Restore My Heart (40 page)

Joe shook his head no. “Dan Alsop, or whoever he is. He claims he had nothing to do with the killings, but it was his truck Sally saw speeding away the night of the fire, or at least we think so. She called it a Toyota Tacoma. And it was definitely the truck that I saw trying to run her down on Watterson Trail.”

Justin broke his sullen silence. “He was ready to kill you and me.”

And Sally had run to their rescue. Joe swallowed the lump in the back of his throat. “I still can’t believe Barbara would kill to protect their scam. Dad was Vic’s best friend. God, she was greedy.”

Sal shook his head. “I think it went deeper than greed, Joey. Barbara never got over Leo. Vic once told me he knew he’d been her second choice.”

“So you think Dad’s murder was a crime of passion?” Another unanswered question to muddy the waters, Joe thought.

“Who knows for sure? But if Leo messed up her plans all those years ago by marryin’ your mother, then threatened her latest plans with Dan Alsop—” Sal shrugged.

“And Brendan knew about Dad’s murder, so he was covering her tracks.” Joe sighed. Boy, had his grandmother been a good judge of character. She’d despised Brendan just as she’d loved Sally. From now on, he’d pay close attention to Grandma’s instincts.

After a short silence, Sal tapped Justin’s knee. “Let’s step outside for a smoke.”

“No.”

“We can’t leave, Sal,” Joe added.

Sal nodded. “I know. Have you told Lucinda?”

“Yeah. Fia was there when I called. Mom’s concerned about her and the shock of Brendan’s role in this mess. Imagine finding out her fiancé helped kill Dad.”

An uneasy silence stretched between the three men. A couple came into the waiting room, anxious and fidgeting. Nodding a greeting, they moved to the far corner of the waiting room to sit. Neither spoke, and soon picked up some of the year-old magazines lying about the room. Wonder if they, too, waited for news of someone whose life hang in limbo?

Finally, Sal spoke. “What about the Kaiser Darrin? What happens to it now?”

“I’ve had enough of that Darrin to last a lifetime.” Joe gripped the metal arms of the rigid waiting room chair. “Anyway, right now it’s confiscated evidence.”

But Sal wouldn’t let the subject rest. “When you finally get it back, Sally could restore it for you. Then you could sell it for a decent price.”

Joe nodded. Sally could do whatever she wanted with the Darrin, just as long as she pulled through surgery and was around to work on it. He’d give her carte blanche.

“So what’s next for you, Joey? You headed back to Atlanta now that Leo’s murder is solved?”

Joe glared at Sal. He was really asking about Joe’s intentions toward Sally. Didn’t he know what Joe felt for her? “I can’t plan the rest of my life until I know Sally’s all right.”

Without her, what was the point?

Voices funneled through her head. Odors of adhesive and antiseptic wafted through her windpipe. Gentle stroking soothed her hand. She needed to see, to ask, but it was too much effort. Drifting, floating, she retreated.

The next time Sally awakened, her eyes opened. Fuzzy shapes became people. No one she recognized. A woman leaned over her and smiled. “Miss Clay? Are you awake?”

Her throat ached. She tried to move her parched lips. She had so many questions. She couldn’t form the words. Searching the woman’s eyes, she tried to make her understand what she needed. Her arms wouldn’t move and her chest throbbed.

“Honey, you’re in the hospital. Do you remember getting shot?”

Sally’s blinked furiously. Shot? She needed to know about that. A beeping sound picked up tempo. The woman looked beyond Sally and frowned.

“Relax. Don’t excite yourself.”

Joe? Dad? Are they safe?
Why couldn’t she form the words?

“You have family here to see you but we’ll keep their visits short. Do you feel up to visitors?” Sally managed a nod. The woman smiled. “All right.”

She blinked. A very pregnant woman stood beside Uncle Sal, her dark brown hair the same shade as Sally’s. Her pixie face bore a smile, but it seemed forced.

“Look who’s here, Sally. Your cousin Maggie.”

“Hi, Sally. You hurry up and get well before I have this kid.” Maggie patted herself on her swollen abdomen. “And I mean hurry.”

Sally attempted a smile. Why wouldn’t her muscles obey her? The beeping picked up its pace as her frustration grew. What was that annoying beep, anyway?

“We’d better go,” Uncle Sal said. “We don’t want to tire you. But we’ll be back.”

Leaning over as much as her swollen body would allow, Maggie kissed Sally’s cheek. “Love you, sweetie.”

Sally blinked again. Or had she dozed? Her father had replaced Sal and Maggie. She’d never seen him so disheveled, even on his worst drunken spree. But he wasn’t drunk. And he was alive, thank God.

“Doctor says you’re drugged and probably won’t remember any of this, but I’m gonna say it anyway. I love you.” He stopped. Tears spilled from his reddened eyes. “I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry you didn’t know that. I’m sorry I failed you.”

She tried to speak, to soothe his distress. But the only noise from her was a gagging sound. The inside of her mouth was like a Brillo pad.

He swiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I didn’t tell you this before, but I’ve gone back to the doctor and am getting help so I won’t be a burden to you no more. I’m taking care of the shop for you, too, so don’t worry. Okay, that’s it. I have to go now.”

Stunned, Sally watched him leave. Without a doubt she was tripping on some kind of medication. And that was quite a dream she’d just had.

The drugs produced other dreams, like Ellen Kennedy standing over her beside Sally’s father. Aunt Susan and Uncle Sal. One dream stood out in her memory, even after some of her other hallucinations faded. Joe Desalvo held her hand. Thank God he was safe! He said he wanted to spend his life with her. He
loved
her. That was one hell of a dream.

