Nick opened the door of the Skyline Motel and stepped inside. The lobby was like a time capsule—it reminded Nick of a blue-collar recreation room from the early sixties. The walls were covered with fake pecan paneling that was printed with a wood-grain pattern, but its surface was as smooth as glass. The carpet was a pale avocado green, about the same quality found on the fairways of a miniature golf course. Lanterns with black iron scrollwork and yellow scalloped glass hung from chains in the corners of the room. The furniture was green and gold vinyl with thin wooden arms—a sort of doctor’s-waiting-room style that was so out-of-date it was almost retro. In the center of the lobby sat a folding card table and two chairs, where night after night Nick found the Skyline’s proprietors sipping coffee and making no discernible headway on a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle.

The man looked up as Nick entered. “Evenin’, Dr. Polchak.”

“Evening.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” his wife offered. “I’ll fetch it for you.”

“No thanks. I was just about to have dinner.” He held up a grease-stained paper sack and a thirty-two-ounce cup with Captain Jack Sparrow on the side.

The woman frowned at Nick’s dietary selection. “You need a woman bad.”

“Tell me about it. I just met the world’s most beautiful woman today.”

“Who’s that?”

“Victoria Braden.”

Her eyes widened. “Victoria Braden? She’s from right here in Endor.”

“So I hear.”

“I wish she’d stayed here,” her husband commented. “That one’s a real looker.”

“What he needs is a woman who can cook,” his wife replied.

Nick started down the hallway toward his room. “That’s what I kept thinking today: ‘But can she cook?’”

“I sure hope the dog’s all right,” the man called after him.

Nick stopped and looked back. “What?”

“The dog—it’s been whinin’ all day.”

Nick came back a few steps. “What dog are we talking about?”

“The only dog we got here—the FEMA lady’s dog. You know, Marjory Claire what’s-her-name. I’m sorry, but that’s more names than I can remember. You two are the only tenants we got right now.”

“Bosco? He’s been whining all day?”

“Dogs get lonely too,” the woman said. “Marjory’s been gone all day—she’s probably out doing more news interviews. Did you catch the one last night?”

“I’ve been trying to forget it all day.”

“Marjory’s practically a celebrity now. Everybody’s been talkin’ about her—that was a Washington TV station, y’know, not just little ol’ WAZF over in Front Royal. Marjory said that dog of hers found every one of those graves—imagine that.”

“That is hard to imagine,” Nick said. “You say Marge has been gone all day?”

“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of her.”

“And she left her dog here? Locked up in her room?”