Alicia used the walk to the restaurant to work out the details of her serious long-term relationship. She wanted them fixed firmly in her mind so she could casually drop them into the conversation with Matthews when the opportunity arose.

Let’s see… the man in my life… first we need a name.

She dropped some spare change in the bucket of a sidewalk Santa and looked around at the storefronts for inspiration. English names seemed to be the exception rather than the rule in this neighborhood. She saw a sign for Jose Herrera Clothing.

All right. Let’s see what we can do with that. Don’t want Detective Matthews to leave the restaurant and spot the name of my beau, so let’s Anglicanize that: Joseph Hermann. Great. Now, what does he do? Something that’ll keep him out of town a lot. An importer. Good. But an importer of what?

As she turned onto Twenty-third Street she passed a computer-beeper-pager shop and saw the cornucopia of gadgets filling the window.

That’s it: electronics. My guy Joseph Hermann imports cell phones and VCRs and computer games and all that sort of stuff from the Far East. His constant traveling is a strain on our relationship, but we’re deeply committed to each other and we’ll be marrying as soon as he nails down his lines of distribution and can get off the road.

And then she spotted El Quijote’s canopy. She’d passed it countless times but had never thought of eating there, and that beat-up metal canopy, painted some awful shades of red and yellow, was why. The restaurant was tucked under the notorious Chelsea Hotel whose redbrick front and wrought-iron balconies made it look as if it would be more at home in New Orleans. But the restaurant itself wasn’t all that inviting. It looked… old.

She stepped inside and saw a long bar stretching toward the rear on her left. The restaurant area lay to the right. The inside pretty much matched the outside—old. And traditional-looking. High ceilings, white linen tablecloths, and faux Cervantes murals along the wall. She wondered if it had been redecorated since the forties. Even with daylight streaming in through the front window, the interior somehow managed to remain dim. She found that oddly comforting.

She saw a man step away from the bar and approach her.

Detective Matthews. Wearing a trench coat, no less.

“Hi,” he said, grinning. “I’ve got us a table.”

She realized he was very good-looking when he smiled. She extended her hand.

“Detec—”

He raised his finger and waggled it. “Uh-uh-uh. Will, Remember?”

“All right. Will.” She took a breath. She knew he was waiting for it, so she said, “Only if you call me Alicia.”

His smile broadened. “I’d love to. Let me take your coat, Alicia.”