“Fair enough. I didn’t mean to pry.” Liar. He did want to know what demons she battled. He could be patient. “Tell me about your upper body strength training. Is that part of your aggressive physical therapy?”
“That’s job related.” She flashed him a cocky grin. “I can’t have customers thinking I’m a weak mechanic. There’s a lot of muscle required in auto work. Some of my hardest labor is lying beneath an engine working with my arms held up over my head. Several hours of that tend to wear you down.”
Joe pushed aside the image of Sally lying with her arms held up, an image without an automobile or overalls covering her body. Down, boy! “I’d never call you a weak mechanic. You’re anything but weak, lady.”
She ducked her head, murmuring “thanks.” Embarrassed again? Didn’t anyone ever feed this woman praise? Sally presented a curious puzzle, one he’d like to solve.
“Does your regimen include a special diet?”
“No. I take extra calcium and vitamins to strengthen my bones. Liquid minerals help boost my energy and immune system.” Her lips turned up in a smile that failed to mask the strain in her eyes. “You must think I’m a health nut.”
“Not after watching you wolf down two rolled oysters and a mountain of French fries.” His teasing remark eased the tension, earning him a smile.
“Watching me? Ha! You were too busy stuffing your own face—”
Roy Bishop stuck his head inside the door, interrupting her. “Excuse me, boss.”
“Hey, Roy.” Sally beamed at the mechanic. The easy camaraderie between the two suggested a long working relationship. “Aren’t you due home by now? Janet will have my hide working you late on a Saturday.”
“I’m gone. I have a call in to that guy in Moultrie about those relays, in case he calls back this afternoon.”
“I’ll handle it.” Sally waved him away. “See you Monday.”
Roy’s retreating footsteps faded, followed by a door banging shut.
“I didn’t realize it was this late,” Joe said. “Where are the cops?”
“You told them it wasn’t an emergency. And I told you it was a waste of time.”
“We’ll see. You need to lock up while we wait.”
Sally looked at the electric clock on the wall opposite her desk, a clock reminiscent of grade school. “Yeah, I need to clean up before heading to the Universal Joint. Uncle Sal doesn’t usually work Saturdays, but he’s there today and I told him I’d stop by.”
Joe wasn’t ready to leave. They hadn’t discussed the attempt on her life with the police, nor had he broached the subject of tomorrow’s dinner at his mother’s. He’d hoped to bring up the subject of Vic and the Darrin, too.
Sally must have read his mind. “You want to follow me over there? We could grab some health food.”
“Health food. Right.” Her invitation cheered him, more than he’d expected. “I don’t mind if I do.”
Just as Sally suspected, the police report didn’t take long. Joe had little to give them in the way of details. In turn, the police had nothing to offer. Still, the attempted hit-and-run was now a matter of record. She locked up after the two officers left, then headed for the Universal Joint, Joe behind her in his Dodge.
Too early for the typical Saturday night crowd, the tavern held only a few customers when Sally and Joe walked in, and none were regulars she recognized. A small group crowded the bar, watching the suspended TV set. Noises of a NASCAR race and an occasional cheer seemed muted compared to the rowdy late crowds. The jukebox was blessedly silent.
Joe ushered Sally to a booth against the wall, far from the TV. Monette whisked over to the table, smiling. “Hey, Sally. You ready for your usual?”
“I sure am.”
Joe cocked his head quizzically. “What’s your usual?”
Monette crowded her considerable charms into Joe’s face. “One draft beer and a grilled hot pepper cheese on Texas toast sandwich.”
Joe kept his gaze locked on Sally. “Sounds like good health food. Make that two.”
Sally suppressed a grin. Monette had suffered a serious setback when a guy ignored her for a crippled— No! Joe was right. She had to stop the negative self-talk.
“Monette, have you met Joe Desalvo?”
“Pleased to meet you, Joe.” Monette seemed to take his disinterest in stride. Winking at Sally, she hurried toward the kitchen with their orders.
Joe nodded toward the bar. “Is that your uncle?”
“Yep. That’s Uncle Sal, tending bar. You’ve never met?”
