“Brandon, please. I swear this won’t come back to you. If I’m caught, I’ll take all the blame. I’ll say that I lied to you, that I made you think the Lead reassigned Enfield to me. You’ll be clear for your assessment.”
Brandon exhaled angrily through his nose. Danny knew that the boy could easily take him in a fight, but Brandon didn’t seem the fisticuffs sort. Finally, after a minute of deliberation, Brandon nodded once. “All right. I’ll ask around. If I find out the new mechanic’s name, I’ll send word.”
Danny thanked Brandon profusely, gave him back the marble, and left before someone like the Lead saw him lurking around the office.
At home he walked from room to room in a daze. If someone found him out, he would be in serious trouble. He was already on a two-week suspension. Then again, if his relationship with Colton was exposed in any way, or if the mysterious bomber decided to turn to Enfield next—
He stopped dead, shivering all over. It only occurred to him now how odd it was to say bomber, singular, when it could easily be bombers, plural. If people who were unhappy with the towers got ideas …
The telephone rang. He almost ran into the wall in his hurry to reach the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Danny, is it?”
It was Brandon’s slow drawl. Danny deflated in relief.
“Have you heard anything?”
“They said there’s an Enfield job next week, something about cleaning the clockwork.”
I already did that.
“The new mechanic they’re pairing me with is Daphne Richards.”
Danny must have groaned, because Brandon made a sound of amusement.
“I asked her for a drink at the Winchester to get to know her beforehand. Tomorrow at six.”
Danny could have reached through the receiver and kissed him. “I owe you a drink myself. No, five drinks.”
Brandon huffed and hung up.
Danny stared out at the thick gray rain, thinking. How could he possibly convince someone like Daphne Richards to hand over a job based on some wish-wash? Especially if he was on suspension. Especially if she hated him.
But then he thought of Colton’s smile, and his resolve hardened.
His mother didn’t come home until late, and by then he was already in bed. He listened to her heels clacking against the hardwood floors as the rain continued on into the night. When she finally came upstairs, he expected her to go to her bedroom. He startled when she knocked on his door.
“What, Mum?”
She eased the door open and looked inside. “Are you all right, Danny?”
“What d’you mean?”
She took a hesitant step toward him, a dark form relieved only a little by the watery moonlight. “You’ve been acting odd lately. Something must be going on.”
Danny slumped against the headboard, glad that she couldn’t see his face. “I’m fine, Mum.”
“Do you … want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
It wasn’t a good feeling, lying to his mother, especially when she was trying. Why was she even trying? Why now? Why not three years ago, when he had needed her most?
Besides, he couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
She waited a moment, sighed, and the shadow of her head nodded.
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
She left, and he wanted to call after her—say, maybe, that he wasn’t upset with her, but that he was too busy with his own life to try understanding hers. Or to give into a childish yearning and ask her to sit beside him, to hold his hand until he fell asleep. To feel her cool fingers on his brow before she swept his hair back and kissed his forehead good night, as she used to do.
The door closed with a soft snick.
The rain had flooded the auto, and for a while it wouldn’t start. When it rolled down the street it hiccupped a couple times, and Danny wondered if the world did not want him to succeed at anything.
He still managed to get to the Winchester with time to spare, so he sat in the auto and planned what to say. He had written his argument down, repeating the words until he had them memorized.
“Miss Richards, I respect our profession as clock mechanics and would never do anything to harm either of our careers. However, the clock in Enfield is my project and, therefore, my responsibility. I think you’re a much better mechanic than most—better than me—but I understand how this clock works. So if you don’t mind, I’ll let the Lead Mechanic know we’ve spoken and head up there next week. You don’t want Colton Tower, anyway; it’s a dingy clock in a dingy town. I’m sure you’d much prefer grander assignments. Of course, I don’t mean to cheat you of your earnings, so we could switch jobs or I can pay you something upfront. Oh, no, it wouldn’t be a bribe! Merely a gift of thanks. I’m sure you understand.”
His timepiece read five to six. He took a steadying breath and walked into the pub.