Now, watching Emma stand quietly beside her little toolbox, he wondered whether they’d all been approaching the problem from the wrong direction.
The senior mechanic had noticed Ace’s interest.
He stepped closer.
“Look, Ace, nobody’s saying she can’t learn.
But we’ve got actual diagnostic equipment here.
We’ve checked every major system.”
Ace glanced at him.
“And the engine still quits.”
“Yes, because there’s an intermittent fault somewhere.”
Emma turned immediately.
“Intermittent?”
The mechanic nodded.
“Something that doesn’t happen constantly.”
She looked at the Harley.
“But it happens every time you start it.”
The mechanic paused.
“Every time we’ve tried today.”
Emma seemed to think that distinction mattered.
“What about when you first noticed it?”
Ace tried to recall.
He remembered the frustration of the engine starting and stopping.
He remembered believing the first failure was something minor, perhaps a loose connection or temporary electronic issue.
And he remembered the problem refusing to disappear.
“It wasn’t behaving like this before,” he said.
The mechanic raised an eyebrow.
“You figured the motorcycle worked before it broke?”
A few men chuckled.
Emma didn’t rise to the bait.
“I’m trying to figure out what changed.”
That answer brought another quiet pause.
Ace looked toward the mechanic.
“She has a point.”
The man lifted both hands.
“I’m listening.”
Emma glanced around the garage.
The walls were crowded with photographs of motorcycles in various stages of repair, shelves of spare components, and the ordinary signs of a shop where people worked with their hands.
Near the far bench, a mechanic held a cup of coffee he’d apparently forgotten to drink.
Another stood beside a rolling tool chest with his arms folded.
All seventeen had worked on the Harley or examined its symptoms.