Restore My Heart

by Cheryl Norman

  “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.

  Chapter

  TEN

  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.

  “I had to close early. How’s your grandmother?”

  Nice to meet you, too. Sally battled her prejudice against the man, an opinion based only on Grandma and Joe’s remarks. Perhaps if the guy rushed to Fia’s side, gathered her in his arms and comforted her, he’d redeem himself. It’s what Joe would do. Sally knew without a doubt Joe’s first words of greeting wouldn’t be a thinly veiled reminder of his inconvenience on her behalf.

  Then the man shook his head, murmured something, and gave Fia a hug. That’s better, Sally thought.

  “Oh, Brendan Price, meet Joe’s friend, Sally Clay,”

  Fia added after explaining Grandma’s injury.

  Brendan nodded at Sally’s pleased-to-meet-you.

  Joe stood, motioning the man to sit. “Take my seat. I need to get some fresh air anyway.”

  With his hand grasping her elbow, Joe led Sally past his family, into the hall, barely taking time to tell his mother where he’d be.

  “What’s wrong?” Sally asked when they’d reached the elevator.

  “Just claustrophobia. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. Hospitals—” She swallowed the words bring back bad memories. This wasn’t about her. This was about Joe. He needed her support, not her problems. His beloved grandmother lay in the emergency room with a gunshot wound. “Um, hospital walls seem to close in on you, especially when waiting for news.”

  Joe ushered her toward the lobby, past a patient attached to an IV pole. Poor man wore the skimpiest of hospital gowns. Sally avoided looking at him, just in case he exposed any vital body parts. Once they reached the lobby, Joe guided her through a glass door outside to an atrium courtyard.

  Darkness
hid the budding trees, but Sally admired the tulips and jonquils skirting their trunks. Joe gestured toward one of the concrete benches. The cold seeped through her jeans as her bottom met concrete. A shiver of awareness danced over her skin as Joe sank beside her.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “It’s a little chilly, but refreshing.”

  “Yeah. I’d offer you my jacket but it’s covered with blood.”

  She chanced a glimpse at his profile, rigid and grim. “Joe, don’t blame yourself. Grandma wouldn’t want you to.”

  His sigh came out almost a sob. He swallowed. “My head hears you.”

  “I know. But Uncle Sal says guilt is a waste of energy.”

  “What do you suggest I do with my energy?”

  If she hadn’t seen the tortured look in his face, she would’ve smiled at the suggestive words. “We need to find out who did this.”

  “Let the police handle it, Sally.”

  “We can help the police.” She gripped his wrist. “We both know Grandma wasn’t the intended victim, Joe. Someone wants you out of the way, too.”

  “But, why?”

  “We’re witnesses. We can testify that we saw a Ford 170 passed off as an original Kaiser Darrin engine.”

  He snorted. “You could. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t know a Ford 170 from a lawnmower motor.”

  “But the killer doesn’t know that. So we’re both targets.” Releasing her grip on his arm, she held up her palm. “I’m not suggesting anything dangerous.”

  Joe pressed his lips together into a tight line as he looked into the courtyard. Finally, he nodded. “You’re right. We can do our own investigation as long as we play it safe.”

  “Soon as we know your grandmother’s condition, we’ll go back to the garage and compare job lists.”

  “After dinner.” Joe slid his hand along her arm, then captured her hand. “Partners?”

  His touch poured warmth through her veins, flushing her with a self-consciousness as primitive and innocent as her very first crush in middle school. She knew better than to pin her hopes on mere hand-holding. No future in bonding with Joe Desalvo, she reminded herself. But her heart turned mute, her dreams broke free and raced ahead.

  “Partners,” she murmured, squeezing his hand.

  Relief both energized and drained Joe when the doctors patched up Grandma’s flesh wound before she’d been wheeled into intensive care. “She’s a fighter,” the doctor said, after assuring the family she’d recover from her bullet wound. Intensive care was precautionary because of her age. “It frightened her more than anything.”

  Joe shuddered at the memory of his blood-soaked windbreaker. It could’ve been so much worse. Just a couple of inches lower and—

  Sally touched his arm. “Let me take you to your car.”

  “I promised you dinner.” It was hours beyond dinnertime.

  Her shrug seemed to say she wasn’t hungry. Her eyes searched his, revealing her concern. “The coffee shop’s still open. Let’s grab something there.”

  He sighed. “You’re on. I still owe you a proper dinner.”

  “What about your mom? Has she eaten?”

  “Nina and Terry are bringing back belly bombs.” He pushed himself from the scratchy upholstered settee, then pulled Sally to her feet.

  Later in the coffee shop, they ate the last of the day’s vegetable soup stretched with oyster crackers. Except for the waitress, the small café was deserted.

  Sally pushed aside her empty bowl. “Guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Joe, listen—” Sally leaned across the small table and gripped his arm. “We need to get your Darrin out of sight. It’s evidence. Any ideas?”

  “Only the stable. It’ll be a close fit.”

  Her face clouded. “No. That’s too close to family. We need to hide it away somewhere.”

  That afternoon he’d thought she was overreacting. Now he worried, too. The damned car did attract trouble. Violence. “Why not hide it tonight at the house, then stash it tomorrow in a rental storage unit?”

  “Okay. I’ll follow you.”

