I shiver and put my keys in the ignition. There’s no use in considering going back for my phone until I have an appropriate weapon, or some backup.
We pull out of the parking lot onto the main road, and I drive about a half mile back toward the hotel I saw on my way in. It’s a single-story building with a neon sign that reads “Occupancy” below words scrawled in sans serif font.
“Hotel Bar Boat Rental and More,” I say with a sigh as we pull into one of the many open spots.
I take Oscar out for one more potty, then fill up his water bottle and toss a handful of treats into the kennel.Moby Dickis tuckedunder my arm like some security blanket as I make my way up to the front.
The door is covered in stickers from different events or bands, and even some local shops. A very loud chime plays “For Whom the Bell Tolls” as I open the door, and I snicker to myself. The inside is a bar first and foremost, with that taking up most of the entryway. There are a few booths around the side wall with windows covered in more stickers. The overhead lights are dim fluorescents, and there’s a pool table at the other end.
A woman tending bar beckons me in. Dark brown hair is pulled back in a high bun on her head, and little sweaty strands fall around her oval face like she’s been working hard all day. Her black shirt is branded with the Metallica label—doorbell source identified—and she has ten piercings on her face alone. One on her nose, two rings on her bottom lip, painted bright purple, one in her left eyebrow, and three along each ear.
She smiles brightly in stark contrast to her dark makeup, looking like some kind of goth fairy.
“Welcome to The Only Stop, what can I do for you, friend?”
I almost frown at the overly bright nature of this stranger who doesn’t know my name, let alone enough information to call me “friend.”
“I need a room for me and my cat for the night, please,” I say as I approach the bar and lean against it.
She glances down at the book. “You don’t happen to be the new owner of that ancient bookshop, do you?”
I chuckle. I guess she does know enough about me.
“The one and only. I’m Caitlin Kennedy,” I say, holding out my other hand for a shake.
There’s a twinge in my shoulder and I remember how I’d idiotically rammed my old injured one into the door to open it, thenlandedon it. Awesome. PT for at least a month.
She reaches over the bar and takes my offer. “Renee Gardner. I’m the owner, operator, cook, and boat fixer-upper! Do a bit of plumbing and carpentry on the side, too.”
“Nice, I might need a plumber, and I definitely need a carpenter,” I say. “But really, I just need a place to stay for the night. Seems there’s an…infestation, in my new place.”
She gasps. “Oh no, coons again?”
Again?
“No, not racoons. It was a lizard. A very angry lizard.”
Her shock intensifies, pushing her pierced eyebrow up to a sharp point. “A lizard? I didn’t think they would reallyinfestplaces. Maybe a Northern Prairie Skink? Was it brown, or did it have a red face?”
I shake my head. “No, it was green, and it had sharp teeth. It was about elbow to wrist length,” I say, holding up my arm for comparison.
She scowls. “Strange…welp, Randy’s the only one who does pest control around here but he’s on vacation in the Alps or something. Overseas trip, the fancy pants.”
“Great,” I mumble as I put my purse on the counter.
“Well, if it’s got a mouth and eyes, I’m sure some mace will disorient it enough for you to cage it.”
I snort. “You didn’t see this thing. It was feral.”
“I’m sure,” she says with a smirk, then gestures to the bar. “Can I get you anything other than a room for the night?”
I take in the bar. I’ve never been much of a drinker, but I think my nerves would like a little calm after the flight for my life.
“Got anything sweet?”
“How strong?”
I shrug. “Medium?”
