Page 9 of Last Call at the Doghouse

He took a sip of his drink, looked at her, and smiled. “So I’ve heard. That has to be a nickname, or else short for something.”

“It is,” she said, deciding not to clarify. She took a sip of her tea, wishing she had something stronger in front of her.

“Do you call the bartender Navy?” Duncan took another drink. He nursed it, rather than tossing the beverage back.

Maybe she didn’t want to run, but that didn’t mean she had to stand here and engage in idle chitchat. Armi took a long drink of her tea then set the glass down so hard the ice that remained rattled loudly, an enticing tinkle on a warm evening. She looked into Duncan’s remarkably blue eyes. Nope, she would not feel a tingle. She would not allow those butterflies to fly around in her stomach. She was too damn old for this!

“Thanks for coming in,” she said in as businesslike a manner as she could manage. She shoved what was left of her bowl of kibble in his direction. “Have a nice evening.” She walked away headed not for her office but for Mary, who’d taken up a watchful pose on the opposite side of the room.

“The evening would be nicer if you stuck around and kept me company,” he said in that low, gravelly voice. It was a hard voice to ignore, but she managed. Barely.

She joined Mary, who—much as Stella had—mouthed an appreciative wow.

With her back to the room, Armi whispered, “You like him? He’s all yours.”

Mary answered in a whisper of her own. “I can’t handle a man like that. You, on the other hand…” For such a sweet woman she sure could manage a wicked smile.

Mary was no more like Armi than Stella was, and she was nothing at all like Stella. Mary was blonde, tiny, and sweet. Her voice was sometimes so soft Armi had to strain to hear her. The widow was a genuinely good person, the kind who would give someone in need her last dollar or the shirt off her back. When she’d finished grieving and was ready to move on, some lucky man was going to snap her up.

The odds were, no one would be doing any snapping where Armi was concerned. Or Stella, who managed to scare unwanted men off with a withering glance. Carlton wouldn’t stand a chance if Stella set her sights on him.

The front door burst open with enough force to make Armi turn to see who the hell was storming in. She recognized the middle-aged couple who lived in one of the cabins by the lake. They’d already become regulars, were in at least two nights a week. Phoebe and Ben. She didn’t know their last names because they always paid with cash. Mary said they were good tippers. They were normally laid back and smiling, but at the moment there were no smiles to be seen. Ben looked over his shoulder before the door closed. A pale Phoebe rushed to the bar and called out to Stella.

“Call the sheriff. There’s a dead man in the parking lot!”

CHAPTER 3

Duncan was the first to recover from the shocking statement and head for the parking lot, taking long strides toward the entrance while Stella dialed 911. The Doghouse bartender was breathlessly explaining what she’d heard to the operator when Armi gained her senses and walked quickly toward the door. Everyone else seemed to be frozen in place, shocked, not knowing what to do. No one out drinking with friends would be mentally preparing themselves for a crisis.

Maybe Phoebe and Ben were wrong. That was Armi’s optimistic thought as she took her own long, steady steps. They might’ve seen a shadow or a pile of trash and in the fractured light they’d mistaken it for a body. That theory was a stretch but was possible. It was more likely that someone was hurt, or had passed out and appeared dead, and they hadn’t checked for a pulse. If that was the case, someone might need help.

The last thing she needed was a dead body in the parking lot of her new business venture.

As she reached the door, Duncan was coming back in. He almost ran into her, but stopped short. When she tried to slip past him, he stilled her with a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“You don’t want to see,” he said in a low voice meant for her alone.

“Someone might need help.” For the first time, she thought to wonder who? Carlton had left just minutes earlier. Before that… a couple had headed for home together right before Stella started her second set. Maybe…

“There’s nothing you or anyone else can do. I’m sorry. He seemed like a nice enough kid.”

Armi’s heart sank. Carlton. “We should request an ambulance. It’ll take a while, I think, but…”

Duncan shook his head gently, slowly, with such certainty he left no room for her foolish optimism.

“I have to see,” she said. “I have to be sure.”

He leaned down and in and whispered in her ear. “If you’ve never seen what a werewolf on a rampage can do to a body, you don’t want to start with someone you know.”

Her hot construction guy knew about werewolves, had seen the damage that could be done. In the past year there had been suppositions, sure, wild stories online and on late night radio, but most people wrote the stories off as impossible. Ridiculous. Duncan wasn’t one of the clueless normal people who reasoned away anything and everything they could not explain.

He wasn’t an ordinary handyman.

“Are you sure it’s Carlton, the man I was talking to when you came in?” she asked. She knew it was him, felt it, but she had to be sure.

Duncan nodded once, then added, “I think so.”

Armi’s head started swimming. The lights dimmed. She saw Carlton’s face in her mind, as he’d leaned in to study her eyes. As he’d smiled. As he’d planned to start again. A touch of vertigo washed over her. Dammit, she would not faint! The new, fearless woman she was trying to be would never…