“I mentioned it. Mr. Desalvo knows Dusty— knew Dusty.”
It hit Joe like a spring tornado. When Leo bought it back. “Excuse me, Mr. Steele, but you said my dad bought the Darrin back?”
“Sure.”
“You bought the Darrin from Bloom Desalvo Motors?”
Howard nodded. “I’d just applied for its title. But your father was very anxious to buy it back. He paid me a profit for my trouble.”
“I just don’t get it,” Joe murmured for the third time during the drive back to Louisville. He turned on the headlights as the charcoal sky blanketed the dusty rose horizon.
Sally held back. If she shared her suspicions with Joe, he’d either be angry or hurt. The facts added up to only one scenario in her mind. Leo knew about the forged engine number. With an expert like Dusty Dixon examining it, Leo had to get the Darrin back, pronto. Recover the evidence of wrongdoing. But whose wrongdoing? Leo’s?
Remorse for bilking customers could lead a man to suicide, particularly a man as respected and honorable as Leo Desalvo. She hated her line of thinking, hated what it would mean to Joe and his family. Hated that she’d have to reveal everything she’d learned today to Special Agent Adam Ferguson.
“Remember your uncle saying Vic and Dad had a disagreement one night at the Universal Joint?”
“I remember. Why?”
Joe shrugged. “Just a theory. What if Dad knew Vic was selling a modified car as an original and retrieved the Darrin from Howard Steele, before he had it examined—and exposed —by Dusty Dixon, to protect the company’s reputation? Or Vic’s?”
“Or to keep Vic out of jail. That’s interstate fraud, you know.”
“To keep them both out of jail. Regardless of Dad’s involvement, he would have been held accountable.” Joe glanced at her. “I guess you have to keep up with the laws concerning automobiles.”
Her insides tightened into a coil of nerves. Dreading Joe’s reaction if he knew she fed information about his family to the FBI, she faked a nonchalance. “Ignorance of the law is no excuse.”
“Right.” His tight grin came across as a grimace. “Anyway, we now know Dad paid full price to recover a misrepresented product, not because he yearned to own a Darrin at any cost.”
“Where does this lead? Are you thinking Vic killed your dad or had him killed?” Sally doubted Vic had the shrewdness to stage a convincing suicide.
“They’re best friends, for crying out loud.”
Joe’s hands whitened against the steering wheel. Sally watched the steady tic below his ear. His anguish tore at her heart. “Best friends who had words one night, according to Uncle Sal.”
“According to Mom, there were hard feelings between Dad and Vic over the Darrin. She just assumed it was because Dad wanted to buy it.”
A lengthy silence stretched between them, like the Sunday evening traffic, sprawled ahead on the interstate. Taillights bunched up around the construction area outside the city of Clarksville as traffic slowed.
Fatigue seeped into Sally’s bad leg. The evening’s weariness had more to do with the day’s emotional roller coaster ride than from physical use. Between Joe kissing her senseless and his family reminding her he belonged in Atlanta, her feelings had run the gamut. She’d hoped their visit to Howard Steele would’ve answered Joe’s questions. Instead, it raised new ones.
Tired of fighting her attraction to Joe and worrying about the FBI, Sally suddenly longed for home. At least there she could stretch out in the privacy of her bedroom and unwind.
Joe accelerated the Darrin over the John F. Kennedy bridge, leaving the Ohio River and Indiana behind, then headed east on I-64. “Are you hungry?”
“Hungry?” She snorted. “After all we ate at your mother’s?”
“Yes, hungry, as in would you like to grab some supper?”
A slow grin escaped. “Sure.”
She laughed as much at herself as at Joe. Who was she kidding with thoughts of going home? She’d take advantage of every opportunity to be with Joe, knowing he was going to break her heart. As if she’d ever really had a choice.
She would resist him. Yeah, right.
Joe drove to a new retro diner, complete with car hops, rock-and-roll oldies, and curbside service.
“How’d a guy from Atlanta come to know about this place?” she asked.
“Grandma. She’s into the retro stuff, you know.”
