The man in the rocker lowered his newspaper and his coffee-colored eyes narrowed. "Heya, you folks lookin' for a room?" His voice had a scratchy quality like an old phonograph record.
"Yes," said Amanda, with a nice-to-meet-you smile on her lips. "We're in town on vacation."
The man chuckled gruffly, letting the newspaper fall into his lap. "Vacation? In Moonrise? That's a good one, young lady." He arched one white eyebrow. "No one vacations in this town. It's nearly dead. Me and the wife are the last of the few who stayed after the silver mine closed."
"When was that?" asked Phillip.
The old man snorted. "Back in '99. The mining company ran out of money...they left town along with most of the folks 'round here." He peered into the distance, ignoring them. "We had a pretty young school
