Restore My Heart (15 page)

Shivers coursed through her body. How safe was she here, in her home? How safe would she be anywhere, if some killer wanted her dead? Yet she felt less vulnerable now, here with her dad, than she’d expected, though she couldn’t explain why. Could it be—?

She smiled, remembering her dad’s frown. “Stay away from that Darrin, Sally,” he’d said. Then he’d dressed down Joe for calling him “sir.” Joe couldn’t understand the importance of her dad’s reaction. Sally’s dad hadn’t shown concern, anger—any emotion except boredom—in the last nine years. The walking zombie reawakened.

It was a little step, but it was a start. Dad was ill, not mean. The doctor called it clinical depression. But would he struggle to get through life if she hadn’t been in that accident? She closed her eyes and offered a prayer for her father, the one she’d prayed every night. Maybe some miracles took time. As far as she and her dad were concerned, they’d need one impressive miracle. Maybe they were due.

For the first time in nine years, Sally hoped.

The next morning, Joe arrived at Bloom Desalvo Motors an hour ahead of his mother. She’d agreed to drive her own car so Joe could pick up Grandma after her doctor’s appointment. Without discussing it, both Joe and his mother knew he’d use the extra time to go through his father’s desk.

He’d also use the time to download the customer information from the classic car division for Sally to compare to her records. Seated at the desk, Joe fingered the scarred wood, its finish slick with polish. Imagining his father seated in the creaking leather chair, his gaze swept the scribbled-on desk calendar. His mind pictured automobile wheeler-dealer Leo Desalvo talking on the old six-button telephone while drawing nonsensical doodles. No clues in these etchings.

Joe sighed. He swiveled to the side of the desk, where an inkjet printer was crammed beside a monitor and keyboard. Reaching down to the surge protector power strip, Joe flicked on the processor. While the computer booted up, he searched each desk drawer. Computer diskettes, business cards, paper clips, the usual office paraphernalia offered no clues to either suicide or murder. The framed portrait of Joe’s mother that dominated the corner, and several small frames with snapshots of the family, gave the desk a personal tone.

Turning his attention to the computer, Joe scanned the various files, looking for the information Sally needed. In the customer directory, organized by calendar year, was a file named CLASCUS. Joe opened CLASCUS for the current year, confirming his hunch that the file was a list of customer transactions for the classic car division of his dad’s company, then printed it.

“Good morning,” Barbara Bloom greeted him from the doorway. “You’re here early.”

Joe spun toward the door and smiled. “Hello, Barbara. Got a minute?”

“Sure.” The diminutive blonde strolled over to one of the two customer chairs in front of the desk. “Coffee’ll be ready soon.”

“Great.”

“Where’s your mother this morning?” Barbara crossed her lean legs, then smoothed the skirt of her business suit. Joe guessed Barbara to be the same age as his mom, and just as attractive, although Barbara tended to be heavy-handed with her makeup.

“We’re driving separate cars.”

“Vic and I do that. He’s usually running late and I’m taking night classes at U of L.”

Joe nodded, remembering Vic’s words about her self-improvement pursuits. “I have to pick up my grandmother after her doctor’s appointment today.”

“You’re picking her up in that old Darrin?” Barbara asked.

Joe grinned. “Grandma insisted.”

“I see.” She frowned. “How will she get there?”

“Oh, Mom can drop her off. It’s just over here at the Warren Clinic in St. Matthews.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Anyway, I wanted to talk with you before it got too busy.”

Barbara nodded toward the printer. “What’s that?”

“Just a customer file I’m printing out.” He didn’t want to explain his or Sally’s suspicions. Improvising, he said, “Sally Clay seems to think she’s losing work from Bloom Desalvo since she took over Mustang Sally’s.”

“She is.”

“Why is that?”

Barbara shrugged. “Since Dan Alsop started dealing with us, we haven’t needed much restoration work. He finds classics in great shape at good prices.”

“That’s great.” And incredibly lucky, from what Sally said.

“He’s also cheaper.”

“But Vic says Sally does better work.”