By the time Joe pulled into Mustang Sally’s and parked behind his Dodge, it was after nine. He knew he needed to let Sally go home and rest, but he hesitated. He admitted to himself he’d had fun tonight. Sally had given him a rundown on all the muscle cars depicted in the diner’s wallpaper. The poodle-skirted waitress laughed with them over her own ignorance of the era. Retro, to the teenage girl, meant back in the nineties. Sally proved again to be just what he needed to lighten his mood.
But the lightness evaporated after they were back in the car. Something had changed between them. Except for their time at the retro diner, the close friendship he thought they’d forged seemed strained now. Ever since the kiss. Compelled to fix whatever had gone wrong, Joe needed to stay with her to talk it out.
Lights blazed from the garage. “You don’t usually leave those lights on, do you?” he asked.
“Roy must’ve gotten a late start on Janet’s oil change. I let him use the lift to service his own cars.”
Joe turned off the motor. “You sure you don’t mind driving my car home? I could just as easily drop you off and leave it here.”
“I’d feel better taking it home, especially after the fire.” Sally hid behind her hand as she yawned. “Besides, we’re here now.”
Sensing her exhaustion from the long day, he still hesitated leaving. “Thanks again for going with me today. It made the trip less unpleasant.”
“I wish you had your answers.” She raked fingers through her hair, a habit he suspected formed from nervousness.
“Sally—”
“Joe, I—”
“You, first.”
Sally shrugged. “I was just going to suggest something. Can you get into Leo’s customer files, the ones for the classic car division?”
“Sure. What’s your plan?”
“I’m wondering if there are more Howard Steeles out there.”
“Other victims?”
She nodded. “As long as I’ve worked at Mustang Sally’s, and even after I’d bought it, Leo sent us his restoration work. But I never laid eyes on this car until you brought it in.”
“I remember your surprise that Dad owned a Darrin.”
“Right. Even if it didn’t need work, he would’ve bragged to me about finding one whenever he came by or we bumped into each other at the Universal Joint. Something’s not right.”
Joe studied her in the shadows of the security lamp as she chewed on her lip. The urge to cover her mouth and pull her lip between his own teeth staggered him. Why was he getting these impulses? Her mouth moved again, pulling him back into the discussion.
“If you could print out a list of classic car transactions, say, for the past six months, we could match it against my books. We’d check out the buyer of any cars not on my list, try to get a look at their cars to see if anything is irregular.”
Did he want to know if Bloom Desalvo had been running a scam? He had no choice. His mother needed the truth. He needed the truth. “I’ll pull it in the morning.”
“Now, what were you going to say earlier, when we both started talking at once?”
Joe drew a deep breath. “You’ve seemed tense all evening. Is something wrong?”
Sally stiffened. “No.”
“See? Like now. You seem edgy.” He considered taking her hand, but hesitated. Sally’s body language screamed “Hands off.”
She shrugged, but said nothing.
“I thought we’d become friends, Sally. If kissing you this afternoon has jeopardized our friendship, I’m sorry.”
“Let’s just pretend it never happened, o
kay?” Sally extended her hand toward him, palm up. “I’ll need the key.”
Pretend it never happened? Was she nuts? “Uh, key?”
“Yeah, for your car.”
“Oh, sure.” He dug into his pocket for the car keys. “I’ll just wait here until you’re safely inside with the doors locked.”
Even in darkness, he could see Sally roll her eyes. She plucked the key from his hand. “Please. I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m going to pop inside and check on Roy. This is kind of late for him.”
“I’ll stop by here tomorrow afternoon with that list, if that’s agreeable.”
“That’s fine.” She slid open the door. “See you tomorrow.”
Practically leaping from the car—afraid of a repeat performance of the kiss?—Sally walked across the parking lot toward the door, her limp more pronounced than it had been earlier. She unlocked the door, pushed it open, then disappeared inside.
Let’s just pretend it never happened.
Sorry, Sally. He’d kissed a lot of women in his life, but none had fevered his brain like Sally Clay. Who’d have thought that beneath the surface of the plain-Jane tomboy mechanic simmered so much passion? He hadn’t imagined it. He wouldn’t deny it. Pretend it never happened? Not in this lifetime. And he doubted she could, either.
