I found a motel in a rather untravelled spot and sacked in for the night.
The car was going to take a dive into the fountain pool in front of my motel.
She says a lot of motel owners do all right as Justices of the Peace.
We got into the parking lot of a closed summer motel with a number of other travelers.
They were about fifty miles to the west of there in a motel.
I put everything into the suitcase, and drove back to the motel.
It wasn't a hotel; it was a motel, which I didn't know about at that time, but he said I'd be better off there.
I hadn't told him where the motel was, and I had at least enough caution left not to tell him, even then.
I found the motel without much trouble, and went in and registered; I knew how to do that, at least—I'd seen it plenty of times.
A little more than halfway there, I saw a motel with a "Vacancy" sign out, and an attractive clean look about it.