Sun Catch Her (Book 1: Three Rivers Deep series) COMPLETE

Chapter Four

The Thunderbird crept to the end of the next exit, the richness of its throaty rumble loud now that the noise from the interstate was behind us. Her impatience showing, the tires chirped as Indy sent us lurching forward onto a two-lane country road, never coming to a complete stop.

Being careful of my side, I shifted to look around. There was a lane up ahead leading to a quaint restaurant, the building painted white with green awnings. The place was attached to the back of a gas station, the sum of it apparently called "The Emlenton Truck Plaza" according to its signage. A weather-weary banner at the entrance announced: "The World's Worst Apple pie," the word "Worst" was crossed out and "Best" scrawled above it. I rolled my eyes. Guess every place needed a gimmick.

"Can we please stop there? I need to use the ladies room." I didn't need to all that badly, insomuch as I really needed to get out and stretch my legs.

Indy looked at the time and then checked the GPS app on her phone before tossing it aside, letting out a grunt like we were on a strict schedule. "We're running out of daylight. I was hoping for enough light to see Petroleum Valley before nightfall. I hear the landscape's quite unique. Factories occupy the entire length of the valley for a good stretch of twelve miles. And there's a wildlife preservation."

We're moving to an industrialized wildlife preserve? Weird combination. "Oh please," I begged.

An insistent beep sounded from the cubby in the dash and my aunt groaned, reaching for her phone again. Lucky her, she still had it. My phone was gone, lost in the apartment collapse along with so many of my other possessions, including my beloved Mad Hatter doll.

I let out a sigh and settled back in the seat. I was never going be able to replace that doll. My mother had given it to me for my eighth birthday. The last gift I received from her before she—I shook my head and put my hand to my mouth when my bottom lip threatened to tremble.

Indy looked at the incoming call. "I have to take this." She cut the wheel to make the turn for the restaurant. The great nose of our car rose with the incline.

Expression tight, she pulled between the tired white lines of the farthest parking space, jammed it into park, and cut the motor before answering her phone. I frowned, turning in the seat to criticize how many empty spaces she passed up.

Sweeping hair to one side, I dug my digital camera out of the center console. Thank goodness the little guy lived in the car, otherwise he would've been back in the rubble with my missing doll. I had been taking photos during the past two weeks, not really with the intent of "capturing the moment," but rather for the purpose of gathering ideas to draw from. Like my mom, I too had some talent for art. I was honing my skills.

Slipping on my shoes with the intent to get out, the sharp clicking of Indy's tongue drew my attention. She quietly mouthed, "Spit out your gum."

I rolled my eyes, and her eyebrows rose, waiting for compliance. Sure, knock over one rack of clothing worth millions backstage at a Calvin Klein showing when you're six and just so happen to be chewing gum at the time, and they act as though the substance impairs your ability to walk and chew for the rest of your life. I disposed of the gum in a parking ticket.

Slamming the door shut, I was relieved that my side was only mildly bothersome now. I leaned on the car, waving to catch Indy's attention.

Frowning, she held up a finger for me to wait while she continued in her usual business tone. "What do you mean you got lost after getting off the interstate and had to double back? For Pete's sake, it's a straight shot from I-80 to Petroleum Valley after you turn right at the second stop sign."

Did I mention her business voice and her conversational voice sounded pretty much the same? Moody and domineering when she wasn't in the right frame of mind to handle what she considered to be stupidity—or defiance. I should know. I was addressed in that tone of voice often enough for the second offense.