“She getting under your skin?” Barbara winked. She hadn’t bothered to deny Vic’s claim.

Joe sighed. “A little. Do you know her?”

“Not well, although Leo seemed impressed with her. Said she could fix and maneuver things with her small, nimble hands that men mechanics couldn’t reach. Too bad about the accident.”

Joe couldn’t hide his interest. “Accident?”

“Yeah, the one that crushed her leg. Sal says she’ll never walk right, poor thing.”

“What happened?”

A smile widened across Barbara’s face. “She
is
getting to you, isn’t she?”

“We’ve been spending some time together. Nothing serious.”
If you don’t count murder, arson, and fraud as serious
.

“It’s been ages. I really don’t remember now. Ask Vic. Or, ask Sally. Won’t she tell you about it?”

“I suppose so.” Joe didn’t want to further discuss Sally. The feel of her in his arms still haunted him. He had to stay focused. First, he needed to get to the bottom of the forged engine number, especially if its discovery had put Sally’s life in danger. “Barbara, do you get involved with the customers in your job here?”

“No. That was for Leo and Vic. I’m the bookkeeper, same as always.”

“What about hiring and firing?”

She snorted. “No, not that we have many employees.”

“Why is that?”

“Your dad and Vic aren’t into growing the business.” She winced. “I’m sorry. I should say, they weren’t. I guess it’ll be a while before any of us are used to talking about Leo in the past tense.”

“That’s true. But what do you mean about growing the business?”

“They’re satisfied with modest earnings.”

“Modest earnings, eh?” Joe didn’t have to ask what Barbara was studying in night school. “You don’t share their philosophy?”

She shrugged. “I see potential. We could make a lot more profit if we’d take a little risk.”

Interesting. “Such as?”

Her green eyes flickered to life. She leaned forward, tapping her nail against the desk top. “For starters, charging more. We’ve paid as much as a hundred grand to Sal to restore a rare car to original condition. These rich clients would pay us double that without complaining, plus original cost.”

“Sounds reasonable to me.” And greedy. “I had no idea the classic car division was so lucrative. What about the used car lot?”

“It’s doing great, thanks to Leo. They rarely attend auto auctions since he’s built up alliances with the new car dealers in town. We get the best of the trade-ins at wholesale prices.”

He ignored her continued use of the present tense when speaking of his dad. Joe figured they’d all be doing it for awhile. “So it’s not the used car lot that needs growing.”

“No, just the collectibles. There are a lot of wealthy clients out there.”

“I had no idea.” Until he’d met Howard Steele yesterday.

“Mind if I smoke?” At Joe’s go ahead, Barbara shook out a slim cigarette, stuck it between her glossy pink lips, then rummaged in her jacket pocket until she found a lighter. She blew smoke at the ceiling. “Vic says price-gouging would damage his reputation.”

“Hmm. What did Dad say?”

“Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.” She barked out a laugh that degenerated into a coughing fit. Clearing her throat, she continued. “You know Vic always followed Leo’s lead.”

No, Joe didn’t know. He knew precious little about his dad’s business. If only he’d talked more with his dad. His father’s last phone call would forever haunt him.

“So I guess I’ll work as a bookkeeper the rest of my life.” Bitterness laced her voice.

“You sound resentful.”

“Sure I am. I resent the hell out of it. Your mom ends up with half the business and what did she do to earn it?” She puffed at her cigarette, then added, “She stayed at home and had Leo’s babies and cooked wonderful meals and kept the perfect house. All I ever wanted and couldn’t have.”

Her eyes reddened. Joe panicked, not sure how to handle this Barbara Bloom he’d never before encountered.

Envious of his mother? He’d had no idea. “I’m sorry, Barbara. I knew you and Vic never had kids—”

“Couldn’t
have kids. Jeez! I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound so bitchy. It’s PMS or something.”

PMS? More likely menopause.

She finished her smoke. “Vic never complained. As far as I know he didn’t mind not having a family. But most men do.”

“Vic’s crazy about you,” Joe said, although he was guessing. In spite of Vic’s roving eye, Joe sensed the man’s faithfulness.

