Restore My Heart (14 page)

He reached for the ignition. Sally’s gut-wrenching scream catapulted him from the car.

Sally choked back another scream. Dark blotches of blood soaked Roy Bishop’s denim shirt. His lifeless eyes stared at her, his mouth frozen in an O of surprise. Despite his gray color and stiffened body, Sally leaned over to check for a pulse.

“Sally, don’t touch anything.”

Joe. Thank God! She didn’t know when he’d come into the garage. She didn’t care. He was here. She plowed into his outstretched arms, burying her face into the nylon of his windbreaker. Sobbing, she absorbed his tender stroking of her hair, his firm and safe embrace. Murmuring reassurances against her head, he tried to calm her.

But Sally would never be calm, never feel safe. Her life had been violated from the moment someone had set fire to Mustang Sally’s. Why? And why kill a fine man like Roy Bishop?

“We need to call the police, Sally.”

She nodded against his chest. “I know.”

“I’m not leaving you here. Come on.” He urged her to walk with him to her office, his arms supporting her against his firm body.

“Oh, God, Janet! I have to let her know—”

“Janet?”

“His wife. I don’t know how I can tell her.”

“Better let the police handle that, honey.”

Grateful for the reprieve, Sally didn’t argue. Poor Janet. How would she cope with losing Roy? Sally would miss him, but Janet would be devastated. Sally seldom saw her but often chatted with her on the phone. Roy and Janet had a solid marriage, one for the record books.

Flipping a switch, Joe flooded the darkened office with glaring lights, then grabbed for the telephone. Sally drew a shattered breath. Planting a hip on the corner of her desk, she watched in a daze as Joe punched in 9-1-1. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image of Roy’s body lingered.

How could he be gone? So young, so vital, he’d worked right along Sally when Uncle Sal had hired her as a teenager. Most doubted she’d make a mechanic, but she’d proved them all wrong, thanks mostly to Roy’s patience and encouragement. He’d come through for her again when she bought Mustang Sally’s, showing no inclination to seek secure employment. Without complaint, Roy had worked at whatever jobs came in. She didn’t know how she’d get along without him.

She didn’t know how she’d get along without him!

The horror sank in. It wasn’t an expression, it was fact. Sally had lost a dear friend, a loyal employee. Janet Bishop had lost her devoted husband. Sally sniffed back new tears. First the fire, then the hit-and-run attempt. Now this. Was Sally somehow responsible for Roy’s senseless and tragic death?

Hours later, after giving her statement to the police, Sally escaped outside. She’d waited to tell the police about the Darrin’s forged engine number or the FBI until Joe was out of earshot. Special Agent Ferguson hadn’t wanted her discussing the investigation, which probably included the local law enforcement. First thing tomorrow she’d call Ferguson and explain. She’d also fill him in on what she’d learned so far.

Leaning against the gray police cruiser, she tuned out the buzz and hum of activity around her shop. She focused on the brown and cream striping, the Jeffersontown Police shield on the door. From habit, she calculated the Ford Crown Victoria’s engine size and horsepower.

Mentally pushing aside the crime scene and the activity inside, she refused to dwell on Roy’s wounds exposed for photographs, his clothes and skin combed for evidence, the necessary indignities delivered to the victims of murder.

Murder
.

The hamburger and malted milk roiled in her stomach. It seemed a lifetime ago she and Joe had eaten at the retro drive-in.

Joe appeared in the garage doorway. Backlit by fluorescent fixtures, his shadow painted a path through the parking lot. He strolled over to the police cruiser. Backing against the fender, he crowded beside her, favoring her with his warm, masculine scent.

“Are you all right?” He held up one palm in a halting gesture. “Scratch that. Dumb question.”

“Thanks, just the same.” She worked at conjuring up a smile, but failed. “Oh, Joe, what does this mean?”

“It means you’re not safe here. Why, I don’t know.”

“Yeah. Why seems to be the big question.” She blinked back a new wave of tears. A shiver of dread traveled the length of her spine. “Do they think I was the intended victim?”

“It’s one theory. I think they’re leaning toward a surprise during a break-in. Nobody’s supposed to be here on a Sunday.”

“Sure. Somebody breaks in carrying a loaded gun, although nobody’s supposed to be here. Do you buy that?”

“Afraid not. Someone wants you out of the picture. I just can’t figure out what that picture is. Do you have a past you haven’t told me about?”

She tried to smile at his teasing words. “A very boring past. No underworld connections. I’m not in the witness protection program. Nothing like that.”
Except I’m spying for the FBI
. But no one knew about that. No one except Roy. “I’m an ordinary, nondescript citizen.”

“I’d never call you ordinary or nondescript.”

She brushed aside the pleasure his words of flattery evoked. “What about you? You’ve been spending a lot of time with me. Any jealous girlfriends? Any fatal attractions in your closet?”

“Honestly, no. The closest I’ve come to a serious girlfriend is Tracy Steadman. Her fatal attraction is her career, not a man she’s had a few dinner dates with. I doubt she’s aware I’m still out of town, for that matter.”

Great. Sally knew where she stood, if she hadn’t before. She certainly wasn’t close to
a serious girlfriend
. “How soon will they let me leave?”

“I’ll go ask.” Pushing from the car, Joe hesitated, then pulled her to him. He murmured against her ear, “I’m driving you home, Sally. No argument.”

His breath against her cheek, his gentle hug dizzied her with emotion. She couldn’t remember feeling so cared for, so protected, even in the turmoil of Roy’s violent death. Nuzzling his strong, firm body, she nodded her agreement. After planting a soft kiss at her temple, he left in search of the detective in charge.

