“You should make sure no one is funneling ten grand a month off your trust fund.”
“And by ‘no one’ you mean my father. Yes, I’m sure he is. Partly because my mother would have checked to be sure the withdrawals were occurring, and partly because it’s ten thousand a month he can keep off the family books. Probably to pay his girlfriends. I’ll make a call in the morning—”
The car jolts with a cough I know well. Connolly snaps up, looking in his rear-view mirror as if expecting we’ve been hit. The car jerks again.
“Tell me you aren’t out of gas,” I say.
“Impossible. I never let it drop below half—” Another heave, and he steers it to the shoulder of the road. Then he taps the gas gauge, as if it isn’t digital.
“Out of gas?” I say.
“Not according to this.” He turns off the car. When he restarts it, the gauge plummets and warning lights flash, complete with beeps.
“Seems you should have taken her to the shop after all,” I say. “She’s glitching.”
“I suspect this particular problem began an hour ago.”
“You think someone sabotaged your car at the house?” I pause. “Wow. I still managed to sound shocked at that.”
He only grumbles, turns off the car and then restarts it, as if that will help.
“It’s not a computer, Aiden. We’re definitely out of gas. I know the symptoms, having coasted home on fumes so I wouldn’t need to fill the family car.”
Connolly reaches for his phone. Then he taps his pocket.
“You left your phone behind?”
“No. That isn’t possible.” He keeps tapping. “I didn’t take it out . . .”
When he trails off, I say, “You did take it out, right? Probably to show your mom something? And then between the blackout and finding me, you forgot it. Well, this is retro. Stranded on a deserted road without any cell phones. At least you have your wallet.”
“Hmm.”
I peer out the side window. “The rain has stopped, and we can’t be far from a gas station. Did you see any back the way we came?”
He shakes his head. “I should have stayed on the highway.”
“I like the backroads myself. Just not when someone drains our gas tank.” I open the door. “We aren’t in the middle of the Mojave Desert. It can’t be more than a mile to the next gas station.”
“If it’s open.”
“It’s not even midnight.” I climb from the car. “Let’s go have ourselves an adventure.”
Chapter Thirty
Thirty
When Connolly picks backroads, he really picks backroads. I’m not even sure where we are. I keep reaching for my phone to check but, yep, without phones, we only have the car GPS, which we left when we abandoned the car itself. We really should have checked it for service stations. I don’t say that now. It’ll only make us kick ourselves harder for our understandable distraction.
With the rain gone, it’s a nice evening for a walk, and we make the best of it, tramping along the dark road, lit only by the flashlight that Connolly remembered to grab from the glove compartment. Forest frames the road and the storm left a hazy heat that shimmers around us. A hauntingly beautiful night . . . right up until the sky opens and rain slams down again.
“Run back to the car?” Connolly shouts to be heard over the thunder.
“I think I see lights ahead,” I yell back. “And it’s at least a mile to the car. I say we make a run for it.”
We run until our empty road joins with a busier one and there, right around the corner, is a travel center, complete with diner, roadside motel and gas bar.
We race to the gas bar, only to find it dark, with a Closed sign on the adjoining diner. I sluice rain off my face as I peer around. Then I point at the motel. A light shines in the window.
We race to the door. Connolly yanks it open and ushers me inside. The smell of mildew makes me wrinkle my nose. A bull of a man sits behind the counter, his feet up as he watches a sitcom on a tablet. Something in his profile strikes me as familiar, but when he turns, I don’t recognize him. He’s wearing a tank-top that shows off massively muscled arms, and there’s an air of dissolution about him.
“We need gas,” I say. “We ran out down the highway.”
“Gas bar’s closed.”
Connolly pulls out his wallet. “I’ll pay triple.”
“You can only buy gas at the diner,” the man says.
“Is there anyone there?” I ask.
“Nope. Gas bar’s closed. Diner’s closed. Only thing open is this motel.”
The man’s gaze slides down my soaked shirt. Connolly sidesteps in front of me, and the man chuckles under his breath.
“Looks to me like you might want to get that girl a room,” the man says. “She could use some warming up.”
“May I borrow your phone?” Connolly says. “I’d like to call a tow-truck.”
“Be cheaper to just stay. You’re not getting anyone out here at this hour.”
“May I try?”
The man shrugs and waves at an old-fashioned dial-phone. Connolly picks it up and then hesitates, as if trying to figure out how to use it. He takes a card from his wallet and dials in a number. He waits. Waits some more. Glances at me, frowning.
“I’m not getting an answer,” he says.
“Yep, no one’s coming out at this hour, son.”
“It’s a twenty-four hour service. I’m not even getting their voice mail.”
The man puts out a broad hand. Connolly gives him the receiver. The man lifts it to his ear and then chuckles.
“You kids never used a landline?” he says. “There’s no dial-tone. And before you ask, no, I don’t have a cell. Not all of us can afford one. Judging by that shirt of yours, though, son, I think you can afford to treat the lady to a good night’s sleep.” His eyes sparkle. “Or a good night’s something.”
I glance out the window, where the rain pours down. There are a half-dozen cars in the parking lot. We could see if someone has a cell phone, but it’s almost midnight, and I don’t want to disturb people’s rest for a non-emergency.
“Let’s just get a room,” I say. “We can buy gas in the morning.”
“A fine idea,” the man says. “Diner opens at seven, same as the gas bar. Now, we’re a little busy tonight, but I believe I can offer you the honeymoon suite.”
I shake my head. “Two beds, please.”
“Well, now, that’s a shame.” He looks at Connolly. “You want me to tell the little lady I don’t have anything with two beds? I can do that for you.”
“No,” Connolly says. “I would like you to rent us a room with two beds, for which I will pay you the same price as the honeymoon suite, so there is no need to upsell.”
“I was trying to help you out. Kids these days.” The man pulls over a book and runs a thick finger down a row. “I am charging you the honeymoon suite rate, though. Since you offered.”
“That’s fine.”
“It’ll be one fifty.”