He had hired Casey when she was eighteen.
He had taught her diagnostics.
He had covered shifts when Eleanor got sick.
He had once loaned Casey six hundred dollars for a transmission course and refused interest.
As far as Casey was concerned, Marcus Garrison was the closest thing she had to family outside Eleanor.
Which was why she told him everything.
Almost.
She told him about the gas station.
The attack.
Walter Doyle.
The Panhead.
She did not initially tell him what Walter had said about Frank.
Marcus listened silently.
Then Casey added, “Walter says Grandpa helped build the bike.”
Marcus’s coffee stopped halfway to his mouth.
Only for a second.
But Casey saw it.
“That’s what he said?”
“You knew?”
Marcus looked away.
“Casey, old men have old stories.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Walter Doyle built a mythology around himself. Men like him start believing their own legends.”
“He knew Grandpa’s name.”
“So did plenty of people.”
“Why?”
Marcus set down his coffee.
“Frank worked around motorcycles when he was young.”
“That’s not what Walter said.”
Marcus sighed.
“Just be careful.”
“Of Walter?”
“Of people who arrive with stories about dead relatives and expensive motorcycles.”
Before Casey could answer, the sound of a deep V-twin rolled through the open service doors.
Every mechanic in the shop turned.
Walter Doyle rode the Panhead inside.
Marcus went completely still.
Walter killed the engine.
Silence followed.
Then he removed his gloves and looked directly at Marcus.
“Henry’s grandson.”
Casey frowned.
Marcus’s face turned hard.
“Walter.”
“You’ve aged.”
“So have you.”
Casey looked between them.
“You two know each other?”
Walter glanced at her.
“Ask him.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
“My grandfather handled accounting for Doyle Custom Cycles for eleven years.”
Walter corrected him.
“Your grandfather stole from Doyle Custom Cycles for eleven years.”
The entire shop went quiet.
Marcus stepped closer.
“You walk into my garage and accuse my dead grandfather of theft?”
“I accused him while he was alive too.”
“You never proved it.”
Walter’s eyes shifted to Casey.
“Frank tried.”
Marcus looked at her.
There was something in his expression Casey had never seen before.
Fear.
Then it disappeared.
Walter placed a key on the counter.
“I need the Panhead checked properly before I ride it again.”
Marcus laughed once.
“There are fifty shops in this state that would do it free just to say they touched that bike.”
“I want her.”
He pointed at Casey.
Marcus’s expression tightened.
“Why?”
“Because she heard a man asking for help yesterday and stopped.”
Walter looked at Casey’s hands.
“And because she repairs things the way Frank did.”
Casey spent three evenings inspecting the Panhead.
