Restore My Heart (17 page)

Sally wondered that, too. “I got the impression that Ferguson is handling more than just this case. He seems overworked.”

“When do you plan to tell Joey about the feds?” She’d already come to a decision. “I don’t. He lives in Atlanta, so his stay here is temporary. Why ever tell him?”

He shook his head. “That’s too bad. I’s hopin’ he’d stick around. He’s good for you.”

Yeah, right. Good for breaking my heart
. “If you say so.”

“For one thing, he’s dating you. How long has it been since you’ve been out with a guy, huh?”

Jennifer carried a plate with Sally’s grilled pepper cheese sandwich toward the bar. “Yeah, Sally, tell me about this guy you’re seeing. Monette called him a hunk-a-roonie.”

Sal grimaced. “Hunk-a-roonie?”

The flesh in Sally’s cheeks warmed. “He’s a friend, is all.”

“Monette said you two were in here holding hands and looking starry-eyed at each other.” Jennifer slid the plate in front of Sally.

“Monette exaggerates.” All right, so they were holding hands. But starry-eyed?

“How you girls talk.” Uncle Sal pushed up the hinged counter. “Jennifer, I’ll be back in a sec if anybody comes in. I need to get a couple of more bottles.”

“Okay, Sal.” Jennifer perched on the edge of the adjacent stool. “Now you can tell me. Is he a good kisser?”

Sally’s already warm cheeks burned. “Very good. But it was just once. And please don’t say anything. There’s no future for us.”

“Whatever you say.”

Jennifer bounced off the stool to greet a customer, leaving Sally alone to chew on both her sandwich and her thoughts. She dismissed memories of kissing Joe Desalvo. That line of thinking would get her nowhere.

Instead, she concentrated on getting to the bottom of Roy’s murder. If Roy was killed to destroy the Polaroids, if the Darrin was no longer in the garage, did that mean Mustang Sally’s wasn’t at risk anymore? Sally no longer had evidence of tampering with the engine number plate. Was she still in danger?

She liked that theory except for three troublesome thoughts. First, running her down on Watterson Trail wouldn’t have eliminated the Polaroids. Second, Joe Desalvo was now at risk because he had the Darrin, which the feds now needed to impound as evidence. Finally, Special Agent Ferguson said Sally could testify as an expert witness.

Talking with Special Agent Ferguson earlier had eased Sally’s anxiety about sharing information with the J-town police. He’d also endorsed her plan to check Bloom Desalvo’s classic car customers against her invoices, asking to see a report of her findings. But he cautioned her to be ever-vigilant of her surroundings.

She stuffed the last of her sandwich into her mouth. She needed to warn Joe to get the Darrin out of sight. As long as it existed, Joe could prove the engine had been faked to look like original Kaiser equipment. Who knew what the FBI could come up with from the motor, such as fingerprints on the engine plate number? But how did she warn Joe without telling him about the FBI’s case?

The door swung open as another afternoon patron wandered in. Sally’s thoughts scattered. Nearly choking, she abandoned the half-empty glass of beer. As if her mind had summoned him, Joe Desalvo filled the doorway and squinted toward the bar.

She waved him over. “What brings you here?”

Joe slid his briefcase onto a barstool, then unlatched and opened it. “You weren’t at the shop, so I thought I’d try here. I brought those files.” He handed her a stack of printed pages.

“Thanks. I’ll start checking these tonight.”

“Tonight?” He frowned. “At Mustang Sally’s?”

“That’s where I keep my records. It’ll be easier to take the printout there.”

“Not by yourself. It’s not safe.”

She nearly grinned. His concern sounded almost territorial. Possessive. Not nearly as off-putting as she’d have expected. “Want to help?”

Closing his briefcase, he grabbed the handle. “I do. First, I need to pick up Grandma. Will you wait here for me?”

No! She had to stop him from driving the Darrin. “Actually, I’d like to ride with you.”

He shook his head. “I’d like that, too, but I promised Grandma a ride in the Darrin. It seats two, you know.”

“Uh, Joe, I don’t think that’s a good idea in light of what’s happened to Roy. Let’s take the Mustang. I can scrunch up in the backseat.”

“No way. If I don’t pick her up in the Darrin, she’ll tan my hide.” He chuckled. “You don’t want to cross Grandma. Things can get ugly.”

Sally didn’t share his laughter. “I’m serious, Joe. Get that car out of sight before somebody else gets hurt.”

He clutched the briefcase handle with both hands. “Sally, nothing’s going to happen in broad daylight during rush hour.”

“Maybe so. Please be careful.”

“Worried about me?” Grinning, he winked.

Any other time, his sexy grin would’ve dissolved her composure. She’d retort that his grandmother’s safety was her true concern. But the image of Roy Bishop’s corpse lingered in her mind.

“Yeah, Joe. I am.”

The day’s mild weather turned chilly in the afternoon shade. Long shadows darkened the Warren Clinic parking lot, making its winter damaged surface difficult to see. Joe gripped his grandmother’s elbow, guiding her through the minefield of potholes and broken pavement toward the street.

He couldn’t resist teasing her. “Don’t wobble, Grandma, or people will think you’re drunk.”

“Good. It’ll improve my reputation.” Her speech slurred but not enough to keep her quiet. “Why didn’t you bring that nice young woman with you?”

“The Darrin’s a two-seater, Grandma.”

“Are you seeing her tonight?” She squinted up at him.

Chuckling, he nodded. “As a matter of fact, I am. But don’t go match-making. Sally’s a friend.”

“Friend, schmend!”

“That’s what I love about you, Grandma. You don’t stick your nose in other people’s business.”

“Don’t be a smartass, Joey.”

