“Is the crane going to lift the heavy roof beam today, Mr.

Whitmore?” Daisy asked, peering down through the passenger window.

“It’ll lift whatever we strap to the hook, Daisy,” Nathaniel said.

“I don’t need a handout, Mr.

Whitmore,” Martha said, her eyes going back to the rusted engine block.

“I’m not offering a handout,” Nathaniel said, loosening the frozen steel bolt with a quick twist of his wrist.

“I’m looking for eighteen hundred dollars that vanished from my company ledger.”

Martha went still, her hand holding the yellow beam of light steady on the brass fuel line.