Joe shrugged. “Probably when I was a kid. I know he was friends with Vic and my dad. Tell me about him.”
“Uncle Sal and Aunt Susan took me under their wings when Mom died. Their daughter Maggie is my age and the closest thing to a sister I have, although we aren’t as close as we once were.”
“Why’s that?”
“Oh, you know. She has a different life now. Married, a three-year-old plus another kid on the way.” All the things Sally shouldn’t dream about, but did. “We keep in touch still.”
Monette returned, sliding two pilsner glasses of beer onto the table. “Here you go. Your sammies will be up shortly.”
Sally sipped the cold brew and watched the waitress sashay back to the bar, her auburn tresses swaying in her wake. “Uncle Sal and my dad have worked on cars as long as I can remember. They were Clay Enterprises, a racing team. Later, when Sal opened Mustang Sally’s, he hired me. He knew he’d like my work because he’d help train me. I eventually bought him out and you know the rest.”
Joe fingered designs into the condensation outside the pilsner. “Your dad raced?”
“He used to.” Shame consumed her just thinking about what her father had sacrificed because of her.
“What kind of racing?”
“NASCAR, Busch division.” She needed to change the subject without arousing Joe’s curiosity, to steer the conversation away from racing or her father. Talk that would lead to the accident. She wouldn’t discuss the accident, not with Uncle Sal, not with her dad, and certainly not with Joe Desalvo. Besides, hadn’t she agreed to find out all she could for the FBI about Leo? So far, she had zilch.
“Joe, you’ve done an admirable job of distracting me from my troubles, but enough.” She waited as Monette appeared with their sandwiches, ensured Joe and Sally had everything they needed, then scurried off to greet two arriving patrons. “As I said earlier, what’s happening here?”
“And as I said earlier, someone means you harm. Ticked off anybody lately? Disgruntled customers?” He winked. “Jealous ex-boyfriends?”
She gave him her best you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “No. Besides, Roy seems to think your car was the target. No pickups tried to run me down before you brought me the Darrin.”
“You think it’s connected to the Darrin?”
She didn’t really blame Joe or the Darrin. She couldn’t finger anyone else, either. “The fire was probably a gang initiation. Why not set it behind the Darrin? It was the only car in my garage Friday night. The reckless truck driver is unrelated.”
Joe’s half-eaten sandwich froze in mid-air. “Sally, that was not just a reckless driver.”
“Joe, even the cops aren’t buying that.”
“The cops didn’t see the truck. I did. And I’m telling you the guy deliberately tried to hit you.”
The bite of grilled cheese lodged in her throat. Joe’s words chilled her, but made no sense. Why would anyone want her dead? Only a few trusted people knew she’d reported the fraudulent Darrin to the FBI, unless— Was there a leak at the FBI? Had the bad guys found her out? Something in her face must have betrayed her rising fear.
“Sally, are you all right?” Concern filled his rich baritone voice and his dark eyes. “You’ve turned pale.”
“What’s the matter?” boomed another deep baritone voice as Uncle Sal’s shadow draped over her. “No hug for your favor-right bartender? And what the hell happened to your chin?”
; Without waiting for her reply, he leaned into the booth for a hug. Sally locked her arms around his neck and squeezed. “Hey, Uncle Sal.”
“Hey, yourself. What did ya do to your chin?”
“I fell.” Sally scooted over so Uncle Sal could join them. “Take a break, bartender. Have you met Joe Desalvo?”
“When he was still in diapers.” He shook Joe’s hand. “How ya doin’?”
“Nice to meet you again, Sal.”
Uncle Sal slid in beside her. “I’m real sorry ‘bout your dad, Joey. He was a good man.”
“Thanks,” Joe murmured. His neutral expression didn’t mask the flicker of pain in his eyes. “Do you remember if Dad came in here the week he died?”
Joe had his reasons for asking, she supposed, but Uncle Sal appeared as surprised by the question as she.
“He did.” Frowning, he rubbed his chin. “He seemed unusually quiet, come to think about it. Troubled, maybe. But nothin’ that led me to believe he’d—”
“I know. That’s what Mom says.”
