Restore My Heart (16 page)

Sniffling, she straightened with new resolve. She wouldn’t close Mustang Sally’s. Whatever it took, she’d find out who had killed Roy Bishop and who had tried to burn down her garage. But she couldn’t do it alone.

Sally picked up the phone and re-dialed Special Agent Ferguson’s number.

Joe dropped the printouts into his laptop case. A quick glance at his watch reassured him he’d have time to spare to pick up Grandma at the clinic. He rounded the corner, heading past Vic Bloom’s office on his way out, when the sound of his own name stopped him.

Riding a plume of cigarette smoke, hushed arguing between Vic and Barbara wafted into the hall. How either one could breathe for the fumes amazed Joe. He started to ease past the doorway, but curiosity overcame his manners.

Eavesdrop on his mother’s business partner? Why not? His father’s death left questions that were eating away at Joe’s mom. He’d blatantly spy if necessary.

“Joey’d agree with me. We talked earlier about the business.” From the break in conversation, Joe surmised Barbara was taking a draw from her cigarette. “We could double our money on that old car.”

“The Packard’s for Ellen Kennedy,” Vic muttered. “It’s exactly what she wants.”

“Ha! What she said she wants. We both know what she was after, and it had nothing to do with the Packard.”

“Lower your voice, dammit. You don’t want Lucinda to hear you.”

Joe strained to hear Barbara’s hushed reply. “That Kennedy woman always insisted on dealing with Leo. Only Leo. How often were they in his office together? She even brought him lunch, remember?”

“Once. I don’t think he returned her, uh,
interest.”‘

“You expect me to believe he was immune to her charms? How dumb do you think I am?”

Vic expelled a loud sigh. “I’ve never thought you were dumb, Barbara. You don’t have to prove anything with all this night school business, either.”

“It’s not called proving myself, Vic. It’s improving myself.”

“You’re a lot smarter and better-looking than Ellen Kennedy, that’s for sure.”

“Flattery will get you anywhere, big boy.” Barbara’s voice grew louder as she reached the door. “You win. I’ll call Ellen Kennedy about this Packard.”

Joe made noisy steps to announce his approach. “See you all tomorrow.”

Barbara seemed too distracted to pay Joe much attention. Vic waved from his desk as Joe hurried past. Escaping to the parking lot, Joe gave in to the mix of emotions bombarding him.

Who was Ellen Kennedy? What did she have to do with his dad? He intended to find out, but feared he wouldn’t like the answers. Was Ellen Kennedy the theory Barbara wouldn’t share that morning? Damn, he hoped not. But what else could it be?

The questions continued to plague Joe as he drove to the Warren Clinic. He circled the crowded parking lot three times before settling for a curbside spot a half block from the clinic’s entrance. He hated for Grandma to walk so far while sedated.

He grinned at the image.
Sedate
and
Grandma
didn’t belong in the same sentence. She’d buried Grandpa Casale, then two other husbands in her eighty-two years. Joe figured she’d talked them all to death.

Checking with the receptionist, Joe learned that he’d have another hour to wait. An hour to think about his dad and a woman named Ellen Kennedy. Until he knew more, those thoughts would be just borrowing trouble, as Grandma would say. Hell, he had enough problems without taking out a loan.

An hour also gave him time to swing by Mustang Sally’s and drop off the printouts. The prospect cheered him. He jogged through the parking lot toward the Darrin.

“Hey, Sally. I’m glad you’re here early today.” Sal opened a package of beverage napkins to add to his stack beneath the bar.

Sally took her time negotiating her way through the Universal Joint. She slid onto a vinyl covered bar stool, sighing. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Got somethin’ for you. Wait right here.” Sal pushed up the hinged section of bar, squeezed past Sally, then headed for the back of the tavern.

The front door opened, grudgingly admitting a beam of afternoon sunlight into the dim room. The waitress named Jennifer hurried in toting a textbook and a couple of plastic bags. Sally marveled at the change in the young woman’s appearance. Wearing blue jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, Jennifer plopped her book on the bar, looking every bit the role of college student.

“Hi Jennifer. You’re here early.”

Jennifer smiled. “After my physics test today, I could use a drink myself.”

“Tough one?” Sally glanced at the thick textbook.
Advanced Anatomy?

“Yes. I’m sure I did all right, but I wanted to ace it. Anyway, I have an anatomy exam tomorrow. No rest for the wicked.” Jennifer breezed toward the rest-rooms. “Be right back. I have to go transform myself from a plain-struggling-student into a cocktail-waitress-vamp.”

As if
. Jennifer Van Zant didn’t have a plain bone in her gorgeous body. Sally wanted to resent the younger woman for her perfect beauty, but couldn’t. Jennifer had a generous heart and unbeatable good humor, an inner beauty that exceeded the lovely exterior. Industrious and smart, Jennifer hoped to qualify for medical school.

Uncle Sal marched back to the bar, gripping a package the size of a one-pound box of candy. “I ordered this for Maggie, but I’ll order her another one. Here.”

Sally studied the package. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

Sally lifted the top off the box and stared at a palm-size transmitter with a red button in the center. “Is this legal?”

“In every state but New Jersey. Take it out.”

“I’m afraid to touch it.” She studied the device. “It’s a stun gun?”

“Not exactly.” Reaching across her, Sal lifted the device from its Styrofoam nest. “It’s smaller and five times more powerful than the best stun gun. Read the instructions.”

Sally unfolded the paper, squinting at the tiny print.
A device offering a new level of non-lethal personal protection
. “I can’t accept this, Uncle Sal. It’s an expensive weapon.”

