"Come on, let's just go take a look. We're all friends—if we can help, we help. Stop overthinking!" Bella dragged Charlie toward her pickup truck.
To a traffic cop, her truck would look absurdly over-modified. But it had Native reservation plates. Go ahead and stop me—I'll hit you with a discrimination complaint.
"Wait—wait, hold on, let me think again—just one more second—" Charlie kept making excuses, but quickly discovered his daughter's grip was terrifying. A full-grown man dragged more than ten meters. Zero resistance.
This girl could probably drag a bear...
Conflicted expression. Charlie climbed into the truck—and immediately went, "Huh?"
He'd assumed she only repainted the exterior. But the interior was completely different.
Outside, July. Even in northern Washington, not exactly cool. But inside Bella's truck? Pleasantly chilled. No trace of heat.
"This AC is impressive. Modified?" Charlie asked.
Second person to comment on her air conditioning. Once you've lied once, lying again is much easier.
"Yeah. An elder from a reservation in Oklahoma helped me. So? How's my truck?"
Charlie nodded. "Really nice."
Bella silently pouted. If this were her loyal puppy Jacob, he'd say, "The truck is nice, but you're even nicer." Her dad's flattery game needed serious work.
Charlie had always liked the Quileute and respected Native culture. In the original timeline, he'd constantly tried to matchmake Bella and Jacob. The moment she mentioned an elder, his attention shifted.
Yes, the elder existed—but definitely not a master mechanic. The man was nearly ninety. The only thing he'd ever "modified" was probably a horse cart.
Once they left Forks, Bella suddenly remembered something. She rummaged through her backpack and handed Charlie a thick stack of handwritten pages.
"Here. Talked with Natasha. That mine-heir pretty boy is a strong competitor. We don't have mines, but we can start with shared interests. Samantha is obsessed with crime cases—I wrote up a few for you. Use them if they help."
They both silently ignored the earlier promise of "just looking around outside the town."
To give Charlie and Samantha something to talk about, Bella had wracked her brain. She organized all kinds of cases from memory: the Moonlight Sonata Murder, the Luxury Cruise Ship Murder, the Bandaged Mountain Lodge Killer...
Given American problem-solving standards, these were absolute classics. Any one of them could keep Charlie and Samantha talking all night.
Bella cared deeply about her own affairs. After arriving in Phoenix, she dumped Charlie at the motel with his "case files," went to the bank for cash, and launched straight into a shopping spree.
Next morning. Exercise first.
Morning run around the block to loosen up.
Back to the motel—shower, then skincare: cleanser, toner, lotion, sunscreen. Nothing fancy. Standard products. Good enough.
Breakfast needed to be balanced: three fried eggs, twelve bagels, a giant sandwich, two glasses of milk.
Charlie thought it was too much. Bella thought it was just right.
After breakfast, she changed into her new look. Today, no matter what, she planned to look so stunning that Natasha would have no choice but to admit Bella was prettier.
Then she dragged Charlie—newly shaved and neatly groomed—toward Prosperity Town.
Upon arrival—
Bella froze. "This is Prosperity Town? Where's the prosperity?"
Prosperity Town was anything but prosperous. Name came from an old gold mine that had once been fairly productive. Gold dried up, miners left, remaining townsfolk returned to ordinary lives.
Not rich, not poor. Just another generic southern small town. Aside from the climate, not much different from Forks.
Bella's grasp of American history was still developing. She wasn't yet a "small-town expert." But Prosperity Town's reality genuinely surprised her.
Natasha and her mother were waiting outside town.
"Hi, Charlie!"
"Hi... Samantha."
"Are you two on official duty?"
Charlie stared. Samantha was in uniform, followed by her balding deputy—the only officer under her—apparently mid-investigation.
Heaven-sent opportunity. "Go!" Bella shoved Charlie forward. You're a sheriff—use your skills!
"We don't know where this waste barrel came from, but it's polluted our water supply. We're investigating..." Samantha explained. Small-town sheriffs didn't have cross-jurisdiction authority. Here, Charlie was just a civilian. If Samantha went to Forks, she'd be the same.
Waste barrel.
The words immediately caught Bella's attention. Just as she tried to connect the dots, Natasha interrupted her thoughts.
"Are you okay? Why are you dressed like that?"
Bella's outfit today leaned cool and elegant—black sleeveless top, pleated skirt, slim ankle-strap heels, long silver necklace gleaming against flawless skin. From a distance, she practically glowed.
Women with explosive curves couldn't wear necklaces that hung down to the navel—just got lost in the "scenery." But on Bella? Perfect.
"You think I'm pretty, right? This is Saint Laurent's newest summer collection. See my shoes? Christian Louboutin's latest heels!"
She'd spent hours preparing to crush Natasha and earn one sincere compliment. Fashion sense twenty years ahead of the curve. Full designer ensemble. Anyone who said she wasn't pretty had to be blind.
Natasha, meanwhile, hadn't dressed up at all. Home turf. Bare face, plain sleeveless top, knee-length shorts, tennis shoes... socks with little teddy bears on them.
Way too flashy, Natasha thought, rolling her eyes with a sulky pout that only made her cheeks look rounder.
"It's... fine. The necklace suits you."
Sharp fashion sense—she instantly identified the highlight of Bella's outfit. But sometimes, that "highlight" was also a weak point.
Bella glared. How dare you indirectly say I'm flat?!