It was a very small room with a single bed, a nightstand with a kerosene lamp, a wardrobe closet, and a chair and small rickety table by the window, which was square, but hardly larger than a porthole. The furniture was old, solid, and plain. The bed had a rather flat pillow and a noticeably dusty quilt on it. Its colors were drab; it was the sort of quilt people used to make out of old dress suits. A second door led to a bathroom the same size as the bedroom, which had ugly, but clean, workable fixtures that looked as though they'd been installed in the 1950s. It had slightly peeling wallpaper with faded roses and a pink linoleum floor. The opposite door in the bath led to another identical bedroom.

Shelley stepped out into the hall and opened a few other doors and came back. "They're all exactly the same," she said. "I'll bet these were themonks' rooms and one out of every three was turned into a bathroom."

“They're certainly…" Jane sought the right word."… serviceable."

“It was meant for hunters, Jane, and whatever few misguided wives who might occasionally come along. It's a 'guy' place. They'd go out killing things all day, come back, and eat and drink all evening and tell fabulous stories of the woolly mammoth that got away, then fall into bed half-soused. A great-uncle of mine had a place like this when I was a kid. Not as big as this, but pretty much the same. My dad took me on one of the hunting trips when I was about seven. I had to sit around with my dad and uncles in a cold, wet duck blind all day. Worst trip of my life, but the men seemed to love it."

“I want to make a quick sketch of the rooms and assign them to the people who are staying here instead of the motel. Then let's go see what's upstairs," Jane said.

“Ghosts of monks, I'll bet," Shelley said cheerfully.

Jane glared at her. "If you try to tell me a ghost story in this spooky old place, I'll go home and stick you with the job of putting on this wedding!”