they were respected because the kids were likable and all of them worked so hard.

“Just five years,” Betty says, “but this town is dead as a doornail. If I had any competition, I’d probably have to torch the place, too.” She cackles merrily at the thought of it.

I smile and take the bucket from her, anxious to make some phone calls and then settle down with the file.

“If you need more ice, don’t be shy about knocking on my door. I stay up real late,” she says suggestively, handing my key to me with her left hand. She isn’t wearing a ring.

This is one offer even I can turn down.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Afraid she’ll volunteer to feed me, I decide not to ask her to recommend a restaurant.

In room number nine, which, logically enough, is on the end farthest from the office, I consider my surroundings. I have no desk to write on, but in the corner by an iron floor lamp there is a padded chair with big arms. I test the double bed, which proves to be a little hard, but better a firm mattress than one I need a rope to help climb out of in the morning. On top of a scarred brown dresser across from the bed rests a small color TV of indeterminate age and brand. I click it on and remember I am watching television beamed from Memphis, which lies across the Mississippi fifty miles to the east. I enter the bathroom and try out the plumbing, mentally lowering my expectations.

Plumbing standards in this country seem to have undergone a decline in the last twenty years. However, I am pleasantly surprised to find that though it takes a while, the commode flushes, and though not exactly gleaming (I’ve seen too many commercials lately), it is cleaner than the commode the old owner in my new house left me. There is no tub, only a shower, and since except for my feet I won’t be coming in contact with it, I decide not to worry about the walls too much.