Restore My Heart (18 page)

“I had to close early. How’s your grandmother?”

Nice to meet you, too
. Sally battled her prejudice against the man, an opinion based only on Grandma and Joe’s remarks. Perhaps if the guy rushed to Fia’s side, gathered her in his arms and comforted her, he’d redeem himself. It’s what Joe would do. Sally knew without a doubt Joe’s first words of greeting wouldn’t be a thinly veiled reminder of
his
inconvenience on her behalf.

Then the man shook his head, murmured something, and gave Fia a hug. That’s better, Sally thought.

“Oh, Brendan Price, meet Joe’s friend, Sally Clay,”

Fia added after explaining Grandma’s injury.

Brendan nodded at Sally’s pleased-to-meet-you.

Joe stood, motioning the man to sit. “Take my seat. I need to get some fresh air anyway.”

With his hand grasping her elbow, Joe led Sally past his family, into the hall, barely taking time to tell his mother where he’d be.

“What’s wrong?” Sally asked when they’d reached the elevator.

“Just claustrophobia. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Hospitals—” She swallowed the words
bring back bad memories
. This wasn’t about her. This was about Joe. He needed her support, not her problems. His beloved grandmother lay in the emergency room with a gunshot wound. “Um, hospital walls seem to close in on you, especially when waiting for news.”

Joe ushered her toward the lobby, past a patient attached to an IV pole. Poor man wore the skimpiest of hospital gowns. Sally avoided looking at him, just in case he exposed any vital body parts. Once they reached the lobby, Joe guided her through a glass door outside to an atrium courtyard.

Darkness hid the budding trees, but Sally admired the tulips and jonquils skirting their trunks. Joe gestured toward one of the concrete benches. The cold seeped through her jeans as her bottom met concrete. A shiver of awareness danced over her skin as Joe sank beside her.

“Cold?” he asked.

“It’s a little chilly, but refreshing.”

“Yeah. I’d offer you my jacket but it’s covered with blood.”

She chanced a glimpse at his profile, rigid and grim. “Joe, don’t blame yourself. Grandma wouldn’t want you to.”

His sigh came out almost a sob. He swallowed. “My head hears you.”

“I know. But Uncle Sal says guilt is a waste of energy.”

“What do you suggest I do with my energy?”

If she hadn’t seen the tortured look in his face, she would’ve smiled at the suggestive words. “We need to find out who did this.”

“Let the police handle it, Sally.”

“We can help the police.” She gripped his wrist. “We both know Grandma wasn’t the intended victim, Joe. Someone wants you out of the way, too.”

“But, why?”

“We’re witnesses. We can testify that we saw a Ford 170 passed off as an original Kaiser Darrin engine.”

He snorted. “You could. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t know a Ford 170 from a lawnmower motor.”

“But the killer doesn’t know that. So we’re both targets.” Releasing her grip on his arm, she held up her palm. “I’m not suggesting anything dangerous.”

Joe pressed his lips together into a tight line as he looked into the courtyard. Finally, he nodded. “You’re right. We can do our own investigation as long as we play it safe.”

“Soon as we know your grandmother’s condition, we’ll go back to the garage and compare job lists.”

“After dinner.” Joe slid his hand along her arm, then captured her hand. “Partners?”

His touch poured warmth through her veins, flushing her with a self-consciousness as primitive and innocent as her very first crush in middle school. She knew better than to pin her hopes on mere hand-holding. No future in bonding with Joe Desalvo, she reminded herself. But her heart turned mute, her dreams broke free and raced ahead.

“Partners,” she murmured, squeezing his hand.

Relief both energized and drained Joe when the doctors patched up Grandma’s flesh wound before she’d been wheeled into intensive care. “She’s a fighter,” the doctor said, after assuring the family she’d recover from her bullet wound. Intensive care was precautionary because of her age. “It frightened her more than anything.”

Joe shuddered at the memory of his blood-soaked windbreaker. It could’ve been so much worse. Just a couple of inches lower and—

Sally touched his arm. “Let me take you to your car.”

“I promised you dinner.” It was hours beyond dinnertime.

Her shrug seemed to say she wasn’t hungry. Her eyes searched his, revealing her concern. “The coffee shop’s still open. Let’s grab something there.”

He sighed. “You’re on. I still owe you a proper dinner.”

“What about your mom? Has she eaten?”

“Nina and Terry are bringing back belly bombs.” He pushed himself from the scratchy upholstered settee, then pulled Sally to her feet.

Later in the coffee shop, they ate the last of the day’s vegetable soup stretched with oyster crackers. Except for the waitress, the small café was deserted.

Sally pushed aside her empty bowl. “Guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

“Me, too.”

“Joe, listen—” Sally leaned across the small table and gripped his arm. “We need to get your Darrin out of sight. It’s evidence. Any ideas?”

“Only the stable. It’ll be a close fit.”

Her face clouded. “No. That’s too close to family. We need to hide it
away
somewhere.”

That afternoon he’d thought she was overreacting. Now he worried, too. The damned car did attract trouble.
Violence
. “Why not hide it tonight at the house, then stash it tomorrow in a rental storage unit?”

“Okay. I’ll follow you.”

He smiled at her thick brown eyebrows wrinkled in determination. Fiercely protective, she intended to play body guard, as if she were a match for a killer. Body guard. Now there was an image.

“It’s late. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I insist. Older cars have too much that can go wrong. Carburetors aren’t dependable like the electronic fuel injection you’re used to.”

“Okay, but then I’m following you home. It’s late to be out by yourself. And your vintage Mustang has a carburetor, too, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No arguments.”

