“Already know it,” Olivia said with a smug grin. “It’s Angelika. Mom told me.”

“That snitch.”

“It’s a lovely name.”

“I hate it. Do I look like an Angelika?”

Olivia studied Struts’s grease-streaked T-shirt and frayed jeans, along with the combat boots planted on top of her desk, and was inclined to agree with her. However, the hair that escaped from Struts’s ponytail and fell around her face was a rich, dark blond, with streaks of auburn and no emerging gray roots. Struts was somewhere in her mid-forties, taller than average, with the lean-legged figure of a long-distance runner.

“Actually,” Olivia said, “you look like an Angelika dressed like a Struts, but I get your point. Still, the nickname fits. Mind telling me how you got it?”

“Ellie didn’t spill that, too? What the heck.” Struts shrugged a slender yet well-muscled shoulder. “I grew up on a farm. We had this ornery old tractor with which I had a special relationship. I was the only one who could fix it. This embarrassed my six brothers, who gave me the name Struts and tried to pass me off as a foundling.”

Olivia imagined growing up with six Jasons and cringed. “Must have been rough.”

“Nah, I loved knowing my brothers were jealous of what I could do. I’ve got this intuitive gift with machinery. Your brother calls me the Engine Whisperer.” Struts slid her feet to the floor and lifted the lid off Olivia’s offering of cookies. “Whoa, these look stunning.” She selected an old-fashioned steam engine candy-striped in fuchsia and soft pink. “Do I have to share?”

“Up to you.”

Struts sank back in her chair, closed her eyes, and moaned softly as she chewed off the smoke stack. Having polished off the entire choo-choo, she reached for a purple Model T Ford. “Always wanted a Tin Lizzie.” As the hood headed for her mouth, she said, “So Livie, what do I owe you in return?”