Yellow Bucket Seats

Opening the glove box, insurance papers, a 1984 BMW owners manual, and a small peril handled 32 automatic spilled to the convertibles clean carpet floor, the pistol nearly breaking one of the imported beer bottles in the six pack that rests between Mary Jo's pink plastic shoes.

"For Christ sake mom, why are you carrying that in the car?"

"Protection honey, it's just for protection. Your father gave it to me, said it was a lady's gun."

"Why did we ever move here?" Twisting her blond hair into a knot, Mary Jo smooths her hair behind her head and fastens a stunning blue and gold native bead work clip.

"You know why, as well as I do." Heather's blue eyes behind Italian designer sun glassed are fixed on the curving mountain road. The scent of the pine forest is as strong as a newly opened air freshener, and the early August afternoon is perfect for a drive over the pass to one of the regions smaller lake resorts.

"Mom. I saw dad in the store." The seventeen-year-old turns her head away from her mother, a wall of evergreen trees blur by. Tears roll freely off her cheeks to be swept away in the hot mountain wind.

"Did he say anything to you?"

"Of course not. That preacher Vandyke was so bug eyed, as if he had never seen bouncing tits before. Sam was as creepy as usual, neither one of them saw the look on dads face, they were to busy watching my ass."

"Please Mary Jo, you've been taught to use better language. Vulgarity is common."

"Sure mom. Whatever! Do you want to hear what happened or not?" Pulling down the visor she flips up the mirror and dabs at her smeared mascara. She pulls a cold beer from the six pack.

"I was going to pick up a couple of bottles of ice water, but dad looked like he was going to loose it, so I swung opened the fridge and grabbed the first thing on the shelve. I was watching dad in the glass door"

"How did he look?"

"What do you mean,"How did he look?" He looked like he had been stabbed in the heart. That's how he looked mom. Like he was going to cry, that's how he looked."

Heather McAllaster bit her lower lip keeping back rising emotions. Her two hands griped the top of the wood grained steering wheel hard, hard enough to dig her perfectly manicured peach pink nails into her sweating palms, the diamond rings on her fingers reflecting light as if under a jewelry showcase.

"I wanted to hug him, tell him how much I miss him. Mom... I didn't pay for the beer. If I had stayed one minuet longer, I would have blown his cover, so I just ran out of the store."

At the top of the summit the convertible pulls off the road to a shady parking area, a small park with picnic tables under a grove of shimmering aspens. Mile marker signs on newly painted posts point to several hiking trails leading off into the forest.

"You want a beer mom? I'm drinking one, I'm thirsty. There cold if nothing else."

"No honey, I don't want a beer. I want my life back." Heather's suntan face shows fine lines of worry beneath her heavy makeup. Her hair is short, wind blown, a beautiful natural red with blond highlights."

"Why did we stop here, don't we have to be at lodge before sundown? Mom I don't want to drive on that dirt road in the dark, it's dangerous." Opening the car door and wiggling sideways on the BMW's yellow leather bucket seat, Mary Jo leans over putting on a pair of red high top tennis shoes, then flings her maryjane clogs in the back seat one after the other. She picks up her beer, brushing off wet aspen leaves stuck to the bottom of the bottle.

"We have time, lets enjoy the afternoon. It's nice up here. I could use a walk, grab the camera and walk with me. I need to think."

"Okay, okay, hold on a second. Where's the trash can?" Mary Jo's voice is strained with agitation.

"Put your empty and the rest of those beers on that picnic table over there, and grab my purse." Pointing to the picnic area covered with aspen leaves, Heather stands in front of the signpost, reading trail names...Grizzly Ridge 7.5 miles, Ridge Top Loop 5 miles, Deer Creek Loop .4 miles.

An old 1960's 2.5 ton military truck is parked in the shade at the edge of the parking area. It's guard rails bulging with stacked firewood. Several chainsaws are strapped down on top of the tamarack load. A blue heeler cattle dog watches with his chin resting on the cab's open window, as Mary Jo places the six pack on the picnic table and hurries to catch up with her mother already starting up the winding trail. The truck owner is nowhere in sight.

"I put Elliot Ness in your purse mom, just in case we meet a really Big Bear." Mary Jo laughs, and hands her mother the thin-strapped silver purse.

"Elliot Ness isn't for protection against bears sweetheart. He's for protection against two-legged predators. Now tell me everything you remember that happened in the store."

"Look Mom!" A doe and two fawns leap across the stream and prance up the trail, their white tails waving from side to side. "What time is it? I want to call the lodge and tell them we'll be on time. The barbecue doesn't start until 7:30 and I want to make sure ass hole is bringing Isabelle."

"Mary Jo, I'm not going to tell you again, stop with the vulgarity, please. And why do you call him that anyway? He's a nice man. He's trying to help us."

"It's his job mom. He doesn't give a rat's ass about us. We're just a case number to him and you know it. Even Isabelle thinks he's a cold hearted bastard, and she should know."

"I'm sure Isabelle loves her father just as much as you love yours."

"Sure, whatever, but my dad isn't a federal agent."

Heather McAllaster's eyes squint shut slightly. "Honey, the cell phone doesn't work in this area, I've already tried."

"Shit!" In a fit of anger, the girl hurries past her mother. The scenic trail ahead looks like a page from Nation Geographic magazine.

Looking like it just rolled off the show room floor, a dark coloured Yukon SUV slowly coasts to a stop next to the open convertible. If the agents behind the heavy tinted windows were trying to be inconspicuous, they were clueless to the forest of sharp eyes watching them.