Authors: Cheryl Norman
“You lost a parent?”
She nodded. “My mother.”
“ I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” She released her grip on his wrist, returning her attention to the remaining rolled oyster on her plate.
“How long ago?”
“I was six.”
“What happened to her?”
“It was sudden. She’d had this bad headache all day. I remember her lying down after meeting me at the school bus. She coaxed me into taking a nap with her, just until Dad got home. By then, she was in terrible pain and we rushed her to the hospital. Uncle Sal and Aunt Susan met us there and took me home with them.
“Later, Dad came and held me, and we cried together that we’d never see Mommy again. I didn’t understand words like
aneurysm
at the time, but later found out that was what killed her. An aneurysm of the brain.”
“That must have been rough for you.”
“Yeah, it was. Dad sank into a deep depression. She was just so young to be gone from our lives. He never remarried.”
“So you have no brothers or sisters?”
“No. It’s just me and my dad.”
He’d glimpsed the sadness in her eyes before she looked away. Was it grief for her mother or something else? He wondered about her leg, whether she had suffered an injury, disease, or birth defect, and hoped in time she’d tell him about it.
In time?
Too undecided about his future, he shoved the thought aside. He had a career and a condo waiting in Atlanta. But his mother needed him in Louisville, and he vowed he’d take whatever time was needed. He wouldn’t be too busy for his family. Not anymore.
He and Sally ate the rest of their meal in a comfortable silence. Many women were uneasy with lapses in conversation, a trait he found annoying. He relaxed more with Sally than with the other women he’d dated.
Women he dated. Was he dating Sally Clay? The prospect of knowing her better filled him with unexpected pleasure. A pang of guilt seized him. Pleasure? How could he feel anything remotely like happiness when his father had killed himself the previous week?
Or had he?
Your father was murdered
.
Brushing aside his confusing thoughts, Joe settled the check, then held Sally’s blazer as she slipped into it. Grabbing his nylon windbreaker, he guided her through the small restaurant, cupping her elbow with his hand. Heads turned as they passed, but not because of their slow pace. Men were eyeing Sally, with her rich brown hair, exotic mouth, and vibrant eyes. He wondered if she was aware of their appreciative stares.
He pulled into the stream of Friday night traffic on Taylorsville Road. Sally seemed comfortable with the silence in the car, leaving him to concentrate on the slick streets and other cars. As he neared Jeffersontown, Joe switched off the windshield wipers. The rain had stopped.
Sally directed him down a side street shortcut to the garage’s rear entrance. Except for the convenience store, businesses like Mustang Sally’s that faced Watterson Trail were closed for the evening. Joe and Sally met few cars on the side street except a speeding pick-up splashing through the puddles. Pulling the Mustang behind his Dodge, Joe parked on the deserted street, then shut off the engine.
“Thanks for dinner, Joe.” Sally seemed absorbed in unbuckling the old-fashion lap belt.
“I’d like to do this again.” He unfastened his safety belt and twisted in the seat to face her. “Could we?”
“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Look at me, Sally.” He waited until she lifted her head to face him. Even in darkness, he sensed her anxiety. “Before you dismiss me, get to know me better.”
She slowly nodded. “I suppose that’s only fair.”
He smiled, suddenly struck by inspiration. He knew just what Sally needed. Nina, his irrepressible younger sister. “Great. Let me take you with me to Mom’s for Sunday dinner.”
“Oh, Joe. I-I don’t know about that.”
“Think it over before you refuse. She’d really like to meet you.”
“This must be a rough time for her. Are you sure she’s up to company?”
“Trust me. It does her good.”
“Okay, I’ll think about it.” A short silence followed. “Do you want me to tune up the Darrin? I can have it ready Monday afternoon.”
“Sure. I’m thinking about driving it. My lease is almost up on the Intrepid, and the Darrin is a unique car. The average person won’t know it’s a fake.”
He opened the car door and the dome light came on, giving him a clearer view of Sally’s pensive face. After hurrying to open her door and helping her from the low-slung bucket seat, he offered her his arm, guiding her around to the driver’s side of the Mustang.
“You don’t think I should drive the Darrin as an everyday car?”
Sally didn’t answer immediately. Biting her bottom lip, she either needed all her concentration to control her leg or she was considering his question. “It’s still a valuable car. Unfortunately, it’s worth a lot less than what Leo paid for it.”