“Vic’s a good man. Jeez, we’re getting schmaltzy. What else do you need to know?”

“I guess I’m trying to understand what was going on with Dad to drive him to suicide. You were around him every day. Any theories?”

“Not one I’d want to talk about.” Barbara examined her manicure. “Let it go, Joey.”

“If you know something—”

“Let it go, I said.” Barbara stood, smoothed her skirt, and sighed. “You can’t bring him back. Let’s grab a cup of that coffee. Okay?”

No, it wasn’t. But Barbara’s closed expression signaled a dead end for now. He’d just have to bide his time, then try again. An emotional and expressive woman like Barbara would reveal more eventually.

“Why would someone want to kill
me?”
Sally asked Special Agent Ferguson on Monday afternoon, after she’d brought him up to date.

“This is growing more serious. You’re a witness to the forgery.”

“So was Roy. Oh, my God!”

“Roy Bishop could’ve been the intended victim, which means you are, too. We need that car as evidence, Miss Clay.”

Great. If the feds needed to impound the car as evidence, she couldn’t pursue her idea to restore it. She’d hoped to at least salvage a job out of this mess. “I took Polaroids. Won’t they do?”

The FBI man paused. “Send them to me. Got a pencil?” He dictated his address in Washington, D.C. “I don’t want you doing any more. Let us handle it from here. Stay away from Bloom Desalvo.”

“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it? Whoever’s behind this won’t stop now.”

“I’ll talk to the local police.”

“Ha! A lot of good that’ll do.” She told him about the hit-and-run attempt and her description of the fleeing Toyota truck. “They don’t seem to take me seriously even after Roy’s murder.”

“They will now,” he said, and hung up.

Sally rummaged through the papers in her middle drawer in search of the Polaroid prints of the Darrin’s engine number plate. She pushed her chair away from the scarred metal desk and cursed. The photos were missing. When had she last seen them?

The answer hit her with chilling clarity. Friday afternoon. Before the fire. Without the Darrin or those photos she had no proof of the forgery. Maybe that was the point.

Her father’s words echoed in her mind.
Is this all because of that forged serial number in Leo’s Kaiser?
Gooseflesh pebbled her skin. Had Roy been killed to get to the photos?

A fresh wave of sadness engulfed her. Roy was dead. She’d tried calling his wife to offer condolences, but reached an answering machine. So far, Janet hadn’t returned her call. And Sally didn’t want to leave a taped sympathy message.

At noon, the J-town police had allowed her to reopen Mustang Sally’s. Now alone and defenseless, she debated staying open for business. She had a Corvette in the back to overhaul and a Ford Skyliner to restore, jobs she badly needed to pay the bills. Dare she leave the front door unlocked for customers?

For killers?

The ancient telephone on her ancient desk rang. Its sudden shrill accelerated her pulse to a dangerous speed. If her heart had been an engine, it would’ve red-lined as she grabbed for the phone.

“Mustang Sally’s garage.”

“Is Roy Bishop there?”

Sally didn’t recognize the gravelly voice. “Who is this?”

“This is Bobby Earl down in Moultrie. We located a couple of relays for him for a retractable hardtop Ford.”

The tension in her rigid spine eased. “Oh, thank you. That’s great.”

She made shipping and payment arrangements as if Roy would step inside the garage any minute now. As if he’d just run to the Sonic for hamburgers. Or to the convenience store for a Coke. For an instant, she forgot he wouldn’t be strolling into her office, asking her if a Bobby Earl had called from Georgia.

Reality intruded. Roy would never know they were getting the hard-to-find parts to repair the Skyliner. She’d never again talk to him, never discuss the best technique to tackle a job. He’d never know she’d taken his suggestion to heart about expanding her business to include tune-ups and oil changes.

Huge drops leaked from her eyes. Sobs shook her body. God, she hated to cry! She’d known for a long time life wasn’t fair, but did it have to be so unfair? Poor Roy. Nothing he’d done in his short life had earned him a violent, senseless death.