“Runs in the family.” Joe directed her toward the Darrin. “I’m sorry about the distance, but this is as close as I could park.”

“I’m capable of walking. That medicine didn’t faze me. Still don’t know why I couldn’t drive myself.”

“How’d the test go?”

“The test was nothing. It was fasting and drinking a gallon of paste last night that nearly did me in.”

Joe grinned at that. “You drank paste, Grandma?”

“Well, that’s what it tastes like. It didn’t hamper my driving skills any. They treat me like I’m some feeble old woman, telling me not to drive.”

“You know how these doctors worry about liability. Not everyone’s as tough as you.” He didn’t remind her that she’d also been anesthetized.

“That’s it, I guess. It takes a sturdy woman to go without eating all day. I’m about to starve, but otherwise feel fine. Some people would wimp out from a little ol’ colonoscopy.”

He reached ahead of her to slide open the Darrin’s door. “I’ll bet that colonoscopy was a pain in the—”

A thunderous cracking of glass interrupted his joke. Joe reacted instinctively, diving into Grandma, pushing her to the pavement as a second shot ripped into the Darrin’s fender. Grandma lay quiet beneath him, for once not arguing or complaining.

No more shots. The blaring of horns and squeal of tires in the rush hour traffic suggested their assailant had fled. Joe risked raising his head to look. No shooter in sight. But something just as terrifying seized his attention.

Blood.

Lots of blood. Soaking through the side of his windbreaker.

When the elevator doors opened, Sally pushed her bad leg to a painful stride, then hurried toward the ER waiting room. Her worst fears realized, someone had shot at Joe. A shudder wracked through her just thinking about the desperation behind the shooting. What secrets did the Darrin hold, that were worth such violence?

Joe stood near the door, hands shoved into his pockets. His hunched shoulders showed his anxiety. His dark eyes lit with recognition, his gaze locking with hers. Without a word, Sally stumbled into his arms and hugged him. Burying her face into his shirt, she inhaled the scent of his cologne, a spicy sandal-wood fragrance.

“How’s your grandmother?”

He lifted his shoulders, shrugging. “She’s still back there.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Damn, Sally,” he murmured into her hair. “I wish to God I had listened to you.”

“I wish to God I’d been wrong.”

What began for Sally as a hug of comfort soon turned into an awkward embrace. She pulled away, averting her eyes, noticing the people gathered in tense groups throughout the waiting room. “Where’s your mother?”

“She’s on her way, but there’s still a lot of traffic.” He gestured toward the chrome-and-upholstered settee. “Let’s sit.”

The distinctive sounds and smells of a hospital crowded Sally’s senses, resurrecting unpleasant memories. She plopped onto the settee’s hard cushion. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down bad memory lane. Joe needed her. He’d said so.

He’d called her at the Universal Joint, telling her that Grandma had been shot in the shoulder. He’d asked her to drive over to Baptist East Medical Center. “I need you here with me. Please?”

Refusing him never entered her mind.

Joe settled beside her on the settee, his thigh touching hers. Much too close. The chill of air conditioning did nothing to cool her body. She wasn’t sure why her body’s radiator overheated when he was near. She was hardly one to blush, and it hadn’t happened when any other guy paid her attention—although few did. But Joe wasn’t any other guy. He was the man who’d be leaving soon for Atlanta. Why couldn’t she remember that important fact?

Now wasn’t the time to analyze her feelings for Joe. She asked about the shooting. He described the brazen attack that had left his grandmother bleeding from a bullet wound.

“The police were still there when the ambulance left. The Darrin’s safe enough with cops crawling all over it.”

Was it? How could she safeguard it until the feds arrived? Of course, that was Ferguson’s problem, not hers. But she wanted Roy’s killer caught and the Darrin could be the key—or the bait.

“They let you ride with Grandma?”

“Yeah. She wasn’t moving. I thought—” He swallowed.

“I know.” He’d thought she’d been killed. Poor Joe. First his father, now Grandma. She placed her hand on his arm in a gesture of empathy.

“It looked like a lot of blood.”

Lucinda Desalvo rushed into the waiting room, making a beeline for Joe, who rose to greet her. Sally’s heart squeezed for the woman who’d recently lost her husband and now worried for her mother.

Sally scrambled to her feet. “Sit here.”

“I don’t want to take your seat—”

“I need to find the Ladies Room.” Sally knew the family needed a few moments of privacy. “Can I bring either of you some coffee from the cafeteria?”

Gratitude shone from Lucinda’s eyes. “Oh, Sally, that would be very nice.”

Joe pressed a folded bill in Sally’s hand. “This should cover it. Thanks.”

Sally shrugged. “I only wish I could do more.”

Later, when Sally crept into the waiting room balancing a cardboard tray of coffee cups, more of the Desalvo clan had arrived. Fia and Nina flanked Lucinda, murmuring softly. Joe sat in silence.

“I should’ve brought more coffee.” Sally placed one of the Styrofoam cups in Lucinda’s trembling hand.

“Thank you, Sally,” Lucinda murmured.

“I don’t drink coffee. Don’t worry about it.” Nina said.

“I couldn’t swallow a thing right now.” Fia swiped at the tears trickling down her face. “Not until I know Grandma’s all right.”

At a loss for an appropriate response, Sally merely nodded, while digging into her pocket for packets of creamer and sugar. She carried the last cup to Joe.

Rising, Joe took the tray from Sally. “I should’ve gone with you to help.”

“You were needed here.” Sally tossed the remainder of the packets onto the tray. “Have you heard anything?”

“Not yet.” He lifted the lid off the coffee.

The waiting room grew noisier with the arrival of Nina’s husband, then Fia’s fiancé, a slightly built blond man in his early forties. He marched over to Fia, a frown marring his attractive Nordic features.