Page 5 of Last Call at the Doghouse

Until a few months ago, his life had been nice and orderly. There had been no surprises, and he liked it that way. Women came and went, and none of them got too close. It would have to be the same with her. Why should he allow himself to care when he knew her life was about to get complicated, dangerous… and likely short.

Again, that gnawing in his gut called him out. It was going to be hard not to care, but he had to give it a shot.

He’d been responsible for one woman’s death, and one was enough for a lifetime.

* * *

Armi had always been a morning person. Well, since she’d gotten married she’d been a morning person; first because Andrew left for work so early, and then she’d had kids and that pretty much demanded an early morning, like it or not. After that it had been habit, she supposed. Up early, breakfast, a trip to the gym or the park or the coffee shop that was within walking distance… if you didn’t mind walking a couple of miles, which she didn’t.

Her schedule had changed. In the early days, workmen—plumbers and electricians and carpenters—got an early start, and there had been plenty of work for them all for a month or so. There hadn’t exactly been an opportunity to sleep in while all that was going on. For the past four weeks, The Doghouse had been open for business. She didn’t close up until 2 a.m., and even though they were in a remote location there were always a few stragglers. These days she rarely got to bed before 3 a.m., and it wasn’t unusual for her to sleep until noon.

She’d become a night owl, which meant the banging outside her window at 8 on a Tuesday morning was very annoying.

Armi rolled out of bed and went to the window that faced the motel. She threw back the blackout curtain and spotted the source of the noise.

She supposed she couldn’t very well tell the workers who were making the motel rooms habitable to wait until afternoon to start work, but damn, it was tempting. Lately they’d been working inside the rooms, fixing flooring and plumbing and painting walls. Potholes in the parking lot were filled, so they could park their vehicles. It was nice not to have to steer so carefully around them on the rare occasions they drove anywhere.

The workers usually didn’t make too much noise; definitely not enough to wake her. She’d wanted to have a few rentable rooms available by now, but other than the two rooms Mary and Stella were living in, nothing was ready. They’d run into one issue after another, which should’ve been expected. To be honest, with all the activity it was probably best to wait until all the rooms were rentable.

Given the age of the motel, she was thinking of going with a mid-century modern theme. Might as well work with what she had.

The workman making all the noise was directly ahead and down, destroying a warped and damaged door frame. He was new. She would’ve recognized that one, even from behind, if she’d seen him before. She’d left the hiring and management of workers to a contractor from Dothan. Holt didn’t make daily in-person appearances, but he called a couple times a week and visited regularly, usually on the weekend. The men he’d sent so far had been decent workers, making a little progress each day.

All of them had been young and maybe a bit rough around the edges. Most were thin, skinny even, but strong. From everything she’d seen, Holt had sent good workers.

This new guy was tall, broad-shouldered, and just short of burly, wearing worn jeans, work boots, and a snug black t-shirt. Normally the workmen came as a pair but this one seemed to be on his own, though she supposed it was possible the other guy was fetching coffee or breakfast or taking a leak. She couldn’t see the back of new man’s head, thanks to the positioning of the sagging green motel awning—which would also have to be replaced, dammit—so all she could see of him was shoulder down.

If she was interested in men anymore, which she was not, she might wish for him to turn around and step into the sunlight. He had an interesting physique.

She was not interested.

He turned and stepped into the light anyway, carrying a piece of warped wood which he tossed onto a pile of debris.

Huh. He wasn’t as young as she’d thought at first incomplete glance, at least not nearly as young as the others. The longish hair she could see under his baseball cap was more gray than dark. His scruffy beard appeared to be entirely gray. The face was weathered, there was no other word for it. This was a man.

As if he knew she was watching, he looked up. Maybe he couldn’t see her, with the sun’s reflection on the window of her second story room. She hoped he couldn’t see because all she was wearing was a tank top and a boring pair of white panties. Maybe if she stood very still…

He grinned crookedly and tipped his hat, then ran fingers through a mop of salt and pepper hair. So much for being invisible.

Before she could yank the curtains closed or step back, he slapped on his baseball cap and turned around to resume his work. Her half-naked self wasn’t enough to hold his interest, apparently.

She was tempted to pull on a pair of pants and march down there to… to what? Read him the riot act for not pretending he hadn’t seen her? Get a better look? Neither would be wise.

Curtains closed, Armi headed for the small kitchenette she’d put together for her time in this apartment above the bar. It wasn’t much. A microwave, a small fridge, a hot plate, and a coffee pot sat on a counter up against one wall. She’d brought in a marginally acceptable table from one of the motel rooms, along with three chairs. Now and then Mary and Stella would join her here before the bar opened, so she needed those three mismatched, scuffed, slightly wobbly chairs.

For the first week, the three of them had shared this space, which was definitely too small for three grown women. There was only one bathroom, and the spare room was much too small for two adults. For that reason, Stella and Mary had slept in what was now Armi’s room, and she’d taken the smaller room with the narrow bed. They’d made do and tried to view it as an adventure, but it hadn’t been long before living in such cramped quarters began to wear on them all.

Armi had been happy to reclaim the larger room after her friends moved into the motel. For the past three weeks or so they’d each had their own room. Her friends did better in their own space, and so did she.

She loved her friends, but this was not a sorority house. Or an old folk’s home.

She’d loved having Mary and Stella here, and she depended on them more than she wanted to admit. How long would that arrangement last? How long before one or both of them got bored, or fell in love and got married, or got a better job offer? The truth was that any job offer would be better than this. She told herself they weren’t here for the jobs, they were here for her. But for how long?

No wonder they’d started mentioning hiring more employees.

When the coffee was made, Armi sat in the least wobbly chair, sipped coffee, and munched on a power bar that tasted more like cardboard than anything else. She’d checked the ingredients, after she’d eaten the first bar a couple of days ago. Nope, no cardboard. No concrete, either. On her next trip down the road to the grocery store, she’d try another brand.

Maybe she should be mourning her lost life, instead of thumbing her nose at it. There had been a time when she couldn’t have even imagined living in a place like this. Once upon a time, her kitchen had been three times as large as her current bedroom, with only the best of appliances. Any designer from an HGTV show would surely walk in, look around, and declare that there were no changes to be made. It was perfect. She’d had high-end pots and pans, and she’d used them to make elegant, healthy meals for herself, her children, and her husband. They’d entertained often to nothing but rave reviews.