“Yeah. I need to get to the bottom of that. Think I’ll run up to Carmel, Indiana and pay this Howard Steele a visit.”
Sally’s eyes widened with alarm. She pointed behind him, all the while moving her mouth without sound.
“What is it?” He spun around, following her gaze, and swore.
She pushed away, hobbling at an impressive speed toward the back door of Mustang Sally’s. A ribbon of smoke curled from the edges of one garage door, flames dancing behind its narrow window.
“Sally, wait!” Joe shouted.
Sally ignored him. Mustang Sally’s was her livelihood. Her life. She wouldn’t let fire or anything else destroy it. Her hamstring muscle burned in protest, but she pushed on. Judging from the glow through the garage door windows, the fire was confined to one service bay—the one with the Darrin! If she hurried, she had time to contain the damage.
She made it to the back door, grabbed for the handle and cursed. “Joe, the keys,” she yelled. “Bring me my keys.”
Joe raced back to the Mustang, returning seconds later with her key ring.
Shaking, she fumbled with the keys. Identifying the correct one, she couldn’t steady her hand enough to insert it into the door lock.
“Let me try.” Prying the key from her quivering fingers, Joe unlocked and opened the door. “Where’s your fire extinguisher?”
“Right here.” She pushed ahead of him, then hoisted the cylinder from its bracket by the door.
“Sally—” Joe coughed from the mounting smoke.
“Got it!” Thank God Uncle Sal had drilled his employees on fire safety. She pulled the pin. Inhaling and holding a deep breath, she headed toward the flames, aimed the nozzle and stumbled. “Damn leg.”
Joe rushed to her side, grabbing the heavy cylinder. “Here. I’ll hold it and you shoot.”
Together, they spewed dry chemicals over the flames, extinguishing the fire in minutes—minutes that seemed like hours. Sally’s eyes burned. Her leg buckled, careening her to the concrete floor. Landing on her elbow forced all air from her lungs.
Joe abandoned the fire extinguisher, then stooped beside her. “Sally? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, unable to talk, both the smoke and fall robbing her of breath. Gingerly, she pushed herself from the concrete, then tested her breathing. Her ribs ached from the impact, but nothing seemed broken.
Joe reached for her, then hesitated. “Let me help you up?”
She smiled in spite of the trauma of the fire. Most men would take charge of a woman in distress. Give orders. Not Joe. He asked. “Yes,” she managed.
Joe snaked one arm under her and lifted, pulling her against him as he stood with her. “Okay?”
She nodded. “Help me turn on the lights.”
With Joe’s support, she negotiated the distance to the wall switch. The dozen fluorescent bulbs flickered and hummed to life, flooding the garage with light. She zeroed in on the heap of ashes and foam.
“The Darrin! Joe, is the Darrin all right?” Leaning against Joe, she scuttled over to examine the fire’s remains. Fortunately, the flames had not reached the Darrin, but had left a filmy layer of soot. “Thank God. These old gas tanks aren’t sealed the way new ones are. A minute or two more and—”
“Sally, this was deliberately set.”
She followed his gaze to the burnt rubble. Sniffing, she caught the odor of lighter fluid. She shuddered. “And only in the last few minutes. But, why?”
“Good question. I’m calling the cops.” He started toward her office, then faltered. “You want to go with me?”
The concern in Joe’s eyes chipped away a little more at her defenses. “No, I’ll be fine after I let this smoke out.”
He hesitated. “I’ll be right back.”
She waved him on. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Uh, Sally? I wouldn’t touch anything that might be evidence.”
Until Joe mentioned evidence, the reality hadn’t sunk in. Someone had been in her garage. Someone had deliberately set a fire close to the gas tank in such a way that the Darrin would combust. If she hadn’t come back tonight, her entire business and Joe’s Darrin would have been destroyed. Which had been the target?
Sally propped open the entrance door. Cool evening air flushed away much of the smoke. She ignored the stinging pain in her leg as she traversed the distance to her work stool. She sank onto the seat, then tried massaging her tight leg muscles. Knowing she had pushed herself lately in her workouts, she planned a nice soak in the rehab center hot tub the next morning. She’d never achieve her goal of walking normally if she injured her good muscles, too.
