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Page 54
and followed the lake shore road to a small motel that obviously catered to fishermen. The late August sun was just beginning to dip behind two craggy outcroppings off of Tacker Point when we finally stopped.
The young man behind the desk was tall and too slender, with long wavy red-brown hair parted down the middle. He had haunting, deep-set brown eyes that peered out from their hiding place under a prominent ridge that traversed the width of his forehead. He was the possessor of a full, sensuous mouth that seemed somehow to be curved into a permanent pout, and his unusual clothes hung straight down much like they would from a wire hanger. On balance, and I hate to use this word in describing a man, he was "beautiful." He eyed Brenda with a peculiar kind of envy.
"Any rooms left in the inn?" I chirped.
The young man nodded without uttering a word and pushed an old-fashioned desk ledger across the surface at me.
"I'll need two rooms," I announced, louder than necessary. I had no intention of giving anybody an excuse to call me a lecher. Actually, I've known a lot of couples with a greater age disparity than my traveling companion and yours trulybut that was their problem, not mine.
Our silent and sullen desk clerk produced two keys, laid them on the registration desk and promptly disappeared behind a draped

 
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