He had no time for a shower. After throwing on civilian clothes, he grabbed a quick shave, slapped on aftershave, and then added a splash of cologne. His horses would get fed a little late tonight, but it wouldn’t harm them. Depending on the road conditions, the drive to Crystal Falls took anywhere from a half hour to forty-five minutes. He didn’t want to be late. The dumpy little Italian place was even worse than Barney remembered. The gravel parking lot had iced-over mud holes deep enough to bury a Volkswagen Bug. The pale blue clapboard siding of the building needed paint, the windows looked cloudy with grime, and when he ascended the steps to the entrance, he felt the wooden planks give a little under his weight. The interior wasn’t much better. The stench of rancid oil blasted him. Pots of fake green ivy sat on dividing walls that formed eating areas, and the leaves looked coated with dust. The red-checkered tablecloths were plastic.
