The gentrification sweeping the rest of Eagle Rock clearly hadn’t filtered on down to the Blue Moon Inn just yet. It was a tired single-story building the color of old bones, with a flat roof edged with blue neon lights. A row of ten rooms stretched out behind the office. A blinking red-and-blue neon sign advertising vacancies and low rates stood sentry by the entrance to the lot. By low rates, the proprietors meant twenty-five bucks a night, and that was just fine by Jessica. All she wanted was a soft bed and some hard liquor.

Stepping inside the motel’s lobby, she found an unmanned varnished wood counter taking up most of the east wall. A small, chipped table next to the front entrance held an ancient Mr. Coffee machine, some paper cups, and a tidy pile of glossy brochures. By the big picture window was a seating area with a round, glass-topped coffee table flanked by two small wicker couches. The type that always creaked loudly when you sat on them, no matter how plump the cushioned seat covers were.

The door behind the desk opened, and she could hear an old Stones tune playing low on an unseen radio in the office beyond. A round belly appeared in the doorway. The man attached to the gut had a white beard and a matching cloud of hair and looked old enough to remember the song when it was first riding high on the Billboard Hot 100. His smile was wide and warm, as though he was surprised to find a guest waiting.

“What can I do you for?” he asked.

“I need a room for a week,” Jessica said. “Maybe longer.”

She handed over an ID and an Amex card. The deskman glanced at the driver’s license and swiped the card in a new pay machine that looked out of place in the dated surroundings. He used his trigger finger to stab some details onto a keyboard hooked up to a chunky computer monitor. Then he reached into a cubbyhole unit with ten slots and pulled out a key attached to a white plastic fob with the number five stamped in gold foil that was starting to flake off.

“The name’s Jeff Hopper, but folks call me Hopper or Hopp,” he said. “Never Jeff. You need anything while you’re staying here, just buzz the office. You’ll find the number on the room telephone.”

“Sure, no problem.”

Hopper gestured to the flyers on the table. “If you’re after someplace nice to eat or information on local hiking trails or any other tourist stuff, you should find what you’re looking for among that lot. Or I can give you some personal recommendations, if you’d prefer?”

“Thanks,” Jessica said. “But I’m here for business, not pleasure.”

Hopper smiled again and shrugged.