Page 11 of Last Call at the Doghouse

Now and then she tried to pull herself back from the edge with logical thoughts. How could she ever clean the blood out of gravel? A paved lot she could pressure wash or scrub with a long-handled brush, but gravel, not so much. She’d have to dig it up, create a hole like the ones in the motel parking lot that had been so recently repaired.

Which unfortunately made her wonder where all those old potholes had come from.

More official vehicles arrived. An ambulance. A county crime scene van. One of the deputies, who’d finished throwing up and was trying—and failing—to appear unaffected, directed all the onlookers who’d trickled outside back into the bar. He also told them not to leave until the other deputy had taken statements and gotten contact information. She wasn’t sure why, since from what she heard they’d already written it off to an animal attack. Bear. Wolf. Some kind of big cat. Wild dogs. She looked around to see if the big stray had been drawn by all the excitement, but Goliath was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t imagine the mutt that hung around her place being violent, but what did she know?

No one could say what had happened, but until the coroner made it official, they were handling it by the book.

She and Duncan were the last to re-enter the bar, walking in after the others who’d stepped outside to be a part of the commotion. Stella had been among those curious and brave enough to take a look, but Mary had not been. Sweet Mary had many attributes, but bravery was not one of them.

Armi ordered coffee and sandwiches on the house. No more alcohol, not tonight. Everyone here was a witness of sorts, and they needed to be clear-headed. Or as clear-headed as they could be, given that several of them had been drinking most of the evening.

She’d ignored Duncan’s cryptic, We need to talk. Maybe if she stayed busy and made a point not to be alone with him—or even slightly isolated from the crowd—he’d forget whatever he’d wanted to talk to her about. Had any good ever come from those four words? She barely knew him. What could he possibly have to say to her beyond sharing some kind of renovation concerns? He needed more supplies. A repair was going to be more extensive than they’d thought. Anything along those lines should go through Holt, not directly to her. Even if some motel-related business needed her approval it would hardly require privacy, or those ominous words.

We need to talk.

No thanks, pal.

One by one the customers spoke to the police and were dismissed. The sheriff conducted the interviews; his deputies took turns collecting contact information and then escorting the interviewees to their cars. By this time everyone was properly sober, but Armi had a new thought, as some of the regulars left; she needed a nearby taxi or car service, for those who shouldn’t drive after an evening in The Doghouse. She could rent rooms pretty cheaply, once they were done, and that would be perfect for anyone who partied a bit too hard. She’d get Holt to focus on a couple of the almost-ready rooms so she’d have a few available asap, just in case, instead of waiting for everything to be done.

If this attack scared off all her customers, that might not be a concern.

There had been a bit of spite in her choice of businesses, she admitted to herself, a hint of rebellion. Okay, more than a hint. A bar and seedy motel were a far cry from her life as Mrs. Andrew Sherwood, and that’s what she’d wanted. By golly, if she was going to start over, the changes would be big ones. New life, new Armi.

But maybe a cute little gift shop or a bookstore in one of the nearby small towns would’ve been a better choice. A coffee shop. One of those places where you drank wine and painted half naked men or bowls of fruit.

Too late. It was done. The Doghouse and the motel behind it were hers, for good or for ill.

The customers peeled off one by one, until only Armi, Mary, Stella, and Duncan remained. And the sheriff, of course. He was still pale, she noticed. Armi nudged Duncan forward, hoping he’d answer the sheriff’s questions and go. Instead he said, “Ladies first,” and gestured to Mary and Stella, who sat side by side on stools at the bar. They had nothing to add that hadn’t already been said, so it didn’t take long. One of the deputies—Earl, the one who’d thrown up when he’d seen the body—offered to walk them to their rooms, even though they didn’t have far to go. Tonight, an escort was a good idea.

How could she tell her friends to stay indoors on full moon nights? Could she convince them to stay with her on upcoming nights? Would they be willing to share the small space, the way they had not so long ago? A sleepover, every time the moon was full. How would she explain that away? They were fully grown women, not twelve-year-olds, and they were all too old for monthly pajama parties.

The truth wasn’t an option. For now, anyway.

That left the sheriff, who was obviously exhausted; the other deputy, Calvin; and Duncan. She wanted Duncan out of here, the sooner the better. She couldn’t think clearly when he was around, and she needed to think. She’d probably be thinking all night. Sleep wasn’t in the cards.

As Duncan headed for the table where the sheriff was seated, he took Armi’s arm. She gently shook him off; he calmly took her arm again. He did not squeeze or force, his hand was just there. As he’d been there all night. They approached the sheriff side by side.

She liked it; she couldn’t afford to like it…

Burton Sweeney was sheriff in a county where the job wasn’t just administrative or political, as was the case in some counties. No, he was a working sheriff, with a small staff of deputies and maybe a few civilians as office staff. Interviewing possible witnesses at the scene of an unnatural death in the wee hours of the morning wasn’t something he’d looked forward to, she imagined. But it was his job.

He didn’t waste any time. “Ms. Sherwood, I understand the man who was killed was a friend of yours.”

“Not a friend, exactly,” she said. Duncan pulled a chair out for her and held it until she sat, then he took the chair beside her. “A customer. He’d been in once before.”

“Alone?”

“Tonight, yes. Last week he was here with friends. Fishermen,” she added.

“But he came back alone tonight. Why?” It was a casual, drawled, simple question.

Might as well make her response simple as well. “He dropped by to apologize for being a jerk last time he was here.”

There were plenty of questions in the sheriff’s eyes, but he didn’t actually ask her anything. Instead he hummed and grumbled a little, then he asked if she had the names of the men Carlton had been with a few days back. She didn’t, but a couple of them had paid with credit cards so she could be of some help, after digging through a little paperwork.

The sheriff looked up, staring with tired eyes at the man standing beside Armi. “You have anything to add, Duncan?”

“Nope.”