A red light on the dashboard of your car wasn’t one of them. Wednesday afternoon, a mile inside Elms Fork city limits, Samantha gripped the steering wheel and called her automobile service. In a matter of minutes, she was creeping toward Montgomery Garage with her caution lights on. Well aware of how long she might have to wait for a tow truck, she’d decided to chance damaging the car. Out of nowhere, she remembered Isabel’s and Mark’s comments about her not knowing anything about cars. She gritted her teeth and flicked on her signal to turn into the garage. She counted nine bays. All were full, and more cars were in the parking lot. Samantha backed into the first available parking spot, proud that she’d considered giving them enough space when they looked under the hood or had to push the car into one of the bays. Getting out of the car, she sniffed. She was only marginally less nervous that she didn’t smell smoke. “Samantha?” Samantha jerked around to see Dillon’s mother coming toward her.
