I drove west through campus, and when I reached the oleander-lined driveway of the Old Mission Hotel, the foothills in the distance were just beginning to purple, and I could see above the hedge that the late-afternoon sun had steeped the red-tiled roof in a burnished coppery color. It really was a lovely building, I thought, with its gently sloping lines and thick white walls, to which the fading light had lent a rosy glow. Its loveliness has stayed with me. I can’t seem to cancel my intention of going back to visit it, though of course there are many reasons that is no longer possible; I am told that not a brick remains.

It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom of the lobby. Here, I saw, day or night had no meaning, the same bluish light suffused the windowless space at all hours, and the same faint music pulsed from the omnipresent sound system. My own pulse gave a little shudder and skip forward when I caught sight of the smooth-faced young man behind the reception desk—but, I thought, get ahold of yourself. Of course the young man is here, you only just spoke with him on the phone. If you’re going to have a small heart attack each time you encounter an employee of the hotel, how exactly do you plan to solve a murder?

He was in the middle of helping a professional-looking young woman with dark hair and a suitcase beside her; they were conferring in low tones, and if he’d noticed my arrival at all, he gave no sign. Someone had added a vase of white lilies to the front desk, their stamens slick with yellow pollen, and though I was standing several yards away, I could smell their funereal scent distinctly. To my right I could see that the dark wooden bar was open for business, the row of red votive candles had been lit, and a few patrons with drinks were scattered along its length. I had the impression that the hotel was now more robust, somehow, more lively, than it had been the first night, when I’d crossed the lobby with the intoxicated guest lecturer, as if that had only been a dress rehearsal, and this was the real thing. But this, I reflected, was mere silly imagining; of course it had been a hotel, and to the same degree, all along.