Page 12 of Last Call at the Doghouse

You’d think such an insufficient answer would bring on more questions, but the tired sheriff just stood, sighed, and gathered his notes. “Ms. Sherwood, I’ll be…”

“Armi,” she said, interrupting him before he could get far. Ms. Sherwood reminded her too much of who she’d once been. She’d kept her married surname. It was her sons’ last name, would one day be her grandchildren’s. That didn’t mean she wanted to hear it any more than she had to.

“Armi,” he repeated. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere without checking in with me.”

It wasn’t exactly a don’t leave town, but it was close. Too damn close.

“I don’t know what kind of animal attacked the man,” the sheriff continued, “but we need to get a handle on it so we can squash the panic that’s sure to follow. No one saw anything unusual, and I don’t know if the investigators will be able to tell what kind of beast mauled your friend, but we can’t assume it isn’t hanging around in the woods looking for its next victim. Once a wild animal gets a taste of blood…” He stopped speaking, shook his head. He never said the word werewolf. “I’d suggest you put up security cameras, front and back. If you need help with the installation…”

“If she needs help I’ll handle it,” Duncan interrupted, as if he had a place here, as if he had a place in her life.

Armi gladly walked the sheriff and Duncan to the exit. Once she was alone she’d decompress, take a long shower, maybe read a while. As if she could concentrate on a book tonight, when all she could see in her mind was Carlton.

The sheriff left. Armi expected Duncan to exit right behind him. She held the door open and motioned with one hand. Go. Leave. Scoot. But he gripped the edge of the door and closed it, slowly but surely. He engaged the lock while she protested. Then he looked down at her and said… again…

“We need to talk.”

CHAPTER 4

Armi was a lot more worried about Duncan’s proposed “talk” than she was about being alone with a complete stranger. Well, mostly a stranger. Holt had hired him. The sheriff knew he was here. He’d been nothing but helpful all evening. Maybe too helpful.

Still, her immediate response was to get defensive. “Why does the sheriff know you by name?” Was she locked up in The Doghouse with a criminal? A troublemaker? Yeah, this man had trouble written all over him.

“I remodeled his kitchen a couple months back.”

That was deflating. “Oh.” It made sense. Renovation was his job, apparently. “Look,” she said, less defensive than before. “I’m sorry, but we really don’t need to talk. Any and all motel renovation business can wait until tomorrow. Or even better, Monday. We’re closed tomorrow so I can sleep in.” If she could sleep at all. “It’s late, I’m tired…” I’m shaken to my core. That was a confession she didn’t want to make, not to him, not to anyone. “Can’t we talk tomorrow?”

“This can’t wait.”

“Fine.” She walked to the bar, rounded it, thought about grabbing a good bottle of top shelf whisky but settled for a cold bottle of water. Without thinking, she grabbed two from the small fridge and placed one on the bar for Duncan. “Wood rot, leaky plumbing, sagging floor, moldy carpet… Please, let it not be mold.”

She ignored the fact that Duncan had immediately pegged Carlton’s death as a werewolf attack. She didn’t want to go there.

He uncapped his water and took a long swig before asking, “Have you felt different since coming here?”

Not the kind of question she’d been expecting…

He sat on a barstool; she leaned onto the bar. She felt a bit better with the length of polished wood between them. Not that she didn’t trust him. For some reason, she did. But he’d been close all night and it was becoming too comfortable, too fast.

“Of course I’ve felt different. I’m fifty, divorced, and starting over. Until I bought this place I didn’t spend much time in bars. Now it’s my life. I’ve been second-guessing every decision I’ve ever made. Not just moving and buying this place, everything.”

He was quiet for a couple of minutes. She looked him over, studied him much as she had earlier. Duncan dressed like a workman. Jeans, boots, black t-shirt. He wore it all well, which was annoying. She looked for flaws and found none. Ridiculous. All men had flaws.

“That’s not exactly what I mean,” he said. “Do you feel physically different? Stronger. Weaker. Do you anger more easily? Have you been sleeping well?”

“Are you a doctor trying to drum up business? Is the Mister Fixit thing just a side gig? I don’t get it.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” The shake of his head was small, almost imperceptible. “I wanted to wait, but after what happened to your friend…”

“Carlton wasn’t exactly a friend, just… someone I kinda knew, I guess.” Someone she’d once known, now.

Duncan nodded. For a long moment he looked thoughtful, as if someone had given him a tough math problem and he was trying to work it in his head. “I’m not sure why he was killed. A message? A warning? Did he know something he shouldn’t? I can’t believe it was coincidence.”

“Do wild animals need a motive?” And what was wrong with coincidence?

He looked her in the eye, hard, unyielding. “There’s a reason for everything, and wild is relative.”

She much preferred random, but what if it had been anything but? “Maybe it was his ex-wife or had something to do with her and the divorce.” Was there a way to murder a man and make it look like an animal attack? In such a short time? It had to have happened in a matter of minutes. Her idea about the ex-wife was unlikely, but it wasn’t impossible. Nothing was truly impossible.