Dumbfounded, she fingered the spot where his lips had brushed her skin. Now, why’d he have to go and do a thing like that? Why treat her with gentle affection, just when she’d figured out she meant even less to him than Tracy, the babe in Atlanta? Joe made Sally feel too cherished for her own good. She knew better than to get used to it. When he returned to his Atlanta life, Sally’s broken heart would have nothing but these few treasured days with him.

The tragedy of Roy’s murder trivialized her wounded heart. She had a business to run, a living to make, a father to help support. And her life was in peril. Truly on her own now, how would she run Mustang Sally’s without Roy?

When they arrived back at Sally’s house, it was close to midnight. Joe cringed as he followed her through the kitchen of her house. Dirty glasses and plates were crammed into the sink. A dozen beer bottles surpassed the waste basket’s capacity. Sections of the Sunday
Courier Journal
lay scattered across the top of the kitchen table. Couldn’t her lazy bum of a father at least haul out his trash?

In the living room, the stench of cigarette smoke and beer thickened. Sally approached her father’s supine figure. She plucked the remote control from his hand and muted the television.

“Why’d ya do that?” he grumbled.

Joe pinned him with a glare. “We need to talk, sir.”

“Dad?” Sally sank wearily into the sofa. “Something bad’s happened. Roy Bishop was— was murdered today—”

“Murdered?” Sally’s father pushed his recliner upright, his bleary eyes sobering.

“At the shop, Dad. We just found him tonight.” Sally buried her face into her hands and groaned. “I still can’t believe it.”

Joe settled beside her on the sofa while keeping his eyes on her father. “There’s more I think you need to know.”

Sally’s head jerked up. “Joe, don’t.”

Did she fear her father’s rejection, his lack of concern? If Joe had to beat some sense into the man, he’d do it. He was determined Sally’s family understood the need to keep her safe.

Joe recounted the fire, the attempted hit-and-run, and finished up with Roy’s murder. “Sally shouldn’t be alone at the shop, sir—”

Sally’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start that. I have to keep Mustang Sally’s open or I’ll lose my business. That’s my livelihood.”

Joe met her gaze. “Then hire someone to take Roy’s place immediately.”

“The police said they’d let me open later tomorrow. How can I run an ad, interview applicants, and hire someone, all in a day?”

Her father cleared his throat. “Is this all because of that forged serial number in Leo’s Kaiser?”

Sally shrugged. “Yeah, the Darrin I told you about. But we don’t know that’s the reason—”

“Of course, it’s the reason.” Her father’s face reddened, his breathing labored. “Stay away from that Darrin, Sally.”

Joe bristled. “Sir—”

“The name’s Justin Clay. Stop calling me sir.”

To Joe’s amazement, Sally smiled. What in the world did she have to smile about? Shaking her head, she arose from the sofa. “That’s another story, one you’ll have to wait to hear until morning. Sally’s going to bed,” she said.

Joe stood to allow her room to pass, fighting the impulse to follow her. Tuck her in. Kiss her goodnight. He swallowed, reining in his wayward thoughts. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Favoring her weaker leg, Sally walked toward her bedroom. “Thanks, Joe. Don’t forget to pull that customer list. G’night, Dad.”

Justin Clay ignored her. After the whirlwind of the day’s events, Joe had run out of patience. He perched on the edge of the sofa. “Justin Clay,
sir
, it’s none of my business if you choose to be rude to your daughter, but you’ll treat her with respect when I’m around.”

Justin glowered at him. “But you ain’t gonna be around. So, like you said, it’s none of your business.”

Joe nodded. “Maybe you’re right. But Sally needs you, don’t you see? You two are wasting valuable time. Having just lost my dad, I’m well aware of how fragile life is.” He let out a huff of air and stood, turning to leave. “Never mind. I’ll see myself out.”

“Sorry ‘bout Leo,” Justin mumbled.

Joe spun to face him. “You knew Dad?”

“I met him a few times.” He snuffed out his cigarette in the overflowing ash tray. “As for me and Sally, there’s just things you don’t understand. Sally lost her dad, too, a long time ago.”

Joe refused to play his self-pity game, or whatever game Justin played. “The difference is, I can never get my dad back. You do have a choice. For Sally’s sake, I hope you’ll remember that.”

Figuring he’d already said more than he should’ve, Joe picked his way through the messy kitchen to the back door. He let himself out, followed the path through the alley, then slid open the Darrin’s door and crawled into the low-slung seat. Justin Clay deserved a punch in the gut. Joe hoped he hadn’t made things worse for Sally by speaking his mind.

Justin’s taunt lingered. But you ain’t gonna be around, he’d said, and he was right. Sooner or later, Joe needed to get back to his apartment in Atlanta and his hard-earned client list. Yet, returning to his former life no longer consumed him. From the moment he’d received news of his father’s death, he’d been haunted by a need to re-prioritize his life before it was too late. To care about somebody or something more than his promotion to vice-presidency. But he couldn’t. He’d worked too hard. Now he’d gotten his break. He couldn’t blow it.

The image of Sally trembling in his arms from one kiss intruded on his thoughts. He admitted leaving her wouldn’t be easy. In fact, it may be the most difficult thing he’d ever done. And wouldn’t Grandma just love this line of thinking!

Sally lay staring at the slit of light beneath her bedroom door. Exhausted, she needed her sleep, but couldn’t relax. She couldn’t shake the horror of Roy’s lifeless body, caught at the wrong end of someone’s gun. But whose? Who’d want to kill Roy? Or, as Joe suspected, who wanted to kill
her?
Roy was in the proverbial wrong place, if Sally was the intended victim.