There was no one in the office, and considering the state of the room, Lizzie didn’t blame anybody for staying out of it. There was dust everywhere and the counter was covered with tools and old engine parts. On the wall behind the counter, a bikini-clad Miss March regarded them coyly from a wrench company’s calendar. But they could hear a radio playing country music in the bay and when they went inside, there was a man with his head under the hood of Lizzie’s car. He stepped back and smiled at them, a slightly overweight man in his fifties, wearing grease-stained bib overalls with a T-shirt that had once been white underneath it.

“How do,” he said. “This your car?”

Lizzie nodded. “Do you know what’s wrong with it?”

“Alternator’s shot—just like you said in your note.”

Lizzie gave her cousin a knowing look.

“Can you fix it?” she asked.

“Sure can, missy. I can get a new one in from Tyson for this afternoon. But if you’re not in a hurry, I could get you a used one from the junkyard—cost you maybe half the price of a new one. Trouble is, your car wouldn’t be ready until . . . let’s see. I guess late Monday morning.”

“That’s okay. We’re playing at the Custom House, and we weren’t planning to leave until then anyway.”

“You the fiddlers?”

Lizzie nodded.

“I heard tell you put on a good show. Maybe I’ll drag Joe out to see you’s tonight.”

That would make this one Tommy, Lizzie thought, if the sign outside was still up to date.

“I could put you on the guest list,” she said.

“That’s right neighbourly of you. My name’s Tommy and my partner’s Joe.”

“I’m Lizzie and this is my cousin Siobhan.”

Tommy wiped his hands on his overalls, but after giving them a critical scrutiny, he shook his head.

“Pardon my rudeness,” he said, “but I got too much grease on my hands to shake.”

“That’s okay. Thanks, Tommy. I guess we’ll see you tonight.”

He nodded, then called after them as they were about to step outside.

“What made you have your car towed here?” he asked.

“Towed?” Lizzie said.

“Well, you sure weren’t driving it, condition that alternator’s in.”

“Oh, right.”

“I’m only asking ‘cause most folks—’specially from the city—would take it to one of the other garages in town. They’ve got all them fancy computers, tell you what’s wrong and what to do.”

“This fellow named Grey recommended you,” Lizzie said. “He’s the one that, ah, got my car here.”

“You’re a friend of Grey’s?”

Lizzie shook her head. “I wouldn’t say friend. He was just nice enough to help me out last night.”

But Tommy didn’t seem to hear her.