"When the points are open, the light should come on. When they close, it goes off. It should go on and off as the engine turns. It's barely doing it." She frowned at the points. They were opening. She could see the gap come and go. "So the electricity's leaking somewhere before it gets there. Going to ground."
She bent closer. With one finger, carefully, she pushed on the little wire where it went out through the grommet.
The bulb blinked on.
She let go. The bulb went off.
She pushed again. On. Let go. Off.
"Oh," Josie said, and couldn't keep the grin off her face. "There you are."
Boone leaned down. He smelled like sun-hot leather. He was close enough now that she could see the white scar running through his left eyebrow, the gray hairs in his ears, the way he breathed through his mouth a little when he bent over. He watched her push the wire and watched the light come on and go off, and he grunted.
"Show me," he said again, but quieter.
She pulled the grommet back with her fingernail. Right where the wire passed through the hole in the timing cover, the plastic insulation had worn shiny and then worn through, and a hair-thin line of copper winked out at them.
"It's been rubbing," she said. "Every time the engine shakes. It's been rubbing on the edge of the hole for years, probably. When the engine's cool there's still a little insulation holding it off. But when everything gets hot the plastic goes soft and it all swells up a little, and the copper touches the case, and it grounds out. And then no spark. Like a switch. And then it sits a half hour and cools down and shrinks back—"
"And starts right up like nothing happened," Boone said.
"Yeah."
He straightened up. He stood there, looking down at the round open hole in his engine, and he rubbed his beard with the back of his bad hand.