Rescue

trees, the colorful bushes in reds, purples, and oranges planted tastefully as border lines.
    Continuing north, I pulled into the broad drive of the first large motel I saw, figuring anonymity might be an asset. However, the ocean-side place was a little too classy as I walked through it, markers for POOL and SHUFFLEBOARD and VILLAS 101 THROUGH in, enthusiastic employees popping out from behind booths and desks before I’d gotten a hundred feet across the grounds and ten feet inside the main building. I politely took a few of their brochures, saying they were for some friends back in Scarsdale , and returned to my car.
    There weren’t any other big places heading north, and I crossed onto Key Largo and went another five miles before deciding I didn’t want to be that far away from the Church offices. Turning south again, I went back over Mercy Creek, past the marina, and stopped in the first large hotel I came to on the bay side. It was called MERCY LODGE on the cathedral gates at the edge of Route 1, but inside seemed a lot more low-key than the first place. No one bothered me as I parked the car in one of the many unlabeled spaces. I walked over to the registration area, a central building that had buffed marble floors, a paneled counter, and ceiling fans with wooden paddles turning just enough to ruffle the leaves on the miniature palm and rubber trees in the lobby. The place tried for historical dyslexia, wanting you to believe it had been built in 1909 instead of 1990, and as a result I kind of liked it.
    The clerk behind the counter was slim, in his twenties, and had a nametag that said CLARK on it. Clark the Clerk.
    “Yessir?“
    Clark’s Adam’s apple bobbed under the white, open-collared Brooks Brothers sport shirt with the little ewe on the left breast. He was awfully wan for someone who worked in South Florida, the pale blond hairs on his arms darker than the skin they grew from. His hair was blond, too, and cut short, studious rather than athletic, the eyes crossing just a Wee bit as he focused on me.
    I said, “I wonder if you have a room available?“
    “Sure do. How long will you be staying with us?“
    Already reeling me in, not wanting the out-of-season fish to get away. “Indefinite. Cash deposit.“
    Clark seemed pleased. “Let me just get you to sign in here, Mr... ?“
    “Francis, John Francis.“
    “I’m Clark, Mr. Francis, just like the nametag says. What kind of room win you be wanting?“
    Another employee came around a corner, using a carpet sweeper on the tiles for no reason I could think of. It made a sound like a studded snow tire spinning on icy pavement. “Single room, king- or queen-sized bed if you have it.“
    “No problem. I can give you first or second floor.“
    “Any reason I’d want one over the other?“
    Clark glanced around conspiratorially. “Well, the second floor has less bugs, flying and crawling, but it’s also farther from the pool, and neither one’s going to have a great view on account of the hammock.“
    “The hammock?“
    “Yessir. The trees. Or glade of them, I guess you’d call it. They grow right down to the water, and except for our beach area on the bay, we can’t cut them back. Environmentalists.“
    He said the last neutrally, but I had the sense he didn’t agree with them on a business-generation basis.
    “So, what’ll it be, first or second?“
    I decided I liked the idea of being nearer the ground than farther from the bugs. “First.“
    Clark gave me the same approving smile he would have regardless of my choice. “Well, then. Let me get you the key—uh, only one key?“
    “Probably.“
    He tried to wink, but it came off artificially. “One for now, then.“
    Clark ducked under the counter a moment, then came back with the kind of envelope that companies paying their workers in cash used to have for payrolls. Into it he put a metal key and what he called a courtesy card that would allow me to sign for drinks at the pool or the bay-side bar, when it was open.
    “Why would it be closed, Clark?“
    “Because we aren’t half full up, and it’s kind of hard to keep somebody down there for nothing.“
    “But the pool one stays open?“
    “That’s right. Most of our off-season guests are from Germany, and they seem to like the pool more than the bay.“
    Again neutral, but I had the feeling he agreed with the viewpoint this time. “Where’s my room?“
    “Uh, the... deposit?“
    I took out some more of Lonnie Severn’s