Restore My Heart

by Cheryl Norman

  “Someone’s here,” she whispered.

  “I’ll let you see your customer—”

  “No! I mean, someone’s in the back. I deliberately kept the door dead-bolted.” Three people had keys to her shop and one of them was dead.

  “Call 9-1-1, Sally. I’m on my way.” Joe hung up.

  Whispering into the phone, she reported the break-in. Both police and Joe were en route.

  The intruder made no attempt to mask his or her presence. Tool boxes creaked open, a mechanic’s creeper scooted across concrete. The distinctive sound of a hood latch echoed as if Roy’s ghost had returned to finish the Corvette.

  Sally searched the office for a weapon. A ridiculous notion. She didn’t keep a revolver in her file drawer. The most lethal item around was the metal chair. Her breathing labored, her pulse raced as she slipped open the desk drawers one by one. Her fanny pack lay in the bottom, mocking her.

  Guess I could throw it at him. Then she remembered the contents of her fanny pack. Uncle Sal’s gift, though not officially a weapon, offered the only protection available. Silently thanking him, she unzipped the pack. Just as her fingers closed around the slim transmitter, soft footsteps grew louder. Closer.

  From behind the desk, Sally crouched, arms extended, poised to zap the intruder.

  Chapter

  ELEVEN

  Sally’s heart jack-hammered her ribs. Her breath froze as unhurried footsteps brought terror toward her office. She tightened her grip on the transmitter.

  Stained white coveralls filled the office doorway. Familiar coveralls. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, the wiry man shrank from Sally’s weapon.

  “Dad!”

  Her father grimaced. “What the hell’s that?”

  She lowered her arms, relaxing the tensed muscles gripping the stun device. “Uncle Sal gave me this for protection after Roy’s murder. You frightened me.”

  “If you’re that spooked, it’s a good thing I came in.”

  “Why are you here?” she asked, realizing her father rarely darkened the door at Mustang Sally’s. At first, he’d been diagnosed with something called agoraphobia and never left the house. Treatment and medication eventually helped, although he rarely left the neighborhood.

  “You still looking for a replacement for Roy?”

  “Yes, of course. Tall order, I know.” She sank back into her chair, willing her quivering leg muscle to slacken. “Why? You have someone in mind?”

  “Yeah. Me.”

  “You?” Dad was asking her for a job? She forced her gaping mouth closed. “You want to work at Mustang Sally’s?”

  He visibly bristled. “I’m plenty qualified.”

  “Of course you are, Dad. I didn’t mean—”

  “I can stay sober, if that’s worryin’ ya.”

  “Frankly, it worries me plenty. What you do in your house is your business, but I can’t have beer on your breath at my shop.”

  Her father worked his mouth, then clamped it shut. Sally knew her words and tone surprised him. Here she couldn’t be the dutiful daughter, riddled by guilt and old hurts. She was Mustang Sally, fighting to survive, to preserve the business into which she’d invested every one of her hard earned dollars.

  He gave a tight nod. “Deal.”

  “And I need your promise to take your Celexa tablet every morning.”

  Another nod. “I took it. Now, put me to work.”

  “You know Corvettes. You can take over— “

  Pounding on the front door by the J-town Police cut her off.

  “It’s okay. False alarm,” she shouted, grimacing at her father’s frown.

  “You called the cops on me.”

  She hobbled past him toward the entrance. “I didn’t know it was you, Dad.”

  “Good thing it was me,” he muttered. “Or you’d be dead.”

  Not what she needed to hear. She welcomed the police, who were followed by a pale Joe Desalvo.

  “I’m sorry about the call, officer—”

  The young patrolman waved away her apology. “Ma’am, we’d rather you call and let us check things out.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” added the second police officer.

  “Are you all right?” Joe mouthed behind the policemen’s backs.

  Sally nodded. Her explanation of her father’s unexpected arrival satisfied the police, so they left. Joe hesitated by the door.

  “I’m sorry I panicked, Joe.”

  His half-smile revved her pulse. “After all that’s happened, you had a right.”

  “What do you mean? What else has happened?”

