Restore My Heart (33 page)

“I think I’ll go into the office with you tomorrow and hang around. I’d love to catch Vic with his hands on that USB drive.”

“If he’s truly involved, I doubt it’ll be that easy.”

“I don’t get it. You don’t particularly like the guy but you don’t think he’s involved. Enlighten me.”

She smiled. “Call it intuition. Vic’s never been greedy. It’s the one thing that made him click with Leo. Both were happy with small gains, modest profits. It’s what I call the secret of their success.”

But Ellen Kennedy had told Sally both Barbara and Vic had pressured her to buy. “People change.”

“Yes, they do,” his mother answered with a pointed look.

He wasn’t about to pursue her meaning. Undoubtedly, the discussion would return to Sally. Yawning, Joe excused himself and escaped to his quarters in the stable.

The next morning, Joe arrived at Bloom Desalvo in record time, before anyone else. Unable to sleep, he’d showered and dressed before daybreak. What few winks he’d managed were interrupted with dreams. Although he couldn’t recall much of the dreams, they’d all featured Sally Clay in the starring role. His subconscious had betrayed his efforts to keep her from his thoughts, allowing the dark-eyed witch to intrude day and night.

Few cars passed this early, although in thirty minutes rush hour would be in full swing. Joe removed the key from his pocket, the key he’d need to give his mother when he left Friday. Friday, four days away. Three days to wrap up his family affairs. Three days to bring closure to his father’s death.

Now that the police had agreed to take another look at his dad’s case, and the FBI had arrived, little remained for Joe to do. Still he couldn’t dispel the feeling of unfinished business. He’d uncovered more questions than answers regarding his father’s death. Or was his unfinished business with Sally? If so, why? He’d known her only a couple of weeks. How had she threaded her way into his life, anyway?

In all fairness, it had been his own doing. Hadn’t she resisted his invitations to dinner? Spurned his advances? He’d taken it as a challenge to get past that huge chip on her shoulder, to prove her attractiveness as a woman. A vision of her in the glamorous gown and elegant hairstyle, dancing in his arms at the Derby Ball, lingered in his mind. Attractive, indeed! Sally had been a diamond in the rough in need of a bit of romancing. She’d transformed into a stunning beauty.

Another vision pushed its way into his mind, the sight of Justin Clay’s face, contorted with revulsion at Sally’s scarred leg. Damn him, anyway. He could hardly be part of an orchestrated scheme to gain Joe’s sympathy. No matter what she’d intended, she hadn’t planned an elaborate set-up to earn Joe’s trust and confidence. Sally was the real deal, a genuine article. His heart saw it; his hard head didn’t. And he’d treated her like shit.

Before he left for Atlanta, he’d see Sally one more time. Apologize. Admit she’d been right in not violating the FBI’s confidence. Hope to mend his friendship with her.

If he hadn’t damaged it beyond repair.

Lost in his thoughts, it took him a moment to register the light coming from Vic Bloom’s office. Odd. The offices were typically dark when Joe was first to arrive. Dead silence greeted him when he hesitated at Vic’s doorway.

Dead silence and a dead body.

Sally stifled a yawn, hoping the young man seated in her office this morning hadn’t noticed. Adam Ferguson looked nothing like Sally’s image of an FBI Special Agent. She’d bet he wasn’t as old as she, though close to it. Tall and lean, he flashed Sally a quick smile that rivaled that of golf champion Tiger Woods. His ebony hair was closely cropped; his wire-rimmed glasses set off eyes the color of honey. Where was the thick-waisted, balding guy she’d talked with over the phone?

The incongruity of Special Agent Ferguson’s blue wool suit and buffed wingtips in her grimy garage reminded her of Joe Desalvo’s first visit. Unfortunately, everything reminded her of Joe. Her jumbled emotions over him had robbed her of much needed sleep.

“I have some questions about Leo Desalvo’s son,” Adam Ferguson continued, as if reading her mind.

“I told you, he’s clueless. He reads the
Wall Street Journal
, not
Hemming’s Motor News
. He couldn’t care less about the auto business.”

“Maybe. But the Jefferson County Police seem to think differently.”

“What? But-but why?”

“Do you know if he and Vic Bloom were close?”

“He’s known Vic all his life, of course, but Joe’s been away for years, living in Atlanta.”

“We’ve traced some of the cars back to Georgia. Dan Alsop made the buys, but that’s all we know.”

“Joe suspects Vic of working the scam with Dan Alsop.”

“And of murdering his father, right?”

Sally chewed her bottom lip, now chapped from too much gnawing. “I don’t think so. I think Dan Alsop was his suspect. As I told you last night, Joe found a PI’s report on a man named Duane Anderson. Have you come across that name in your investigation?”

“Duane Anderson is the seller’s name on some of the cars originating in Georgia. Dan Alsop is the buyer’s name in most cases. But they could be one and the same.” He shrugged.

“After looking at the file we found and comparing it to my own records, I’d say the questionable activity at Bloom Desalvo started at the same time Dan Alsop opened up shop in Louisville.”

“Until then, you’d say Bloom Desalvo ran a clean business?”

“As far as I’m concerned. My business dealings were limited to restoration work Leo brought over. He and Uncle Sal—”

“Salvatore Clay, the previous owner here?”

“That’s right. Leo, Vic, and Sal were longtime friends. Sal trusted them, so I did, too.”

“Since Leo Desalvo’s death, has Vic assumed responsibility for the collectible cars?”

Sally shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Special Agent Ferguson stood. “Can you find out from Joe Desalvo?”

I doubt it
. “Why don’t you talk to Joe yourself?”

