The motorcycle pulled up to the curb with a dull metallic clunking sound before sputtering into silence.
The driver stepped onto the sidewalk and pulled off her helmet, running a hand through her dishevelled crimson hair. "Damn this piece of junk rust-bucket," she snapped, aiming a pretend kick at the bike.
Her passenger laughed as he removed his helmet. "Maybe if you didn't drive like it was a tank…" he joked.
She turned her blue-green eyes on him in a glare that was clearly not amused. "Keep laughing because there's no way we'll be in Vegas in time to make our reservation now."
He shrugged. "It's Vegas…I somehow doubt there's a shortage of places to stay." When her look of annoyance persisted, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "Relax, Clara, I'm sure there's a mechanic in town who can fix it and we'll be back on the road in no time. Look, the Sheriff's station is right across the street; I bet they can give us directions."
"Fine," she grumbled. "But I'm still not happy about this."
Waiting rather impatiently for Ian to finish up so they could go for lunch at the diner, Emily sat at one of the four empty desks in the bullpen of the Sheriff's station.
She wasn't sure why there were four desks in the station when the entire town had only ever had one law enforcement officer and he used the desk in his office. There were a lot of things about their town that she didn't quite understand...but things were simply the way they had always been and likely always would be.
She chewed one thumbnail, internally debating. At the library earlier, she'd searched through the town's genealogical database for information on the mysterious stranger she'd found herself insatiably curious about, she hadn't had time to read it all, instead downloading it onto a flashdrive she'd tucked in her pocket for later.
The cursor on the computer screen sitting on the desk in front of her blinked enticingly, practically begging her to get out the flashdrive and...
There was a noise from behind her, causing her to jump, thinking it was Ian. Hurriedly shoving the flashdrive back in her pocket, she whirled around to see two strangers entering the station.
"Can I help you?" she asked warily. As long as she'd lived in town, she couldn't remember anyone visiting. Ever. No tourists, no relatives from out of town, no passers-through...
"Is there a mechanic in town that can repair motorcycles?" the young woman asked, looking just as unsure as Emily felt and none too pleased to be there.
Before she could answer, Ian emerged from his office behind her, frowning. "You're not from around here," he said coldly. He crossed his arms over his chest, perhaps a little hostile.
"Ian," Emily hissed, shooting him a scolding glare in a silent reminder to mind his manners.
The young man seemed to find Ian's irritation almost humorous. "I'm Henry and this is Clara – we're just passing through on our way to Vegas," he offered by way of explanation.
The young woman elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "Henry!" she hissed, "What's wrong with you? You shouldn't go around telling complete strangers our names! They could be serial killers or...
Biting down on a smile, Emily interrupted, "The garage is just three blocks down, by the library." She scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it to the young man. "Here's the number if you need a tow."
Ian waited until the noise of the bike's engine driving off faded to remark, "I don't trust them..."
Emily tried not to roll her eyes at his penchant for mistrust and melodrama. "They're harmless kids," she insisted. "I wouldn't worry about it. Now, can we please go to lunch? I'm starving."
Emily was walking home from her shift at the library that evening when she ran into the young woman from earlier, standing outside the diner smoking with a sullen expression on her face.
Feeling obligated to apologize for Ian's hostility earlier, she approached the girl with an awkward half wave. "Clara, right?"
She nodded, still seeming wary of Emily and her motives. She took another long inhale from her cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the evening air and watching it float skyward and disappear.
For a moment, Emily watched the tendrils of smoke, feeling the urge to bum a cigarette. (She'd quit years ago at Ian's insistence, but God did she miss it sometimes...) Shaking herself back to the present, she murmured, "I'm sorry about my husband. He's a little suspicious of strangers – we don't get a lot of tourists around here. None, actually."
The girl raised a brow and took another drag on her cigarette, but said nothing.
"Were they able to fix your bike?" Emily forged ahead, unsure why she was making the effort to try and start a conversation, only knowing that she felt she must.
At that, the girl gave an annoyed sigh and spoke for the first time. "No. They don't have the part and they don't even know if they can get it. We'll probably just head for the next town tomorrow and hope they've got the part there." She paused, scoffed. "Assuming we don't break down for good before then..."
Emily gave a soft smile. "Well, I'm sure the Inn will be glad to have guests – even just for the night. Their business is mainly husbands in the doghouse. Like mine." She tipped her a wink as if the two of them were sharing a secret.
The girl made a noise that might've been amusement, though it could just as easily have been disinterest. She dropped her cigarette to the ground and dragged it across the pavement with the toe of her brown leather boot.
Sensing her indifference, Emily bade her goodbye, "Good luck getting to Vegas."
The girl sighed, suddenly feeling bad for not returning the woman's kindness. "I didn't catch your name..."