And a recurring one. Joe’s handsome face hovered over hers, his eyes bloodshot and droopy. He’d tell her he loved her. His job in Atlanta no longer mattered as long as he and Sally could be together. But why? she wanted to ask. Instead, she’d slide back into the darkness.

Why did she keep having the Joe dream? She struggled to sort it out in her befuddled mind. All dreams carried a message, right? If Joe wanted marriage, why now? Nothing had changed between them except she’d nearly gotten herself killed. When Sally injured her leg, her dad gave up his dream to be with her. Now she’d been shot and Joe was offering to give up his dream to be with her.

No way, José. She wouldn’t be an instrument to ruining Joe’s career. She loved him too much to interfere with his big promotion. He’d already sacrificed enough. He deserved the vice-presidency and the right kind of wife. Thoughts of Joe with another woman knifed through her, but she’d get over it. She’d have to. She’d always known she wouldn’t fit in his world.

In time he’d understand his confused emotions. Quick to assume responsibility, Joe blamed himself for Sally’s wound and mistook it for love. He needed to return to his world, get back to normal.

Out of sight, out of mind. Oh, if only it were that easy for her.

Doctor Singer drew Joe aside in a private consultation room no larger than a closet. “The patient’s father gave me permission to speak to you about Miss Clay’s condition. We’ve repaired the hemothorax. She’s lost a lot of blood, but she should be out of ICU now and into a room.”

“I don’t understand. Did the surgery not do what it’s supposed to do?”

“The surgery went fine. I’d expect Miss Clay to heal in record time. She’s physically fit, obviously works out. With her upper body strength, she should be farther along in her recovery. But she’s not improving from the breathing treatments and we don’t want to risk moving her yet.”

Sweat beaded Joe’s forehead. His pulse thundered in his ears. “What are you saying?”

“I’m going to have to bar you from visiting her.”

Stop seeing Sally?
“B—but, why?”

“I’m sorry.” The doctor shook his head, giving Joe a sad smile. “But according to the staff, she becomes very agitated when you visit. Her emotional state is critical to her recovery. Her healing seems to regress after you see her.”

Joe reeled from his words. “I’d never do anything to hurt Sally.”

The doctor held up his hand. “No one’s accusing you. The fact remains that in your presence, Sally becomes distraught.”

Distraught? The BLT sandwich Joe had grabbed at the cafeteria turned to granite in his stomach. “If you’re saying that my visits harm her, I’ll stay away. No questions asked. But I wish I understood why I’ve upset her.”

“Perhaps when she’s better, we’ll know more.”

Joe handed the doctor one of his business cards. “My home numbers and e-mail address are on the back. Please contact me when you think she’s up to seeing me. It’s very important.”

Doctor Singer smiled. “Are you her fiancé?”

“Yes.” Joe shook hands with the doctor as they stood. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Sally eased into her cotton sweater and padded to the chilly kitchen. The tidy counters gleamed from a recent scrubbing. A fresh citrus scent tickled her nostrils. During her hospital stay, Justin Clay had turned into Mr. Clean. Even the ashtrays were empty and spotless. He sat at the table, staring at his coffee. “Dad?”

His frown deepened. “Should you be up?”

He’d asked her that every day since she’d been released from the hospital. She gave him the same answer. “Certainly. The doctor said not to spend too much time lying down. Is today Saturday?”

“Yeah. Want breakfast? I have some of that French toast you stick in the toaster.”

French toast? Had he remembered? She grinned. “I’d love some. Is there more coffee?”

He jumped from the table, heading toward the coffee maker. “I thought you didn’t care much for coffee.”

She slid into a chair, accepting the steaming mug. “If I have French toast, I can drink anything.”

“Before I forget, this came for you this morning.” He placed a planter filled with English Ivy in the center of the table. “From more of your admirers.”

“I can’t get over how many cards and flowers I’ve gotten.”

She’d had no idea she was in so many people’s thoughts. A potted ficus from Mitch, Laquita, and Lamar stood in the corner of the living room. Carnations in a vase from Monette and Jennifer rested atop the television set. A dish garden from Maggie joined the arrangement from Orel. Then there was the huge bouquet from Lucinda, Fia, and Grandma. The Clay house smelled like a florist shop. The get-well cards from family and customers lay stacked on the end table.

Sally reached for the large card that protruded from the ivy planter on its plastic post. Not known for her gardening skills, she hoped she could keep her new plants alive and thriving. She read the handwritten message inside the card, blinked, then reread it. “Unbelievable.”

“What is it?” Her father turned from the toaster and leaned over her shoulder to peer at the card. “Janet Bishop.”

“Roy’s wife. Open and read the message inside.”

He read aloud,
“Please forgive the ranting of grief and hormones. I know you aren’t to blame for Roy’s death. Thank you for catching his killer.”

Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. She stuffed the card back in its holder. “I never expected that.”

Her father slid the plate with the French toast in front of her, along with a plastic bottle of syrup. Pausing beside her chair, he squeezed her shoulder. “I need to go open Mustang Sally’s.”

Looking up, she read the worry in his eyes and covered his hand with hers. “I’ll be fine, Dad. I promise not to do anything strenuous.”

“Sal said some of your friends were dropping by after the balloon race.”

That’s right. It was the last Saturday in April. The Great Balloon Race, opening day at Churchill Downs, and the Mini-marathon kicked off Derby Week today. She’d originally planned to watch Nina in the wheelchair competition, but wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while, thanks to Barbara Bloom’s bullet.

“Probably Jennifer and Monette. Guess I’d better comb my hair, you think?” It would take more than a comb to make her presentable. Maybe they’d bring Laquita. It would be good to see her friends again. Although many had visited her in the hospital, she had been too weak or medicated to appreciate their company at the time.