At five thirty, Rusty shut down the front office and drove Leo the short distance to the apartment where he lived with his mother. He had called ahead so she would know why her son was arriving later than expected, but he had not tried to explain everything over the phone. Nora Hayes worked mornings as a hotel housekeeper, afternoons several days a week at a grocery store, and occasional evening shifts helping an elderly couple whose children lived out of state. Her schedule had been arranged like a puzzle with no extra pieces, and any interruption meant rearranging another part of their lives.
Their apartment stood above a laundromat on a street where the sidewalks were uneven and the windows carried the dust of passing buses. It was clean, but there was little furniture beyond what they needed, and the curtains had been made from a pair of old bedsheets Nora had hemmed herself. A small fan moved warm air across the kitchen table, where Leo kept his schoolbooks in a cardboard box to protect them from an occasional leak beneath the sink. Beside the box stood a framed photograph of Arthur Hayes holding his son on the seat of a motorcycle, both of them laughing into the sun.
Nora opened the door wearing her grocery-store shirt and the expression of someone who had been worried for an entire hour. "Leo, are you all right?" she asked before Rusty could speak. She examined the boy's face and hands, relieved to see no injury, then noticed the hundred-dollar bill folded in an envelope Rusty was holding. "Raymond, what happened?"
Rusty stepped inside only after she invited him. He told her about Jim Mercer's visit, the dead motorcycle, and the remarkable connection Leo had made between the machine and Arthur's old work. He did not pretend the situation had been comfortable or that Jim's anger was harmless, because Nora knew enough about the world to recognize a false reassurance. He also explained that Leo had not touched a running engine or been assigned dangerous work, and that any technical decisions would remain with his adult employees.
Nora listened without interrupting. At the mention of Dutch Sullivan, her eyes moved to the photograph on the shelf. "Arthur talked about Dutch sometimes," she said. "Usually when he was trying to make me understand why somebody would spend money fixing a motorcycle that was older than half the people riding it."
"Because it mattered to the owner," Leo said.
"Yes," Nora answered softly. "That was always the reason he gave."
Rusty handed her the envelope. "Jim wanted you to have that. He called it dinner money, and he said to return it if you weren't comfortable accepting it." He hesitated.
"I also owe you an apology. Leo's been helping me with little chores because I knew you needed somewhere for him to be during the vacation. I should have been more careful not to let him feel responsible for grown men's problems."
Nora looked at her son. "Did somebody frighten you?"
Leo considered lying. His father had taught him that courage did not require pretending, so he shook his head first and then corrected himself.
"A little. They were loud, and Mr. Jim looked angry. But he stopped being angry when he heard Dad's name. I think he missed Mr. Dutch a lot."