THERE'S A LOT of work to running a motel, and no matter how many people
there are to do the work, there's never a moment when they are
completely caught up. Always there are the big jobs awaiting any rare
moments of leisure--digging out the insidious weeds that thrust their
way through the gravel, planting flowers and improving the external
appearance of the place, utilizing the extra land, and repairing the
inevitable damage done by careless customers.
Mr. Featherbrain, the old man next door--whose black hair, I suspected,
was dyed--finally got his motel finished to the point where it was
ready to operate; and one day some men came and installed a big neon
sign (Palace Motel--Vacancy) in front of his place. It was a great day
for him. He came over to talk to us about it. He leaned his tall form
against our office door, stroked his rosy chin, and said, "Well sir,
I'm a goin to have muh 'no vacancy' up tonight afore anybody else. Yep,
two hours after dark, and we'll be full."
"Good for you," I said. "With only three cabins to rent, you should be
able to do it, too!"
"Durned old fellers that put up the sign," he grumbled, "they went'n
knocked all muh white rocks out of line with theit truck. I shoulda
busted evvy bone in their head."
A customer drove into our driveway, and the irascible old man went
home. A middle-aged woman in a mouse-colored dress got out of the car,
and just as she began to speak another car, a green coupe, whirled up
on to the gravel. A well built, fiftyish man with his dark hat at a
rakish angle stepped out of the car and said, "Do you rent any of your
cabins by the week, madame? I've got some work to do in Palm
Springs--I'm a contractor, don't know just how long I'll want to stay,
but--" Realizing suddenly that he had interrupted the middle-aged
woman, he swept off his hat and bowed before her.
"I apologize deeply, madame," he said. "It was unforgivable. Pray go
ahead and do your business with this young lady, while I wait my turn."
The woman smiled timidly, first at him and then at me. She was a
dainty, plump, small-boned creature with white, slightly rouged skin
and tiny white hands. Her blue eyes, underlined with a criss-cross of
faint wrinkles, sparkled behind rimless glasses.
"Bon jour," she said. "I'm Miss Nestleburt. I, too, was wondering if
you rent cabins by the week or month. I have to live in this climate
for my health for a few weeks ... the doctor says I'm just on the verge
of asthma, and a few months of desert air should prevent it from
developing."
"We usually rent our cabins on an overnight basis," I said, "but
there's no reason why we couldn't rent them by the week."
"Of course I know it will be simply terribly expensive," she said, "but
I want a nice place like these you have here, and I'm willing to pay
for it." She took a deep, rattling breath.
"Come on, I'll show you what we have," I said, my smile including the
man with the dark hat. His eyes, I noticed, were sparkling with love of
life and a private amusement.
Miss Nestleburt and the man, whose name turned out to be Hawkins, were
both pleased with the newness and the cleanness of the cabins. I gave
them cabins 7 and 8, and as they left the office after filling out
registration cards he set his hat back on his head in order,
apparently, to be able to lift it gallantly.
"May I call upon you tonight?" I heard him ask. A truck thundered past
and I couldn't hear her reply, but I watched them as they walked
together toward their cars. Her birdlike head was fluttering in
agreement with the remarks he was making, and his steps were jaunty.
I turned my attention to the desk, to put the date and the cabin number
on each of the two registration cards. About to pick up a pencil,
suddenly I gasped and jumped backward. There, leering at me with
strangely human eyes, was an enormous black spider, motionless on one
of the registration cards.
I would have called Grant, but I knew he was behind the rear cabins,
cleaning out the incinerator. I was on my own.
I picked up a newspaper that was on one edge of the desk, moving
quietly and carefully, and folded it until it was narrow and stiff.
I hated to think of having squashed spider all over the top of the
desk, but I hated even more to think of letting the huge, loathsome
creature escape. I raised the folded newspaper, with grim slowness, and
then I brought it crashing down on the registration card.
I sighed with relief. There, that would fix him! I lifted the paper,
preparing to clean up the mess.
There, still watching me mockingly, sat the spider, still
motionless--and completely unharmed!
About that time it began to dawn on me that this was a very strange
spider, indeed. I had seen every imaginable sort of insect since we
came to Banning, including black widows, but I had never in all my life
seen anything resembling this.
I moved a little closer and, bending down, looked the spider over
carefully. Then I laughed and picked him up in my hand. He was made of
rubber. Either Miss Nestleburt or Mr. Hawkins must have left him there,
since he was on top of the registration cards.