Authors: Cheryl Norman
“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.”
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.
“Who all will be there today?”
“Mom, of course, Grandma, then my sisters and their entourage.”
“How many sisters?”
“Two. Sofia, my older sister, and Nina, the baby. She’s 28. Nina is training for the half-marathon, so she and Terry probably dumped my niece with Mom.”
“The Kentucky Derby Mini-marathon?” The road race that kicked off Derby Festival Week was held the Saturday preceding the running of the Kentucky Derby.
“That’s the one. More than thirteen miles starting at Iroquois Park and finishing downtown. Too ambitious for me.”
Sally sighed. So many took their abilities for granted. She’d gladly do the training if she were able to run in a road race. “So Nina is married?”
“Yes, to Terry Simpson. They were high school sweethearts.”
“And your other sister?”
“She and Brendan, her fiancé, will probably be riding the horses.”
“And your mom is busy cooking and babysitting all this time?”
He grinned. “And loving every minute of it.”
“Sounds like a nice family you have.” She cleared her throat, hoping to cover the wistfulness in her voice. “Tell me about your niece.”
“Samantha’s three, and has everyone wrapped around her precocious little finger.”
Sally laughed. “Including Uncle Joe.”
“She would if I was around her more.” He flashed her a quick smile. “Seems like she was just an infant the other day.”
“And your other sister?”
“Fia’s the veterinarian. Didn’t date much until she got her career secured.” A frown settled over Joe’s face. “Sort of like me.”
“Is Sofia the one who taught you to drive a stick?”
He nodded. “We call her Fia. Did I mention she’s extremely patient?”
“I see. So now she’s engaged to a guy named Brendan?”
“Yeah.” He sighed.
“Whom you don’t like.” She suppressed a smile.
Joe grunted. “I never said that.”
The smile escaped. “Yes you did.”
Joe’s gaze left the road just long enough to flash Sally a wry grin. “Okay, I don’t like him. What gave me away?”
She shrugged. “Women’s intuition?”
Joe slowed to a stop at the traffic light in J-town. “Brendan seems too old for Fia, although he’s only about forty-one or forty-two. His attitude is old, if you know what I mean. He’s not all that bad, I guess. It’s just—”
“Well, she hasn’t married him yet.”
And what about you, Joe Desalvo? she wanted to ask. Why haven’t you married? Nice as he’d been to her, Sally knew better than to think marriage would ever be an issue between them.
“Grandma doesn’t think Fia should marry Brendan, either.”
“She said that?”
“Right in front of him, in the middle of Christmas dinner.” Joe chuckled. “She said ‘You don’t want to marry this guy.’ Fia demanded an apology, although by now she should’ve known better. Grandma just waved her turkey drumstick around in the air and said, ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn ya!’ “
Sally laughed at the way he pitched his voice to imitate his grandmother. “I can hardly wait to meet Grandma.”
“She’s a trip.” Joe accelerated when the traffic light changed. “Be prepared for anything.”
“Hmm. Funny you didn’t mention Grandma until you had me in the car.” Sally watched as Joe shifted through the gears. “How does the Darrin handle?”
He snorted. “Very different from the Dodge.”
“Well, for one thing it’s rear wheel drive. You’re used to front wheel drive.”
“I’m also used to power steering, power brakes, and an automatic transmission. And get a load of this huge steering wheel.”
Sally grinned. “Eighteen-and-a-half inches. All the older cars had big steering wheels. You might want to use overdrive now. Just let up off the gas until you feel it engage.”
“Got it.” His grip on the steering wheel relaxed. “Thanks.”
“The Darrin won’t be as powerful as your Dodge, either, although in its day it was peppy.”
“It’s a progressive car for 1954. Mom said Darrins were my dad’s favorites.”
Even in profile, bleakness darkened his face. Sally saw grief and sadness, and a glimpse of something else. Regret?
He shrugged. “Thinking this was his favorite was the main reason I wanted to keep it.”
Sally touched his arm with a light pat. “I’m sorry. Finding out the Darrin isn’t authentic must be doubly disappointing for you.”
“Yeah.” Joe slowed for a curve, frowning in concentration, or perhaps to compose himself. The bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed didn’t escape her notice. “Doubly puzzling, too.”