Chapter Seven
If only he hadn’t gone looking for that church again.
Thanks to that irritating sheriff who’d nearly mowed him down with his patrol car, Thelonious’s award-winning shot of the church trailer had one of his claws in it. Determined to replicate the image (minus the claw), he headed back the next morning. Alas, retracing his steps proved easier in theory than in practice. The rural landscape was beginning to look the same. Eager for a change of scenery, Thelonious could hardly wait to get up into the mountains at the northern end of the state. Appalachia. Even the name conjured up Southern magic and ancient myth.
The Appalachian Mountain Range was one of the oldest in the world. Aside from the obvious photographic opportunities, Thelonious thought he might have a go at campin
