Point of Origin by Patricia Cornwell Page B

promised it was open twenty-four hours a day and had air conditioning. The NO part of the vacancy sign was dark, which boded well for those in need of a place to stay. We got out, and a welcome mat announced HELLO outside the lobby. Lucy rang a bell. A big black cat came to the door, and then a big woman seemed to materialize from nowhere to let us in.
    'We should have a reservation for a room for two,' Lucy said.
    'Check-out's eleven in the morning,' the woman stated as she went around to her side of the counter. 'I can give you fifteen down there at the end.'
    'We're ATF,' Lucy said.
    'Honey, I already figured out that one. The other lady was just in here. You're all paid up.'
    A sign posted above the door said no checks but encouraged MasterCard and Visa, and I thought of McGovern and her resourceful ways.
    'You need two keys?' the clerk asked us as she opened a drawer.
    'Yes, ma'am.'
    'Here's you go, honey, and there's two nice beds in there. If I'm not around when you check out, just leave the keys on the counter.'
    'Glad you got security,' Lucy said drolly.
    'Sure do. Double locks on every door.'
    'How late does room service stay open?' Lucy played with her again.
    'Until that Coke machine out front quits,' the woman said with a wink.
    She was at least sixty with dyed red hair and jowls, and a squat body that pushed against every inch of her brown polyester slacks and yellow sweater. It was obvious that she was fond of black and white cows. There were carvings and ceramic ones on shelves and tables and fastened to the wall. A small fish tank was populated with an odd assortment of tadpoles and minnows, and I couldn't help asking her about them.
    'Home grown?' I said.
    She gave me a sheepish smile. 'I catch 'em in the pond out back. One of them turned into a frog not long ago and it drowned. I didn't know frogs can't live under water.'
    'I'm gonna use the pay phone,' Lucy said, opening the screen door. 'And by the way, what happened to Marino?'
    'I think some of them went out to eat somewhere,' I said.
    She left with our Burger King bag, and I suspected she was calling Janet and that our Whoppers would be cold by the time we got to them. As I leaned against the counter, I noticed the clerk's messy desk on the other side, and the local paper with its front page headline: MEDIA MOGUL'S FARM DESTROYED BY FIRE. I recognized a subpoena among her clutter and posted notices of reward money for information about murders, accompanied by composite sketches of rapists, thieves, and killers. All the same, Fauquier was the typical quiet county where people got lulled into feeling safe.
    'I hope you aren't working here all by yourself at night,' I said to the clerk, because it was my irrepressible habit to give security tips whether or not anyone wanted them.
    'I've got Pickle,' she affectionately referred to her fat black cat.
    'That's an interesting name.'
    'You leave an open pickle jar around, and she'll get into it. Dips her paw right in, ever since she was a kitten.'
    Pickle was sitting in a doorway leading into a room that I suspected was the clerk's private quarters. The cat's eyes were gold coins fixed on me as her fluffy tail twitched. She looked bored when the bell rang and her owner unlocked the door for a man in a tank top who was holding a burned-out lightbulb.
    'Looks like it done it again, Helen.' He handed her the evidence.
    She went into a cabinet and brought out a box of lightbulbs as I gave Lucy plenty of time to get off the pay phone so I could use it. I glanced at my watch, certain Benton should have made it to Hilton Head by now.
    'Here you go, Big Jim.' She exchanged a new lightbulb for bad. 'That's sixty watts?' She squinted at it. 'Uh huh. You here a little longer?' She sounded as if she hoped he would be.
    'Hell if I know.'
    'Oh dear,' said Helen. 'So things still aren't too good.'
    'When have they ever been?' He shook his head as he went out into the night.
    'Fighting with his wife again,' Helen the clerk