Sally’s lips twitched. “Fine. Then I’ll follow you back home in Dad’s truck to be sure you get home in one piece.”

“Let’s see. Then I’ll have to follow you home again.” At the rare smile Sally flashed him, he couldn’t resist teasing her. He dropped his voice. “Or, you could spend the night.”

Her smile slipped. “Uh, you mean like a sleep-over when you’re mom’s not home?”

“Exactly. She’s staying here tonight. So what do you say? It’d be fun.”

“Fun?” she croaked. “Uh, I don’t think so.”

Joe’s stomach knotted beneath his breastbone. He’d been teasing, but suddenly longed for Sally in his bed. Desire for her pooled deep in his loins. Memories of that kiss flashed, reigniting his fantasy of having her back on his bed, on her back, her firm body beneath his.

Why? Sally differed from any woman he’d dated, anyone he’d been involved with. She wasn’t exactly pretty, with her boyish haircut and unflattering clothes. But her beautiful eyes made up for lack of glamour. And those lips. Those luscious lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

“No joke, Joe. Until we know who feels threatened by the Darrin, no one’s safe around it.”

“I know.” He sighed, dismissing his sexual fantasies. Or trying to. “The last thing I want is for anyone else to get hurt.”

The anguish on Sally’s face tore at his gut. She had to be thinking of Roy Bishop. He’d paid the ultimate price. Thank God Grandma would pull through. Mom’s denial of his father’s suicide haunted him. Had Dad paid the ultimate price, too? Was the Darrin the root of all the trouble?

And what role did Ellen Kennedy play?

The morning sun played peek-a-boo with gray clouds and around the aluminum-patched window in Sally’s office. She’d arrived home late last night, but her dad had waited up for her. His Celexa pill wasn’t where she’d set it out for him. In its place was a tattered, worn doctor’s appointment reminder card. She hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, but now wondered. Had Dad pulled it from his wallet to make an appointment?

Not wanting to set herself up for another disappointment, she tamped down her hopes. For all she knew, Dad had simply cleaned out his wallet. But he
had
taken the anti-depressant. She’d replaced the missing pill this morning. If only he’d follow through this time with his treatment.

Sighing, she returned to the customer list. Uncapping the yellow highlighter, she drew through another set of names. Of the seventy-nine classic or collectible automobiles sold by Bloom Desalvo during the last six months, Mustang Sally’s had restored or repaired eight. Rarely was a vintage car purchased ready to sell. So who had worked on the rest?

The marked increase in sales surprised Sally. She’d had no idea the collectibles division handled such a volume of business. The past four months showed a doubling in transactions, but Mustang Sally’s shared little of Bloom Desalvo’s prosperity.

She was thankful Uncle Sal sent business her way. This morning a retired colonel, one of the Universal Joint’s regulars, had delivered a 1955 Chrysler 300 that wouldn’t run. Rebuilding and adjusting the two four-barrel carburetors, a routine job for Sally, would earn enough to pay this month’s electric bill.

The sharp trill of the telephone jolted her from her thoughts. Answering the call, she heard Joe’s warm baritone mixed with the background noise of the hospital. An intercom page repeatedly called for a Doctor Campbell.

“Good morning, Mustang Sally. Anything to report?”

“I’m going over the printouts you gave me. What about you? How’s Grandma?”

“Feisty as ever. She’s in a regular room now and can have visitors, hint, hint.” His smile was in his voice.

The tense muscles in Sally’s back eased. “Oh, that’s great. Tell her I’ll get by after ther—, uh, after I work out tonight.”

“Are you too busy to let me take you to lunch? That way we could swing by here with a ready excuse for not staying too long.”

“Joe, that’s a tempting offer, but I’m alone. I can’t very well shut down business to go to lunch.”

“Well, you can’t very well skip eating. You need your strength,
partner?”

“Speaking of partners, has Vic Bloom said anything to you about increasing the classic auto side of the business? The list you gave me makes it look like more than a sideline.”

Joe hesitated. “Barbara Bloom hinted at growing the business, as she put it. She mentioned a new source for classics, a guy named Dan Alsop.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of him. He’s the new competition in town.” She’d heard too much of him lately and wondered how he’d managed to lure away much of her business.

“Ever hear of an Ellen Kennedy?” Joe’s voice tightened on the name.

“Ellen Kennedy? No. What’s her connection?”

“She isn’t on the customer list?”

Sally scanned the printout. “Uh, sorry, no Kennedy.”

Joe exhaled. “Never mind. I’m going to find out more about this Dan Alsop. He finds great buys on classics that need little or no restoration.”

“Seventy-one in six months? That’s a little hard to swallow, Joe.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Did you hide the Darrin?”

“Sure did, far from the family, in a horse barn in Simpsonville.”

From the service area a door squeaked open. Instantly on alert, Sally stiffened. Her hand choked the telephone, while her heart hammered a frantic tattoo.

“Someone’s here,” she whispered.

“I’ll let you see your customer—”

“No! I mean, someone’s in the back. I deliberately kept the door dead-bolted.” Three people had keys to her shop and one of them was dead.

“Call 9-1-1, Sally. I’m on my way.” Joe hung up.

Whispering into the phone, she reported the break-in. Both police and Joe were en route.

The intruder made no attempt to mask his or her presence. Tool boxes creaked open, a mechanic’s creeper scooted across concrete. The distinctive sound of a hood latch echoed as if Roy’s ghost had returned to finish the Corvette.

Sally searched the office for a weapon. A ridiculous notion. She didn’t keep a revolver in her file drawer. The most lethal item around was the metal chair. Her breathing labored, her pulse raced as she slipped open the desk drawers one by one. Her fanny pack lay in the bottom, mocking her.