Uncle Sal shook his head. “Nobody was more surprised than me to hear what happened to him. That just ain’t Leo.”
Joe nodded, but must have decided to change the subject. He gestured toward Sally. “Your niece almost got run over this afternoon.”
She groaned. Good going, Joe. Now Uncle Sal would be overprotective more than ever. “Some guy just ran a red light. Joe tackled me or I might’ve been road kill.”
Her attempt at levity fell flat with both men. “Where was this?”
She shrugged, faking a lack of concern. “Right in front of the garage. I was crossing Watterson Trail.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“We reported it, yes, but there’s nothing they can do. Joe wasn’t able to give them a description of the truck.”
“Tell him the rest, Sally.” Joe pinned her with his piercing dark gaze.
She frowned at Joe, futilely trying to shut him up.
“What?” roared Uncle Sal.
“Okay. Joe thinks it was intentional.” She sighed. Here it comes, she thought.
“Why?” He directed his question to Joe, who was more forthcoming with information.
“In view of the fire—”
“Fire?” He glared at Sally.
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you, Uncle Sal.” She described the fire, then remembered she hadn’t told him yet about the forged engine number on the Darrin. She filled him in on the discrepancy, along with the puzzle of why Leo would buy a fake. She didn’t tell him everything. Now wasn’t the time to mention the FBI bulletin or Special Agent Adam Ferguson.
“This is working into a real mystery, Sally,” her uncle said when she’d finished. “I thought it was strange Leo didn’t say nothin’ about gettin’ a Darrin. Then for him to—” He shot an apologetic look toward Joe.
Joe cleared his throat. “That’s all right, Sal. You aren’t voicing anything we haven’t already thought. Why would Dad pay full price for a collectible knowing it’s a fake, then kill himself?”
“What do you mean by full price, Joe?” Sally asked.
Joe’s frown deepening, he hesitated. “This may sound crazy, but—”
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Reaching across the table, Joe covered her hand with his. She liked the warmth of his smooth palm, the feel of his tapered fingers. She liked it too much. But she didn’t pull away. Their gazes met and locked, connecting them. His eyes searched hers as if pleading with her, but for what? Understanding? Acceptance? Help?
Uncle Sal cleared his throat, a reminder that they weren’t alone. “Y’all want me to leave?”
Heat suffused her body, flushing her skin. Again. She found her voice, finally, but not without a struggle. “No, Uncle Sal.”
Joe’s eyes remained fixed. “Stay, sir. You may be able to help.”
“What is it, Joe?” Sally asked.
His hand still gripping hers, he turned to face Uncle Sal. “Did you know anything about a falling out between my dad and Vic Bloom?”
Uncle Sal averted his eyes. “They had words here one night, about a month ago.”
Sally stifled a gasp. “An argument? Was I here?”
“No, honey. You musta been workin’ out. And I wouldn’t call it an argument. More like hurt feelings. It was over some car, but I didn’t get the details.”
“You’d never eavesdrop. Right?” Sally teased.
“Hell, yeah, I’d eavesdrop, especially with those two. We were pals. But it was a busy night.”
“How long have you known Vic and my Dad?”
“Lordy, almost thirty years. We hooked up in the army out at Fort Sill. We were all from this area, so that brought us together. We stayed in touch after we got out ‘cause Leo had this idea of us all goin’ into business together.” Uncle Sal ran a hand through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “But I’d made plans with my brother to open a garage and build hot rods.” Joe’s eyebrows lifted. “Hot rods?”
Monette wiggled up to the table. “Um, Sal?”
“Duty calls, folks.” He slid out of the booth. “Sorry I wasn’t no help to ya, Joey.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Joe lifted his glass in salute. “Maybe we can talk another time.”
“Sure thing,” he called over his shoulder.
What was that about? Sally wondered. Something happened between Vic and Leo before Leo’s suicide? A falling out, Joe had said. Even more disturbing was Joe’s hand still enveloping hers. And, God help her, Sally didn’t want him to let go.
