Chapter Text
****Cover art by the lovely and talented lilamadison11****
Veronica Mars is double-parked near the Hearst co-ed dorm, cramming an extra-large vinyl suitcase into the trunk of her LeBaron, when her phone rings.
She huffs exasperation, pressing down with all her strength, then giving an extra jumping shove to get the lid shut. She digs her Sidekick out of her messenger bag. “Dad,” she says, overly cheerful, as she climbs into to the driver’s seat. “You’re seriously lost without me, aren’t you? We just hung up five minutes ago!”
“I want to make sure you got ALL the cookbooks your Grandma loaned me,” he replies, sounding apologetic. In the background, Veronica can hear her Aunt Shirley playing the piano and singing: both are off-key, which might account for his angst. “She asked me to remind you one more time that there are THREE, located on the shelf behind the…”
“Dad, I got ‘em,” Veronica insists, cranking the engine, giving it a careful trickle of gas. It sputters and dies, so she smacks the dash and tries again. This time, it flares to life. “The Mars Family Secret Recipes, every volume. They’re resting in my suitcase as we speak. AND I scanned all the pages first, like you asked, AND I left a CD with the file on your desk. Don’t worry, OK? Go make Aunt Shirley a cocktail or something, so she’s too drunk to sing by the time I get there.”
“Sweetie, your Aunt Shirley’s had one too many cocktails already.” He sighs, and Veronica’s willing to bet he’s running a hand over his bald head. “You’ve got the map I marked up for you, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Dad, it’s a two-hour drive to Palm Springs. What could go wrong?”
“Just stay on I-15,” he warns. “Don’t try any clever shortcuts. And wear something warm, there’s a cold front moving in.”
“I’ve got a hoodie,” she tells him, shoving up one red-cotton sleeve to check her watch. “I’ll be fine. But I need to get going, now-ish, if you want me there in time for dinner.”
“Ok, honey. See you soon. Oh, and if you spot any trench-coat-wearing hitchhikers, carrying chainsaws? Remember, don’t stop.”
“Go enjoy some sibling togetherness,” Veronica snarks, and switches off her phone. She dons sunglasses, sticks her father’s map in the cup holder, and takes off towards the highway, in a burst of black exhaust.
XXXXX
Her car gives up the ghost 73 miles outside Neptune, on a lonely stretch of road. The light is dimming—it’s the time of year when days grow short—and a cold wind rustles the sawgrass, sprouting sparsely from the sandy roadside.
Veronica checks the engine. It’s a freaking cracked oil pan, again: and she took the crate of spare bottles out of the trunk, to make room for her suitcase. “Why wasn’t I born rich?” she hisses at no one, kicking a tire to vent. “Why did I spend all my savings booking a dorm room for the year, instead of buying a new car?”
She knows why. Because her father wants to let the apartment lease lapse, and move in with Alicia Fennel. And tagging along, when Alicia already has two kids at home, sounded like too much togetherness for a 21 year old.
She pulls out her phone to call her Dad and AAA, not necessarily in that order, but she’s got no service. “Ugh, the universe HATES me!” she mutters to herself. “Just once, can’t I earn a fucking break?”
As if in answer, a black SUV crests the hill in the distance, drifting silently nearer through the gloom. Veronica grabs a flashlight from the glove box, switches it on, steps onto the asphalt to request they pull over. “Please don’t be a chainsaw-wielding murderer,” she murmurs, like a prayer. “Please be a nice soccer mom with cute kids, who lives to help strangers.”
The car rolls to a stop beside her, nonchalantly blocking the road, and the driver’s side window powers down. She walks around, trying to seem bulletproof, and then no. Oh, no.
It’s Logan Echolls, her suitemate’s surly, Hollywood-spawn ex: he’s dressed, appropriately, in black, sporting a suspiciously toothy grin. “Why Veronica Mars!” he taunts, drawling each syllable as if it tastes good. “What’s a nice girl like you doing on this dark highway, all alone? Don’t you know the bad things come out at night?”