“The police are on their way.” Joe’s gentle voice echoed from the cavernous garage. “How are you holding up?”
She tried to smile. “I’m fine. But I think I’m going to be sore.”
Joe stood beside the stool where she perched. “You must be running on pure adrenalin, Sally. You lifted that fire extinguisher like it was Styrofoam and that sucker weighs a ton.”
She curled her arm. “Muscles, Joe. I work out.”
His fingers wrapped around her upper arm. “Hard to tell through this thick material.”
“Wait. I’ll show you.” She slipped out of her blazer, then curled her arm again. “See?”
“I’m impressed.” Joe’s grip became a caress—or was that her overactive imagination again?—as he massaged her arm muscle. “Guys were admiring you tonight at the restaurant.”
“Get out of town.” She tried to ignore the movement of his fingers.
“Didn’t you notice?”
“You’re high on cocaine.” And she was high on arousal. Her breasts tingled, and he’d only touched her arm.
“I beg your pardon?” He continued to knead the muscle in her arm.
“If men stare at me it’s because of my limp. Didn’t you do just that at the Universal Joint?” She glared at him. “Thought I was drunk, remember?”
“Guilty as charged.” He released her arm. “But that wasn’t the case tonight. Stop worrying about what people think of your leg, Sally, and focus on your many assets.”
“Thank you, Oprah Winfrey.” She immediately regretted her tone. Joe had a habit of saying sweet things. He didn’t mean to be insincere. “I’m sorry. That sounded snotty, and I’m sure you’re only trying to be nice.”
“I’m not saying anything to be nice. It happens to be the truth. But you really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Your many assets.”
Who did he think he was fooling? “I’m not fishing for compliments, Joe, so let’s drop it. Please?”
“I’m embarrassing you, aren’t I?” He lowered his face even with hers and smiled. “That wasn’t my intention. I really do think you’re an attractive lady.”
Attractive for a disfigured woman, maybe. “Thank you, Joe. I’ll try to be more gracious next time you pay me a compliment.”
“You’re so strong and capable, confident in your business. Why are you insecure about your leg?”
She shrugged. “History, maybe?”
Something in his expression changed. All charm and teasing evaporated. “Someday, Sally, I’d like to hear about the guy who stomped all over your self esteem.”
She turned toward the window.
“Try guys.”
“Plural?” When she faced him again, he grinned and winked. “That’s going to make it more difficult.”
She returned his grin, but couldn’t keep the wariness from her voice. “Why do I feel a punch line coming?”
“You’re supposed to say, ‘Make what more difficult, Joe?’ “
Sally laughed at his falsetto voice, then imitated it. “Make what more difficult, Joe?”
“Beating up the offenders.”
She shook her head. “You’re full of baloney, Joe Desalvo, but a nice guy for trying.”
Pulsating blue light flashed through the narrow windows of the four garage doors, drawing her back to disturbing thoughts about the fire. “That was quick. Must not be any crime in J-town tonight.”
Joe turned to stare at the pile of burned debris. “I wouldn’t say that.”
Joe wasn’t sure how much help he’d be, but he wasn’t leaving Sally’s side. The Jeffersontown Police questioned him and Sally, gathered the charred evidence, and promised they’d be in touch. After Joe helped Sally tape a piece of scrap aluminum over the front window—where police discovered a pane had been cut and removed, providing entry for the arsonist—he offered to drive her home.
“Aw, Joe, it’s just a few blocks from here.”
“Then it won’t be any trouble. Come on.”
She smiled at him, her eyes droopy with exhaustion. “You got more than you bargained for when you asked me to dinner.”
He wrapped one arm around her, supporting her weight as she stood. “I wouldn’t call it a dull date.”
“Ow!” She stopped, grimacing in pain. “I sat too long. Give me a minute.”
“Is it your leg? Can I do anything to help?” Flooded with protective instincts he didn’t know he possessed, Joe longed to erase the furrows above her eyes.
“Yeah, it’s my leg. Just let me stretch it.”
Leaning against him, Sally flexed her foot and bent from the waist. Several repetitions later, she looked up and smiled.
“All better?”
She nodded. “All better.”
He curbed his curiosity about her leg. After turning out the lights and locking up, they walked to the Mustang. “Want to take your car?”
“But how will you get back to yours?” she asked.