  She’d forgotten her father stood nearby. Funny how Joe’s presence clogged the filters to her brain. “Uh, Joe drove the Darrin to pick up his grandmother yesterday. Someone fired a shot, hitting Grandma.”

  “She’s going to be all right,” Joe added. “She didn’t even need surgery. But it certainly gave us a scare.”

  “That’s why I was so late getting home.” Not that he’d notice.

  Joe’s clouded gaze settled on her. “I need to get back, but I hate leaving you here alone.”

  “Dad’s staying. I’ll be fine.”

  He nodded, his gaze darting toward her father. “Good. I’ll call you later.”

  She lingered at the threshold and watched Joe stride to his grandmother’s PT Cruiser, his leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders. She’d like to hug his shoulders and more, she thought, fighting a smile. Shutting the door, she turned to face her father.

  He was gone.

  She found him rolling under the Corvette, flattened atop the creeper. The familiar motion seemed alien now. How many times had she seen her father slide under cars or dive beneath the hood? But not lately. Not for nine long years.

  The enormity of his commitment hit her. Justin Clay had come to help her. Regardless of motive, he’d involved himself in her life. For the first time since the accident, Sally and her father were working side by side. Wasn’t that what she’d dreamed about? Why she’d risked so much to take over Sal’s business? Sure, she needed to make a living. Except for a few groceries, her dad’s lawn mower repairs paid none of the bills. But secretly, she’d nurtured a tiny hope that someday he’d be tempted by Mustang Sally’s. Someday he’d renew his interest in automobiles, emerging from his Rip Van Winkle escape from living.

  Cautious not to raise her hopes, she pushed her thoughts back to business and turned toward the office. Back at her desk, she dialed the number for the Courier-Journal classifieds to cancel her help-wanted ad.

  “Grandma must be doing better if she can have visitors,” Sally murmured to Joe as they got off the hospital elevator.

  He guided her left, down a corridor of patient rooms, slowing his stride so she could keep up. “To hear her tell it, her hospital stay is unnecessary.”

  “A bullet in the chest? Unnecessary?”

  Joe chuckled. “Shoulder, not chest—thank God.”

  “I really should wait outside.” Sally halted at the door to Grandma’s room. “I’m not family.”

  Joe tugged at her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. She specifically asked to see you.”

  “Me?”

  “Both of us.” He lowered his voice. “Prepare yourself. She’s up to something. I don’t know what, but we’ll soon find out.”

  “Come in, you two, and stop whispering about me.”

  Joe and Sally crowded between the high bed and the curtain drawn to add privacy to Grandma’s roommate. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Casale?”

  “If you think I’m too old to address as Elinor, call me Grandma.” She winked at Joe, then extended her hand to Sally. With its IV needle taped to her papery-thin flesh on the back, her hand resembled a marionette’s. “I’d be a lot better if they’d stop pumping me full of drugs.”

  Sally cradled the older woman’s hand in her palm. “Are they giving you pain medication?”

  “Plenty of that, plus antibiotics and who knows what all.”

  “How long w
ill they keep you here, Grandma?” Joe asked.

  She grunted her disgust. “Doc says maybe a week. A week! He thinks ‘cause I’m old, I don’t have commitments and obligations.”

  “Is there anything Joe or I could take care of for you?”

  Joe braced himself. Recognizing the gleam of satisfaction in Grandma’s eyes, he knew Sally had flung herself into the net.

  “As a matter of fact, there is. Something really important, which is why I’m so glad you came to see me, dear.”

  “We’ll do our best to help.” Sally patted Grandma’s arm in reassurance.

  “I’m a Filly, you know. The Fillies put on the Kentucky Derby Ball, which is Friday. This year, I’m in charge of the Derby Queen crowning ceremony.”

  Joe swallowed. “This Friday?”

  “Right. When I took on the job, I’d assumed Leo and Lucinda would attend, with Leo organizing the crowning. I need you and Sally to stand in for them, Joe.”

  Sally shook her head, the deer-in-headlights panic twisting her face. “No. Not me, Grandma. I—I can’t attend some fancy ball.”