“I will, as soon as the locals finish their interview.”

“The police are talking to Joe? What’s that about?”

“I assume you haven’t heard. This morning, Joe Desalvo reported a homicide at Bloom Desalvo Motors. Vic Bloom was at his desk, a bullet in his skull.”

Sally gasped. Vic?
Dead?
“Joe found the body?”

Adam Ferguson shrugged. “He claims. Right now, he’s being questioned as a possible suspect.”

Joe switched off the ignition and stared at Mustang Sally’s back door. What was he doing here? He’d parked beside Sally’s vintage convertible. Two other vehicles were parked in the lot. The red pickup truck probably belonged to Justin Clay, since Joe had seen it before, both in Sally’s garage and at the Universal Joint. The late-model sedan may as well have had government emblazoned on the doors. Joe figured the nondescript blue Ford belonged to Special Agent whatever from the FBI.

Damn
.

He’d wanted to talk with Sally alone. As soon as he’d untangled himself from the web of police procedures, he’d headed here. What did that say about his need for Sally?

Had he been so long without friendship he mistook it for love? Admittedly, he was a loner. He’d never taken time to meet his neighbors in Atlanta, to pal around with the guys after racquetball matches. His dates had been, well, more about short-term relationships. Very short-term.

Until Sally.

She was the first woman who didn’t want something from him. No, that wasn’t accurate; she’d wanted information. If it hadn’t been for the FBI, she wouldn’t have gone out with him. She’d have fought Joe’s overtures, kicking and screaming.

Maybe he should go inside and thank the FBI guy.

He opened the Dodge’s door just as Special Agent whatever strode from the garage. At least he looked like an FBI agent, with his dark blue suit, wingtips, and conservative haircut. He headed toward Joe.

“Special Agent Adam Ferguson, FBI. Would you be Joe Desalvo?”

“I would,” Joe answered, thrusting out his hand.

Ferguson shook it. “I need to talk to you.”

Joe suppressed a groan. Not more questions! He really needed to talk with Sally, and not with an audience. But he also needed to clear his father’s name. “Fine. Can we talk here? I need to see Miss Clay on another matter.”

Ferguson nodded, then gestured toward the door. “After you.”

Sally’s eyes widened as Joe opened the door. Perched on her work stool, she hovered over a complicated-looking schematic. She turned her gaze to Ferguson when he entered the garage behind him.

“May we use your office, ma’am?”

If you call me ma’am one more time, I’m applying for social security
.

“Help yourself,” Sally said, shrugging. Gone was the teasing smile she’d turned on Joe when he’d addressed her as ma’am. Lavender crescents tinged the flesh beneath her eyes. Had he caused the strain in her face, the loss of sleep? She met his gaze. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Unable to ignore the scent of her, the mix of roses and raw gasoline and woman, he slid past her, resisting the urge to touch her cheek or give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. It wouldn’t do for the FBI to think their informant was in cahoots with the suspect. As he formed the thought, the bitterness he’d felt the day before faded. Sally didn’t see him as a suspect.

Averting her eyes, she said, “If you guys don’t need me, I have work to do.”

The FBI man followed Joe through the garage to the office. Joe braced himself for another interrogation as he settled in the old metal chair at Sally’s desk. Ferguson claimed Sally’s grease-stained chair, disregarding the peril to his suit.

“Can you bring me up to speed on Victor Bloom’s murder? I haven’t gotten a lot from the locals yet.”

Hardly what Joe expected, Special Agent Ferguson addressed him as if he were a colleague rather than a suspect. But Ferguson wasn’t interested in a local murder. His case was interstate fraud.

“I went in early to look through the files again.” He shrugged. “I just thought I’d overlooked something, you know?”

“Go on.”

“I found something, all right. Vic Bloom slumped over his desk with a bullet in his forehead. A gruesome sight.” The thought triggered images of his father, also found at his desk at work. Joe was thankful to have been spared that scene.

“What were you hoping to find?”

“Evidence. I don’t know how much Sally’s told you about my father, but I’ve convinced the police to reopen the case. Not only do I want to bring peace to our family about Dad’s death, I’d also like my mother to benefit from his life insurance.”

“It’s invalidated if his death is ruled suicide.”

“Right. Mom and I, with Sally’s help, have uncovered a second set of books showing classic auto transactions with much larger profits than are shown on the official spreadsheets.”

“She gave me the copied file.” Ferguson patted his jacket. “I haven’t looked at it yet. How are the books falsified?”

“The selling prices check out, at least the ones we’ve verified. But the wholesale price is vastly lower on the secret spreadsheet, making the overall profit for the past six months much higher than reported. My mom, who now owns half of Bloom Desalvo Motors, is worried about tax evasion issues.”

“She should be if somebody is hiding money.”

“We assumed it was Vic Bloom, but now—”

Ferguson nodded. “It could be Bloom. Maybe he got greedy, maybe there’s a double cross.”

“Or maybe he stumbled upon it like my dad and was killed for it.”

“The police suspect you of Bloom’s homicide.” It wasn’t a question.

“They’re grasping at straws. In order to clear my father of culpability in the fraud and to prove he was murdered, I need Vic alive. Also, there’s no evidence to hold me. I just found the body and was first on the scene.”

“You talk like an attorney.”

Joe smiled. “No, but I watch
Matlock
reruns.”

Ferguson gave Joe a brief smile. “I’m inclined to agree with Miss Clay. She thinks someone—probably this Dan Alsop or Duane Anderson or whatever alias he’s using—duped both Bloom and your father. Since your father had Alsop investigated, I’m inclined to agree.”