Joe realized his faux pas. He’d held Sally’s hand publicly and in front of her uncle. Had he no discretion? On the other hand, why should he hide his new friendship with Sally?
She hadn’t seemed to mind. Au contraire. Her blush spoke volumes. Pleased that his touches and gazes affected her, he risked asking her the question that had brought him to Mustang Sally’s that afternoon.
“Will you come with me to Mom’s for Sunday dinner?” He gave her hand a quick, gentle squeeze.
“Look, Joe. I’ve thought about it. I’d feel like an intruder.”
“Not good enough.” He smiled. “My mom always encourages us to invite our friends to Sunday dinner. You’ll need a better reason than that.”
She shrugged. “Here’s a good one. I have nothing to wear. My only good jacket and blouse reek of smoke. My one good pair of slacks is probably ruined.”
“You have no blue jeans? No T-shirts? We don’t ‘dress’ for dinner, Sally. In fact, my older sister will probably come straight in from riding.” He went for the close. “So I’ll pick you up around twelve.”
“Blue jeans and T-shirt, eh? You’d better be telling the truth or I’ll hold the Darrin hostage.”
“Actually, I thought we might drive the Darrin. I’d like to try it out.”
She laughed, a deep throaty laugh. A bedroom laugh. Geez, where was his mind? He wanted a friend, a confidant. But the honeyed timbre of her laughter struck a chord inside him way beyond friendship.
“Right,” she said. “You want to drive it while you have a mechanic along for the ride.”
He gasped. “The thought never crossed my mind!”
“I’m sure.” She laughed again.
In spite of his best efforts, the bedroom image returned. He swallowed, ignoring the curl of heat in his groin. “You know, you should laugh more often.”
She lifted her beer for another sip before answering, as if unsure of what to say. “Why do you say that?”
He blurted the truth. Not the whole truth, of course. He left out the bedroom part. “I like it.”
“Just one question, Joe.” She leaned across the table toward him, favoring him with another stunning smile. “How much longer are you going to hold my hand? I’d kind of like to finish my sandwich.”
“Sorry.” Not. He’d enjoyed touching her, even if it was innocent hand-holding. He lifted his hand from hers, already missing the contact. “So you’ll go with me
tomorrow?”
She nodded, then bit into her sandwich. Lucky sandwich. He’d like for her to take her mouth to him like that. He banished the fantasy to the back of his mind—for now.
His lust attack cooled when thoughts of his father’s death resurfaced. Myriad questions swirled in his head. Incredibly, he needed to talk more than he needed sex. “I’d really like to run something by you.”
“Sure.”
“Mom says Vic found a Darrin for one of their collectors and wouldn’t let Dad have it, even knowing Dad had been searching for one. That may have been what Sal overheard. It concurs with what Mom says about his refusal hurting Dad.”
“So Leo found a Darrin on his own, but was forced to pay full price for it?”
“Looks that way.”
“But, Joe, that’s no reason to commit suicide.”
“That’s just it. Mom can’t accept Dad’s death as a suicide. She believes my father was murdered.” He paused, studying Sally’s facial expression, bracing himself for her to scoff at the theory. He should’ve known by now to expect the unexpected from Sally.
She leaned forward, her face a grim frown. “Did they do an autopsy?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ve been around depression, Joe. Right after Mom died, I worried that Dad would do something to hurt himself. I was too young to understand his illness but I heard worried whispers between my aunt and uncle. Years later I learned that they had feared Dad would take his own life. So I have an idea of what to look for.”
“What about Dad? Did you see signs of depression in him?”
“Never.” She shook her head. “I think your mother may be right.”
Chapter
SIX
Sunlight slipped through layers of gossamer clouds, tingeing the sky a grayish blue. Sally gazed through the Darrin’s windshield, wishing for warmer temperatures, for the sting of wind against her skin. She’d grown up riding in convertibles, weather permitting and other times too.
Joe shifted gears smoothly, in spite of his earlier complaints about managing a clutch. His sister had taught him well. Thoughts of his sister resurrected her anxiety about visiting his home and meeting his family.
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