Luke Bennett knew the woman standing beside the silver SUV was not from Westfield before she ever said a word.
It was not the expensive vehicle.
Westfield, Ohio, sat close enough to Columbus that expensive cars passed through from time to time, usually driven by people who treated the town’s only grocery store as an emergency stop for coffee or directions.
It was not the handbag either, although Luke suspected the dark burgundy leather bag hanging from her wrist probably cost more than his monthly mortgage.
It was the way she stood.
Too composed.
Too polished.
As if even being stranded beside a grocery-store parking lot had somehow become an appointment she intended to finish on schedule.
The woman wore a fitted white lace dress beneath an oversized dark burgundy leather jacket. Matching knee-high boots rose almost to her knees, their narrow heels entirely unsuitable for the gravel beside Luke’s garage.
Her dark hair fell in thick, glossy waves around her shoulders.
She looked like someone who belonged on the steps of a hotel in Paris.
Instead, she was standing beside an open hood in Westfield while a thin ribbon of steam escaped from somewhere near the radiator.
Luke wiped his hands on an old shop rag.
“You keep trying to start it?”
The woman looked toward him.
“I tried twice.”
“Good.”
She raised one eyebrow.
“Good that it won’t start?”
“Good that you stopped trying.”
Luke walked closer.
“If the belt seized or the pump failed, forcing it could turn an annoying repair into an expensive one.”
The woman glanced at the SUV.
“It’s already an expensive one.”
Luke looked at the badge on the grille.
“Fair.”
He leaned over the engine.
The grocery store sat twenty yards away, its automatic doors opening and closing as shoppers came and went. Beyond it, Main Street ran through a town of old brick storefronts, maple trees losing their autumn leaves, and houses that had belonged to the same families for three generations.
Luke’s garage occupied what had once been a farm-equipment shed behind the grocery store.
The sign over the open door read:
BENNETT AUTO & REPAIR.
The word REPAIR had faded enough that from the road it looked like REPAI.
Luke had been meaning to repaint it for almost two years.
Other things always came first.
School shoes.
Property tax.
A leaking water heater.
The funeral bill that somehow still existed three years after Rachel had stopped needing anything.
Luke pushed the thought away.
He leaned deeper into the SUV.
The woman stood beside him.
“What do you think?”
“I think whoever designed this engine bay hates mechanics.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“Most hatred is.”
For the first time, she smiled.
It changed her face.
Only slightly.
But Luke noticed.
He checked the battery terminals.
The positive connection moved beneath his fingers.
“There.”
“What?”
Luke pointed.
“This connection’s loose.”
“That’s all?”
“Maybe.”
He reached for a wrench.
“It could also have a charging issue. Let me tighten this first.”
The woman watched him.
“You own the garage?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
Luke looked up.
“That sounded ominous.”
She smiled again.
“I meant do you have employees?”
“One full-time mechanic.”
“Where is he?”
“Dentist.”
“During working hours?”
“His tooth didn’t check the schedule.”
She almost laughed.
Luke tightened the terminal.
The connection had enough movement that vibration could have interrupted current completely.
He checked the ground.
Secure.
Then the battery voltage.
Low but recoverable.
“Try it.”
The woman moved toward the driver’s seat.
Luke stayed beside the open hood.
The engine turned.
Once.
Twice.
Then came alive.
She looked through the windshield toward him.
Luke raised one thumb.
She shut the engine off and returned.
“That was it?”
“Looks like it.”
She stared at the SUV as though personally offended by the simplicity of the problem.
“I called roadside assistance forty minutes ago.”
“They’ll probably arrive tomorrow.”
“They told me twenty minutes.”
Luke smiled.
“City twenty minutes or country twenty minutes?”
“I didn’t realize time changed outside Columbus.”
“It does.”
He lowered the hood.
The woman opened her handbag.
Luke knew what came next.
It happened often enough.
“How much?”
“Nothing.”