  “What about Fia and Brendan? I thought they were going?”

  “They are, but I don’t want Numb nuts doing the honors.”

  “Grandma!” Numbnuts? Joe smothered a laugh.

  “I’m serious, Joe. Don’t let me down. And you, young lady,” she said, pinning Sally with her stare, “would fit right in at the Derby Ball.”

  “Sally and I will talk it over, then let you know what we decide.”

  Grandma wheezed, then clutched at her bandaged shoulder. “The—the nurse—get the nurse—”

  Before he could react, Sally reached into the bedside railing and pressed the call button. When a voice answered, she asked for a nurse. “This woman needs help, please. Hurry!”

  Joe led Sally from the room as the nurse and an aide rushed in. He caught the barest hint of a smile on his grandmother’s face.

  “Let’s leave and let her rest.”

  “Leave?” Sally dug in her heels, shrugging off his hand. “Don’t you want to make sure she’s going to be all right?”

  Joe chuckled. “She’ll be all right, Sally, just as soon as we both agree to attend the Derby Ball.”

  “You don’t think—”

  “Are you kidding? Grandma’s a master at manipulating people.”

  Sally glanced back toward the room, shaking her head. “Her distress seemed genuine to me.”

  “That’s why she’s a master.”

  Joe rushed from his morning shower to grab the ringing telephone.

  “Joe? How’s it going?”

  Great. Paul Grimsley, his boss, wasn’t phoning to discuss the odds of the favored horse in the Kentucky Derby. “Uh, could you hold on a sec?”

  Joe rubbed at his dripping body with a bath towel, then stepped into his Jockeys before returning to the call. After a few minutes of small talk, Paul zeroed in on his real purpose in calling. “How soon will you be coming back?”

  This from the guy who just last week told him, “Take all the time you need.” Joe took a calming breath. Then another. “Is there a problem, Paul?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I’m keeping in touch with my clients. I check voice mail, return calls, check e-mails. Has there been a complaint?”

  “You’re doing fine with your clients, actually.” Paul paused, cleared his throat, then coughed. “The thing is, your existing clients aren’t the problem. Your job also includes bringing new business to the firm. I don’t have to tell you this promotion depends on that.”

  “I realize that, sir, and I have brought in new clients.” Joe’s thoughts flashed to the song What Have You Done For Me, Lately? “What’s the bottom line, here? When are you telling me to return to Atlanta?”

  “Can you finish up your family obligations and be back the end of next week? That gives you about ten more days. That’s reasonable, don’t you agree?”

  But Joe wasn’t ready to go back to Atlanta. The cutthroat pace of the investment world had provided him with a healthy income, a bright financial future. It had also cost him valuable time, time away from his family. Time away from his father.

  “Yes, sir. That’s reasonable.”

  Reasonable for his boss, perhaps. For the first time in his career, Joe Desalvo was no longer driven to be lead horse on the track. He had no idea what he could do about it. Decision by indecision? If he stuck it out in Louisville until he’d solved his father’s death to his mother’s satisfaction, he’d lose his promotion, possibly his job.

  Or else he’d have to unravel the mystery by the end of next week.

  Tuesday afternoon found Sally back at the Universal Joint, the Fillies Ball foremost in her mind. Thrilled that Joe’d asked, she couldn’t seriously entertain going. She’d be like a hillbilly in Manhattan. Besides, Grandma had engineered the whole thing. How could Joe gracefully refuse when she’d put him on the spot? He had to ask Sally. It just wasn’t in his nature to hurt or offend anyone.

  Uncle Sal settled a frosted pilsner atop a cardboard coaster on the bar. “You close early?”

  Sally plopped her elbows on the counter, ignoring her beer. “Justin’s closing up for me.”

  “Justin?” His mouth dropped open. “As in Justin Clay, your dad?”

  “I thought I’d better call him Justin at work. It’d sound more professional to customers.”

  “At work?”

  Sally clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I forgot to tell you last night. He came in and offered to replace Roy. Can you believe it?”

  Her uncle’s eyes brightened, suspiciously moist. “Uh, that’s great, honey. Ain’t it?”