He reached for the ignition. Sally’s gut-wrenching scream catapulted him from the car.
Chapter
EIGHT
Sally choked back another scream. Dark blotches of blood soaked Roy Bishop’s denim shirt. His lifeless eyes stared at her, his mouth frozen in an O of surprise. Despite his gray color and stiffened body, Sally leaned over to check for a pulse.
“Sally, don’t touch anything.”
Joe. Thank God! She didn’t know when he’d come into the garage. She didn’t care. He was here. She plowed into his outstretched arms, burying her face into the nylon of his windbreaker. Sobbing, she absorbed his tender stroking of her hair, his firm and safe embrace. Murmuring reassurances against her head, he tried to calm her.
But Sally would never be calm, never feel safe. Her life had been violated from the moment someone had set fire to Mustang Sally’s. Why? And why kill a fine man like Roy Bishop?
“We need to call the police, Sally.”
She nodded against his chest. “I know.”
“I’m not leaving you here. Come on.” He urged her to walk with him to her office, his arms supporting her against his firm body.
“Oh, God, Janet! I have to let her know—”
“Janet?”
“His wife. I don’t know how I can tell her.”
“Better let the police handle that, honey.”
Grateful for the reprieve, Sally didn’t argue. Poor Janet. How would she cope with losing Roy? Sally would miss him, but Janet would be devastated. Sally seldom saw her but often chatted with her on the phone. Roy and Janet had a solid marriage, one for the record books.
Flipping a switch, Joe flooded the darkened office with glaring lights, then grabbed for the telephone. Sally drew a shattered breath. Planting a hip on the corner of her desk, she watched in a daze as Joe punched in 9-1-1. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image of Roy’s body lingered.
How could he be gone? So young, so vital, he’d worked right along Sally when Uncle Sal had hired her as a teenager. Most doubted she’d make a mechanic, but she’d proved them all wrong, thanks mostly to Roy’s patience and encouragement. He’d come through for her again when she bought Mustang Sally’s, showing no inclination to seek secure employment. Without complaint, Roy had worked at whatever jobs came in. She didn’t know how she’d get along without him.
She didn’t know how she’d get along without him!
The horror sank in. It wasn’t an expression, it was fact. Sally had lost a dear friend, a loyal employee. Janet Bishop had lost her devoted husband. Sally sniffed back new tears. First the fire, then the hit-and-run attempt. Now this. Was Sally somehow responsible for Roy’s senseless and tragic death?
Hours later, after giving her statement to the police, Sally escaped outside. She’d waited to tell the police about the Darrin’s forged engine number or the FBI until Joe was out of earshot. Special Agent Ferguson hadn’t wanted her discussing the investigation, which probably included the local law enforcement. First thing tomorrow she’d call Ferguson and explain. She’d also fill him in on what she’d learned so far.
Leaning against the gray police cruiser, she tuned out the buzz and hum of activity around her shop. She focused on the brown and cream striping, the Jeffersontown Police shield on the door. From habit, she calculated the Ford Crown Victoria’s engine size and horsepower.
Mentally pushing aside the crime scene and the activity inside, she refused to dwell on Roy’s wounds exposed for photographs, his clothes and skin combed for evidence, the necessary indignities delivered to the victims of murder.
Murder.
The hamburger and malted milk roiled in her stomach. It seemed a lifetime ago she and Joe had eaten at the retro drive-in.
Joe appeared in the garage doorway. Backlit by fluorescent fixtures, his shadow painted a path through the parking lot. He strolled over to the police cruiser. Backing against the fender, he crowded beside her, favoring her with his warm, masculine scent.
“Are you all right?” He held up one palm in a halting gesture. “Scratch that. Dumb question.”
“Thanks, just the same.” She worked at conjuring up a smile, but failed. “Oh, Joe, what does this mean?”
“It means you’re not safe here. Why, I don’t know.”