“The ATF doesn’t classify it as a weapon because it won’t cause bodily harm. But it will disable an attacker long enough for you to get away.” He gripped Sally’s shoulder and squeezed. “As for expense, let me worry about that. You’re my favorite niece—”

“I’m your only niece, Uncle Sal.”

“—and I want you to be able to defend yourself.”

“Defend myself?” Sally shook her head. How would carrying a stun-type weapon defend her against a speeding pick-up truck or arson?

“I heard about Roy.” He gave her shoulder a second squeeze before letting go. “I’m so sorry.”

The guilt escalated in Sally’s heart. If only she hadn’t called the FBI. If only she had let Roy change the oil during business hours. If only, if only. Dammit! “Maybe I’m the one who got him killed.”

“Honey, no. Don’t do this to yourself.” Sal pinned her with a grim stare.

His sad eyes exposed his own grief. Poor Uncle Sal suffered from Roy’s death, too. Roy had worked at Mustang Sally’s for years and had been Sal’s friend. “I closed down the garage today. I don’t have the heart to go on, Uncle Sal, but I have to.”

“It’s not failure, Sally, but a show of respect to close the business in Roy’s memory. You’ll want to close for the funeral, too.”

“I tried calling Janet again to find out the arrangements, but she wasn’t taking calls. Her mother said they’re waiting for the coroner to release the body.”

“Yeah, they have to do an autopsy.”

Sally blinked back a new wave of tears. “I hope they nail the guy who did this. I’d like to take this stun gun to his testicles.”

Sal chuckled. “Yeah, me, too. But it’s not a stun gun. Remember that. Be sure you read all the directions and know how to use it.”

“I promise.” She stuffed the device and leaflet of instructions into her fanny pack. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Just take care of yourself, honey.”

Jennifer emerged from the Ladies Room, painted and costumed for the after-work patrons. “I’m ready to punch the clock, Sal. Want me to make Sally’s sandwich?”

“That sounds great,” Sally said. “I skipped lunch.”

“So what else is new?” grumbled Sal as Jennifer headed for the kitchen.

“And how about a beer, Uncle Sal?”

He reached for a pilsner. “It’s just four o’clock.”

Sally patted her fanny pack and winked. “Don’t make me have to hurt you!”

Grinning, he filled her glass from the tap. “Any theories you’d care to share with me as to why Roy got killed?”

“Same person who tried to set fire to my garage and probably stole my Polaroids of the Darrin from my desk.”

“Wanna run that by me again?”

“There’s more to the forged Darrin than I’ve told you. Can you keep this to yourself?”

“You know better than to ask that!”

“Sorry.” Of course, Sal could keep a confidence. He’d kept plenty of hers through the years. “A couple of months ago I got a bulletin warning about a string of irregularities in collectible autos. Leo’s counterfeit Darrin fit the modus operandi—”

“How you talk, young lady!”

Sally shook her head. Uncle Sal watched enough TV to have heard modus operandi. “Anyway, I took photos of the engine plate and called the number on the bulletin, which turned out to be the FBI.”

He lowered his voice. “Did you tell the cops any of this?”

“Last night. Today I talked to Special Agent Ferguson and he agreed the local police needed to know. He called them and they’re working together.”

“Why didn’t you say somethin’ sooner?”

Sally studied the condensation ring from her untouched beer. “I, uh, was sort of working undercover.”

Uncle Sal snorted.

“Special Agent Ferguson had asked me to get friendly with the Desalvos, see if I could find out anything. Leo had been under investigation.”

Sal swore under his breath. “I ain’t believing this. You spied for the feds?”

“At first. But it didn’t take long to figure out Joe was clueless about any fraudulent activities at Bloom Desalvo. Heck, he’s clueless about anything to do with cars. He couldn’t be involved.”

“Yeah, but are you?”

“Huh?”

“Are you and Joey Desalvo involved? I saw how you two looked at each other, holding hands and all. Was that part of your spy game?”

“We’re friends.” Sally picked up her beer and sipped, averting her gaze.

“And he now knows about the FBI’s interest in his dad, right?”

“No!” Sally lowered her voice. “Special Agent Ferguson said I mustn’t let anyone at Bloom Desalvo know they’re under suspicion. That’s why I couldn’t even talk about it with the police while Joe was there with me.”

Sal wiped down the bar counter, although Sally couldn’t see a speck of dust. “So who have you told?”

“Just Roy.” Sally swallowed, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t budge.

Her uncle grunted. “Just Roy, huh? And now he’s dead. Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Dad thinks Roy’s death, the fire, all of it is related to the counterfeit Darrin. So, yeah, that’s what I’m thinking, too.”

He stilled. “You talked to your dad about it?”

“Some.”

“Isn’t that unusual?”

“Yeah.” She grinned. “It’s a start, eh?”

“About damn time.”

“You know he’s not well.”

“Huh.”

She sipped her beer, then steered the conversation away from her dad. “Ferguson agrees that the Polaroids were most likely the target. His biggest obstacle in this car fraud case has been lack of evidence. He needs proof, like those photographs. If only I’d mailed them right away. Whoever broke in wasn’t expecting Roy to be there.”

Sal frowned. “It can’t be worth killin’ for.”

“On the contrary. Ferguson says people often find millions of dollars in interstate fraud worth killing for.”

“Millions?” Uncle Sal gave a low whistle.

“You know better than I do that if the serial numbers don’t match the title or the manufacturer’s specs, the car’s value greatly diminishes. It’s like John Doe doctoring up a Rembrandt.”

“So if they’re selling enough fakes as originals—”

“It’s bigger than just Bloom Desalvo, he says.”

Uncle Sal frowned. “So why ain’t the feds already down here checking out the Darrin?”