  “So far. This is Day Two and he’s sober and productive. As an employer, I can’t complain.” She lifted the glass for a sip.

  “So what’s got you down, sweetheart?”

  Sally sighed. “Joe’s pressuring me to be his date at the Fillies’ Derby Ball Friday night.”

  Monette whistled from behind her. “Girlfriend, that shouldn’t get you down. That should make you glad. Very, very glad!”

  Jennifer breezed in, clutching her textbooks to her chest. “What did I miss? What should make Sally very, very glad?”

  “The Desalvo hunk wants Sally to go to the Derby Ball with him, as his date.”

  Jennifer shoved her books beneath the bar. Clucking her tongue, she shook her head. “I should have such problems. Poor Sally.”

  “Get real, you two. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a grease monkey, not a debutante.”

  “You aren’t entering the pageant, Sally, just mingling.” Reaching across the bar, Uncle Sal lifted Sally’s head with his forefinger. “You’re as good as any of them snobby society types.”

  Jennifer moved beside Sal. “Besides, the ball guests aren’t necessarily the upper crust of society, just people who can afford the three-hundred-dollar tickets. Sal’s right. You’ve as much a right to go as anyone.”

  Sally shook her head. “First, it’s formal. I don’t exactly have a closet full of elegant—”

  “I have the perfect gown!” Monette rushed forward, her table cleaning forgotten. “It’s floor-length, with a heart-shaped bodice that shows just a little—”

  “On you, maybe. You have more curves for your bodice than I do.” Sally straightened, giving her bust line a rueful glance. “The only cleavage I have is under my arm.”

  “Haven’t you heard of underwire, dear?” Jennifer whispered.

  “That’s it. I’m outta here. I’ll be in the back if you ladies need me.” Uncle Sal fled.

  “Secondly, in case it’s escaped your notice, I can’t dance. I’m lucky I can walk.”

  “Honey, you don’t have to dance or walk. Just let that hunk wrap you in his arms and sway you back and forth.”

  “Monette’s right. Nobody does the electric slide at the Derby Ball. Even if they did, you’re too dignified for that.” Jennifer winked.

  “It’s not going to happen, girls,
so forget it. I don’t even own makeup or jewelry. I’d need a week to remove the grease stains from my fingernails.”

  “All you need is a manicure and a makeover. Right, Jen?”

  “It’s Jennifer.” Jennifer tolerated no nicknames, something the newer waitress had better learn quickly.

  “Whatever.”

  “With the right underwear, Monette’s dress, and Laquita to do your hands and hair, you’ll be a smash. What color’s the dress?”

  “Robin’s egg blue,” Monette said.

  “Perfect. I have eye shadow to match. Fuchsia lip color, I think.”

  “Fuchsia. Yes!”

  Wouldn’t these two give up? “What am I, your science project?”

  “Project!” Monette squealed, clapping her hands.

  “I think you’ve seen Clueless too many times,” Sally grumbled.

  “Leave everything to us, Sally. We’ll be at your house at four Friday. Four okay with you, Monette?”

  “Sure. We’ll have plenty of time before our shift starts. Laquita may be a problem, though. Friday’s her busy day.”

  “I’ll talk to Laquita. We’ll get this worked out,” Jennifer said.

  “Wait, you two!”

  “No, you wait, girlfriend.” Monette stood before her, hands on curvaceous hips. “You’re not going to pass up this chance, not if we can help it. So just get that through your thick head. Right, Jen?”

  “Right, Mon. We’re giving you no choice.” Good grief. So caught up in their plan, Jennifer ignored Monette’s use of the dreaded nickname.

  “Now, call up this guy and tell him you accept his invitation.”

  “She won’t have to call,” Jennifer whispered. “He just walked in.”

  A few customers were scattered at booths or tables throughout the Universal Joint when Joe stepped inside. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, then squinted in search of Sally. She leaned against the bar, watching him. The two waitresses at her side hurried away, as if understanding his need to talk to her.

  “Hey, cowboy. How’d you know I was here?” She lifted her beer in a salute.

  “Well, ma’am, yore Paw sent me.”