Chapter 7: The Shop

Jared's shop was a cinderblock garage on the edge of Route 6 with a hand-painted sign that said SLATTERY CYCLE.

I walked in at two in the afternoon, and he was lying on a creeper under a half-stripped Sportster.

Only his boots stuck out.

"We're closed to the club," his voice said from under the bike. "Put-out and all that."

"I'm not the club."

The creeper rolled out fast.

He sat up with grease on his forearms and a wrench in his hand.

"Mara."

"Hattie called you Uncle Jared," I said.

He set the wrench down on the concrete very carefully.

"She told you that."

"She also said you let her sit on your bike. And that you kept her first horse picture."

He stood up and wiped his hands on a rag, and he took a lot longer at it than the grease needed.

"Delilah brought her here twice," he said. "Last spring and again in July."

"Why?"

"She said Gage told her to stay out of sight until his father cooled off. She wanted to know if the club was watching her place."

"And you told her no."

"I told her I didn't know," he said. "Then Hattie climbed on a Fat Boy and wouldn't get down."

I waited.

"I knew he had a kid, Mara," he said. "I've known for about two years."

The shop was very quiet.

A tap dripped in the corner.

"Two years," I said.

"I saw Delilah's car outside his place in Marlow's Landing once. He told me about the baby that night. He said it was a mistake and he'd handle it."

"You knew while I made him coffee."

"I did."

"You knew while I ironed his shirts for the table."

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