“Yeah. Why seems to be the big question.” She blinked back a new wave of tears. A shiver of dread traveled the length of her spine. “Do they think I was the intended victim?”
“It’s one theory. I think they’re leaning toward a surprise during a break-in. Nobody’s supposed to be here on a Sunday.”
“Sure. Somebody breaks in carrying a loaded gun, although nobody’s supposed to be here. Do you buy that?”
“Afraid not. Someone wants you out of the picture. I just can’t figure out what that picture is. Do you have a past you haven’t told me about?”
She tried to smile at his teasing words. “A very boring past. No underworld connections. I’m not in the witness protection program. Nothing like that.” Except I’m spying for the FBI. But no one knew about that. No one except Roy. “I’m an ordinary, nondescript citizen.”
“I’d never call you ordinary or nondescript.”
She brushed aside the pleasure his words of flattery evoked. “What about you? You’ve been spending a lot of time with me. Any jealous girlfriends? Any fatal attractions in your closet?”
“Honestly, no. The closest I’ve come to a serious girlfriend is Tracy Steadman. Her fatal attraction is her career, not a man she’s had a few dinner dates with. I doubt she’s aware I’m still out of town, for that matter.”
Great. Sally knew where she stood, if she hadn’t before. She certainly wasn’t close to a serious girlfriend. “How soon will they let me leave?”
“I’ll go ask.” Pushing from the car, Joe hesitated, then pulled her to him. He murmured against her ear, “I’m driving you home, Sally. No argument.”
His breath against her cheek, his gentle hug dizzied her with emotion. She couldn’t remember feeling so cared for, so protected, even in the turmoil of Roy’s violent death. Nuzzling his strong, firm body, she nodded her agreement. After planting a soft kiss at her temple, he left in search of the detective in charge.
Dumbfounded, she fingered the spot where his lips had brushed her skin. Now, why’d he have to go and do a thing like that? Why treat her with gentle affection, just when she’d figured out she meant even less to him than Tracy, the babe in Atlanta? Joe made Sally feel too cherished for her own good. She knew better than to get used to it. When he returned to his Atlanta life, Sally’s broken heart would have nothing but these few treasured days with him.
The tragedy of Roy’s murder trivialized he
r wounded heart. She had a business to run, a living to make, a father to help support. And her life was in peril. Truly on her own now, how would she run Mustang Sally’s without Roy?
When they arrived back at Sally’s house, it was close to midnight. Joe cringed as he followed her through the kitchen of her house. Dirty glasses and plates were crammed into the sink. A dozen beer bottles surpassed the waste basket’s capacity. Sections of the Sunday Courier Journal lay scattered across the top of the kitchen table. Couldn’t her lazy bum of a father at least haul out his trash?
In the living room, the stench of cigarette smoke and beer thickened. Sally approached her father’s supine figure. She plucked the remote control from his hand and muted the television.
“Why’d ya do that?” he grumbled.
Joe pinned him with a glare. “We need to talk, sir.”
“Dad?” Sally sank wearily into the sofa. “Something bad’s happened. Roy Bishop was— was murdered today—”
“Murdered?” Sally’s father pushed his recliner upright, his bleary eyes sobering.
“At the shop, Dad. We just found him tonight.” Sally buried her face into her hands and groaned. “I still can’t believe it.”
Joe settled beside her on the sofa while keeping his eyes on her father. “There’s more I think you need to know.”
Sally’s head jerked up. “Joe, don’t.”
Did she fear her father’s rejection, his lack of concern? If Joe had to beat some sense into the man, he’d do it. He was determined Sally’s family understood the need to keep her safe.
Joe recounted the fire, the attempted hit-and-run, and finished up with Roy’s murder. “Sally shouldn’t be alone at the shop, sir—”
Sally’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start that. I have to keep Mustang Sally’s open or I’ll lose my business. That’s my livelihood.”
Joe met her gaze. “Then hire someone to take Roy’s place immediately.”
“The police said they’d let me open later tomorrow. How can I run an ad, interview applicants, and hire someone, all in a day?”
Restore My Heart Page 10