The mystery of the 1952 Indian motorcycle was revealed in front of me. Maxx’s dad had bought the first parts, slowly finding pieces to begin restoring it when Maxx was about twenty. Years went by as they searched and discovered more original parts. There were a few grainy photos, some handwritten notes—everything to do with the bike kept and stored in this tattered file. He and his dad invested years of time, and hundreds of man-hours, finding, restoring, and rebuilding the bike. There was a gap in the file, which I assumed was when his mom became ill the first time, and after that, it was all Maxx’s handwriting in the file. Pictures of the bike, complete. Set up in the large bay window at the end of the shop. I glanced toward the window, now vacant, understanding why. There was a police report for the stolen bike. Another one for theft of cash and valuables. The suspects’ names listed: Shannon West and Billy Rines. From the little I had gleaned from Mary—Maxx’s girlfriend and best friend.
They had stolen from him, taken off together, and left him broken.
I picked up the picture of the bike. It was spectacular, the fluid lines clean and sharp, the color an intense red with lots of brilliant, gleaming chrome. Beautiful airbrushing along the unusual fenders. The only things missing, the front figurehead and the emblem.
Maxx must not have attached the emblem before it was stolen. He hadn’t yet located the figurehead. Otherwise, the bike was perfect.
It was worth a lot of money, but I had a feeling it was the sentimental value of the bike that made losing it so hard for Maxx. Add in the betrayal he felt, no wonder he had trust issues.
I recalled Mary telling me that Maxx and I had a lot in common. She was right, although Maxx had suffered far more loss than I had. He was left with deeper scars.
I tapped the file, finding a thicker, safer accordion case to keep it in, and put it back in the file cabinet. Maxx must have forgotten it was there when he told me about the petty cash hidden at the back of the cabinet.
I had to tell him I knew and let the chips fall where they may. He hated lies, so better I tell him than for him to find out and think I was hiding it from him.
“Child, what is making you look so pensive?”
I glanced up, startled. I hadn’t heard Mary come in. Her arms were full, and I hurried over to take some of the piles of pictures from her arms.
We stacked them on the table in the garage, then headed back to the office. I handed her the file. “I found this.”
She flipped through it. “Ah.”
“So, that’s the story,” I surmised. “Why Maxx is so distrustful.”
She exhaled hard. “That’s the gist of it. He needs to tell you the rest.”
“If he’s willing. I’m not sure he wants to share.”
She tapped my nose. “You have no idea, do you?”
“About?”
“Maxx has called me several times. Hypothetically to check on the garage, but his questions were mostly about you. He cares more than he’s willing to admit.” She shook her head. “He’s been away before—I don’t remember getting more than a quick call once or twice while he was away.”
“Do you think he can trust again? I mean, trust me—enough to tell me and let me in?”
“I hope so. You’re good for him.” She looked around the garage. “You’re good to him. He will not be expecting this when he gets home.”
“I hope he isn’t mad.” I indicated the wall. “I worry he’ll think I took this too far.”
“Give him some time. If he truly hates it after a few days, we can paint over it and take the pictures down, but I think you’ll be surprised.”
“I am not sure he’ll be happy with the money I’ve spent.” I grimaced with worry. I had used all the petty cash and my own two hundred, but the difference was incredible. Mary had given me her credit card so I could purchase the domain name and rebuild the website, so Maxx owed her for that. His reaction to that information worried me more than his reaction to the changes. I liked Maxx growly and annoyed. Not angry.
“Nonsense. It’s business. Maxx understands that.” Mary tilted her head. “Has he given you the impression he is in the poorhouse?”
“No. I see the balance in the business accounts. I get the feeling he is a bit of a, um…” I trailed off.
“A tight ass?” Mary finished. “He is, but he knows a good investment, and I believe what you have done is exactly that. Now, let’s finish it. He comes home in a couple of days.”
Those words made me smile. I was looking forward to having him back—I hoped the time away helped clear his head some.