ask around if I want to and I do. This thing with Brenda doesn’t sit right. Geez, why did she tell you about her Dad? It just makes her look bad. Does she gain from his death? She have any connection to that other dead guy, Burke?” He waved his fork in a circle. “Lots of questions. No answers.”
    “There are a couple of other things you should know.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Someone sent me a reporter Kewpie Doll.”
    Robby looked up from his plate.
    “… and when I left Brenda at the carnival, someone threw a knife at me.”
    “What?”
    “They were just trying to scare me. If they wanted to hurt me, I’d already be dead.”
    He put down his fork and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin. “It looks