  He smiled at her thick brown eyebrows wrinkled in determination. Fiercely protective, she intended to play body guard, as if she were a match for a killer. Body guard. Now there was an image.

  “It’s late. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  “I insist. Older cars have too much that can go wrong. Carburetors aren’t dependable like the electronic fuel injection you’re used to.”

  “Okay, but then I’m following you home. It’s late to be out by yourself. And your vintage Mustang has a carburetor, too, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No arguments.”

  Sally’s lips twitched. “Fine. Then I’ll follow you back home in Dad’s truck to be sure you get home in one piece.”

  “Let’s see. Then I’ll have to follow you home again.” At the rare smile Sally flashed him, he couldn’t resist teasing her. He dropped his voice. “Or, you could spend the night.”

  Her smile slipped. “Uh, you mean like a sleep-over when you’re mom’s not home?”

  “Exactly. She’s staying here tonight. So what do you say? It’d be fun.”

  “Fun?” she croaked. “Uh, I don’t think so.”

  Joe’s stomach knotted beneath his breastbone. He’d been teasing, but suddenly longed for Sally in his bed. Desire for her pooled deep in his loins. Memories of that kiss flashed, reigniting his fantasy of having her back on his bed, on her back, her firm body beneath his.

  Why? Sally differed from any woman he’d dated, anyone he’d been involved with. She wasn’t exactly pretty, with her boyish haircut and unflattering clothes. But her beautiful eyes made up for lack of glamour. And those lips. Those luscious lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

  “No joke, Joe. Until we know who feels threatened by the Darrin, no one’s safe around it.”

  “I know.” He sighed, dismissing his sexual fantasies. Or trying to. “The last thing I want is for anyone else to get hurt.”

  The anguish on Sally’s face tore at his gut. She had to be thinking of Roy Bishop. He’d paid the ultimate price. Thank God Grandma would pull through. Mom’s denial of his father’s suicide haunted him. Had Dad paid the ultimate price, too? Was the Darrin the root of all the trouble?

  And what role did Ellen Kennedy play?

  The morning sun played peek-a-boo with gray clouds and around the aluminum-patched window in Sally’s office. She’d arrived home late last night, but her dad had waited up for her. His Celexa pill wasn’t where she’d set it out for him. In its place was a tattered, worn doctor’s appointment reminder card. She hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, but now wondered. Had Dad pulled it from his wallet to make an appointment?

  Not wanting to set herself up for another disappointment, she tamped down her hopes. For all she knew, Dad had simply cleaned out his wallet. But he had taken the anti-depressant. She’d replaced the missing pill this morning. If only he’d follow through this time with his treatment.

  Sighing, she returned to the customer list. Uncapping the yellow highlighter, she drew through another set of names. Of the seventy-nine classic or collectible automobiles sold by Bloom Desalvo during the last six months, Mustang Sally’s had restored or repaired eight. Rarely was a vintage car purchased ready to sell. So who had worked on the rest?

  The marked increase in sales surprised Sally. She’d had no idea the collectibles division handled such a volume of business. The past four months showed a doubling in transactions, but Mustang Sally’s shared little of Bloom Desalvo’s prosperity.

  She was thankful Uncle Sal sent business her way. This morning a retired colonel, one of the Universal Joint’s regulars, had delivered a 1955 Chrysler 300 that wouldn’t run. Rebuilding and adjusting the two four-barrel carburetors, a routine job for Sally, would earn enough to pay this month’s electric bill.

  The sharp trill of the telephone jolted her
from her thoughts. Answering the call, she heard Joe’s warm baritone mixed with the background noise of the hospital. An intercom page repeatedly called for a Doctor Campbell.

  “Good morning, Mustang Sally. Anything to report?”

  “I’m going over the printouts you gave me. What about you? How’s Grandma?”

  “Feisty as ever. She’s in a regular room now and can have visitors, hint, hint.” His smile was in his voice.

  The tense muscles in Sally’s back eased. “Oh, that’s great. Tell her I’ll get by after ther—, uh, after I work out tonight.”

  “Are you too busy to let me take you to lunch? That way we could swing by here with a ready excuse for not staying too long.”

  “Joe, that’s a tempting offer, but I’m alone. I can’t very well shut down business to go to lunch.”

  “Well, you can’t very well skip eating. You need your strength, partner?”

  “Speaking of partners, has Vic Bloom said anything to you about increasing the classic auto side of the business? The list you gave me makes it look like more than a sideline.”

  Joe hesitated. “Barbara Bloom hinted at growing the business, as she put it. She mentioned a new source for classics, a guy named Dan Alsop.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of him. He’s the new competition in town.” She’d heard too much of him lately and wondered how he’d managed to lure away much of her business.

  “Ever hear of an Ellen Kennedy?” Joe’s voice tightened on the name.

  “Ellen Kennedy? No. What’s her connection?”

  “She isn’t on the customer list?”

  Sally scanned the printout. “Uh, sorry, no Kennedy.”

  Joe exhaled. “Never mind. I’m going to find out more about this Dan Alsop. He finds great buys on classics that need little or no restoration.”

  “Seventy-one in six months? That’s a little hard to swallow, Joe.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “Did you hide the Darrin?”

  “Sure did, far from the family, in a horse barn in Simpsonville.”

  From the service area a door squeaked open. Instantly on alert, Sally stiffened. Her hand choked the telephone, while her heart hammered a frantic tattoo.