“No pets on the premises,” the manager of the Merry Time Motel barked at Gwendolyn as she emerged from her room at nine o’clock the next morning.
Mr. Jacobs was about sixty years old, if she had to guess, and he had on the same dirty coverall he seemed to wear every single day as he slithered past her. He was dragging two large trash bags towards the dumpster in the back, or so she assumed, and though Gwen had heard him, she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Pets?” she asked dumbly.
“Yeah. No pets. That monster dog you got has to go. Got three complaints this morning, folks scared walking by here last night,” he grunted, not bothering to look at her.
“Monster dog? And why were people walking here if this is the last unit and you are the only one who has the key to the dumpster gate?” she called back, not at all surprised he ignored her.