Hal Comstock had been rip-roaring drunk last year when she arrived at his home, and things had gone downhill from there. His wife tried to run interference while Zoey looked at their washing machine, but Hal’s comments got more inappropriate by the minute. When Zoey went out to get a part from the truck, he’d followed her and suggested she was “stealing” a job from a man, called her a few names, then tried to intimidate her by standing so close she ended up with her back pressed to the side of the truck. At which point she’d kneed him hard in the balls and got out of there as fast as she could.

Shaken, she’d pulled over at a gas station and called Mike in tears of fury. He told her to stay put, and he was there in minutes. He listened to her story, made sure she was okay, then made a quick trip to the Comstock home. When he returned, he’d told Zoey not to worry about anything, then took her out for milkshakes and burgers the size of their heads. They’d ended up laughing over the disastrous day.

A few months passed before Mike admitted he’d barely avoided punching the guy. Instead, he’d told Comstock to never call Hartford Fix-It again, and to never utter a word about Zoey, good or bad. If Mike heard otherwise, he’d be back and make sure Hal regretted it.

It was clients like Comstock who were pushing Zoey toward jobs that allowed her to avoid going into strangers’ homes. She was trying to pick up more commercial business, and she’d been doing more jobs for antiques dealers and collectors in the area. She was building a strong reputation for being able to rebuild small mechanicals like music boxes and clocks, and even a few larger items like vintage vending machines.

There was good money in it—more than there was in home appliances in this age of disposable electronics. Why repair something when you can get a new one at the nearest big-box store?

Zoey pulled her truck into the long driveway leading to a sprawling Victorian mansion on a waterfront lot. The home wasn’t quite as brightly colored as some of the homes in town, but the closer Zoey got, the more colors and detailed paint schemes she could see. The house itself was a soft butter yellow. The spindles on the porch railings were grayish blue, but the top rails were a muted reddish-brown. The lacy gingerbread trim was a combination of pastels that must have taken the painters days to figure out. The overall effect, much like her godmother, Vickie, was unique and elegant.