Page 4 of Last Call at the Doghouse

Armi didn’t leave the sanctuary of her little office until closing time. As much as she’d like to go upstairs and crawl into bed, she wouldn’t leave the late-night cleanup for her friends. Mary was sweeping, while Stella scrubbed down the bar. Armi collected a handful of glasses and toted them to the kitchen, where she dropped them into a sink of hot, soapy water.

When she returned to the main room, she said, “We really need a decent dishwasher.”

“A couple of part time employees, maybe,” Mary said, stopping to lean on her broom. “I mean, we’re fine for now, but I’m not sure the three of us can handle everything if it gets much busier.”

“I hope it does get busier,” Stella said. “We could think about opening for lunch, maybe add a limited dinner menu. Something besides sandwiches and chips.”

“Whoa,” Armi said. “One thing at a time.” First a dishwasher. Whether that was a person or a machine, she didn’t care. Both would be fantastic.

“Who would want to eat at a place called The Doghouse, anyway?” Mary asked. “It’s not exactly appetizing.”

Stella disagreed. “We could serve gourmet hotdogs.”

“Is that a thing?” Armi asked.

“If it’s not, it should be,” Stella answered. “Or we can just use a dog breed in the name of whatever we decide to serve. Spaniel Spinach Salad…”

“People will think it has Spaniel in it,” Mary argued. “Ugh.”

Stella was not dissuaded. “Poodle Pizza. Bulldog Burger. You know, like the kibble.”

“I am not serving customers meals in doggie bowls,” Armi grumbled as she continued cleaning.

“Ooh,” Stella said. “That’s a great idea!”

That ended it, for now at least. When the place was clean, the three of them sat at a table in the middle of the room; the one where Carlton and his friends had been all evening. Armi considered telling her friends all about the crazy fisherman and how he’d been scared by the imagined fire in her eyes, but she didn’t. She held back, as she often did.

One thing would lead to another, and she’d probably end up telling them about the Milhouses and their secret, which would lead to a discussion she wasn’t yet ready to have.

Mary stood slowly and stretched her arms over her head. “My feet hurt. If I don’t get out of here now, I’m going to end up sleeping at this table.”

Stella stood, too. She didn’t seem as exhausted as Mary, but she wasn’t perky, either. “A shower and the next chapter in my book sounds pretty good right about now.”

They didn’t have far to go. Staying in the motel was convenient, if you didn’t mind watching your step in the parking lot. Saved on gas, too.

“What are you reading now?” Mary asked as they walked to the door. “Romance?”

“Nope. Murder mystery. I’m really not in the mood for romance, these days.”

“I hear ya,” Armi said.

They said goodnight, and Armi locked the front door behind her friends. She checked to make sure the back door was locked—it was—and then she climbed the stairs to her small apartment. It wasn’t much, but it came with the bar and it was hers.

If she could push the thoughts of dishwashers, hiring more employees, and creating lunch menus out of her head, she’d sleep well. That was one benefit of working so hard. She didn’t have the energy to think about ex-husbands and werewolves when day-to-day concerns kept her brain occupied.

Usually.

* * *

From the shadows, Mitch watched. Didn’t these women know that to have a strict schedule was dangerous? Anyone watching could know when they’d be vulnerable, when they’d be outside. He knew when they were out in the open, when they went to the grocery store, and when they walked or jogged on the wooded trail behind the motel.

He looked up as a light came on in a second story window.

Anyone watching would know when she was alone.

He should take the woman aside and talk to her, explain what was going on, but he hadn’t been able to make himself do that. Even in his head, the words wouldn’t come. She wouldn’t believe him. Would that absolve him of responsibility? If she kicked him out, could he go with a clear conscience?

The gnawing in his gut answered those questions for him. No. Like it or not, he was in it for the long haul; he couldn’t put this off much longer.