Midas Touch (16 page)

At this point in time, she could still tell herself her mother had always loved her and there was a valid reason for her leaving. The letter helped reinforce her fantasy, but if her mother told her to leave, the rejection would be final.

When the waitress came to clear the table Sandra asked for a phone book. There were six Tates listed. None with the first name Jessica or the initial J. Opening the Yellow Pages, she copied the names and addresses of a few private investigators onto a notepad from her pocket. She might decide to call them later.

She did not know San Antonio very well. She had been here several times for conferences or an occasional meeting, but during those trips she usually only saw the route from the airport to the hotel.

San Antonio was the only major city in Texas she and her father had not lived in. She realized her dad had not taken any chances of running into her mother. She flipped through the Yellow Pages idly. Seeing a listing for restaurants, she scanned the list. During the next two months, she would probably get to know several of them quite well. Suddenly her finger froze over a listing for Peepers Diner. She saw a mental image of the photo in her wallet and the bear she held, Mr. Peepers. She started to close the book, but stopped and copied the address of the diner.
It’s just
a
coincidence,
she told herself, but she had plenty of time for wild goose chases. Why not check it out? She paid her bill and left the restaurant. Sitting on her bike, she studied the city map. Peepers was located on the far south side of town.

Between missing her exit and getting lost while trying to double back, it took her an hour to get across town and finally find the address. She spotted the huge blue and white sign announcing Peepers while waiting at a red light.

The diner was on a small side street in the next block. The large blue and white building sat on an ample parking lot and sported a 1950s motif.
Cute idea, but a bad location,
Sandra thought.

The light changed and she started forward. She was studying the building when a car darted out from behind a long row of high oleander bushes.

Instinct guided her. She knew she was going to hit the car. She turned her bike into a slide and managed to roll free as Dee had taught her, just before her bike slammed into the car. Stunned, she lay against the curb. Her left shoulder throbbed. She slowly took assessment of the rest of her body. Nothing seemed to be broken. Sandra heard the rustle of clothing as someone knelt beside her. She rolled over onto her back.

“Don’t move him,” a voice commanded.

“He’s moving himself,” a second voice answered.

Sandra’s shock was wearing off. She flipped up the visor on her helmet and started to sit up.

“I don’t think you should move.”

She looked up to see a woman with emerald green eyes filled with concern. An extremely short blond buzz-cut and a strong, slightly squared chin projected a sense of strength and determination.

These eyes are real, no contact enhancement here,
Sandra thought.

The woman’s arm went around Sandra’s shoulder and supported her. Sandra’s heart did a rare tat-a-tat.

“Why don’t you lie back,” the woman instructed as she cradled Sandra’s head on her lap.

Maybe I shouldn’t get up too quickly,
Sandra reasoned as she continued to stare into the woman’s mesmerizing eyes.

“Someone has gone to call an ambulance. It’ll be here soon,”

the woman assured her.

That bit of news shook Sandra from her mooning.

“I’m fine,” she replied, regretfully pulling away from the woman and inching her way to her feet.

The woman kept a firm grip on her arm.

“I’m fine, really,” Sandra assured her as she removed her helmet. She heard the woman’s breath catch when Sandra turned to face her. For a long second, their gazes held.

The arrival of a police car shattered the moment. Glancing around, Sandra was surprised to find a small crowd gathered around them. She located her bike. The front tire was under the car. She felt a wave of pain and anger. Dee had warned her about people who never paid attention to motorcycles. She glared at the crowd around her.

“Who hit me?” she demanded as she turned back to the woman. She would prosecute the careless fool who had destroyed her beautiful bike.

“I did,” the woman replied.

Before Sandra could retort, two police officers approached them. One of the officers led Sandra off to interview her.

He was a middle-aged man with a face so deeply lined Sandra wondered what he had witnessed during his life to age him so.

“I’m Patrolman Peterson. Are you hurt?” he asked. Sandra rotated her shoulder. “I banged my shoulder, but nothing is broken.”

He nodded. “All right. Tell me what happened,” he said as he removed a pen from his pocket.

“I had just pulled away from the light,” Sandra said, pointing at the traffic light behind him. “The next thing I know a car came flying out in front of me.”

He studied the traffic light, the driveway from which the car came, and the accident site itself.

“You’re lucky the bike slid,” Peterson said as he eyed the bike beneath the car.

“I had a good teacher,” she replied as she looked at her bike.

Dee’s guilt and persistence had probably saved her life, or at the very least, prevented her from sustaining serious injury.

The patrolman began to write out the accident report, and Sandra turned her attention back to him. He asked her a few more questions about the accident. After discovering she was passing through San Antonio, he took down her Dallas address

and recommended several downtown hotels she could stay in until the repairs on her bike were completed. As he was reciting the list of hotels, an ambulance arrived.

“Since they are already here, you ought to let them take you in and have your shoulder x-rayed,” he said.

Sandra declined. She did not need a doctor. Her suit and the helmet had protected her from the pavement. Her shoulder throbbed. She was sure a nasty bruise would result by morning.

Checking her shoulder movement carefully, she was certain no permanent damage existed. The woman who hit her bike was shouting at the other police officer.

“Guess I’d better go see what’s happening over there,”

Peterson said. “If we need anything else from you, Ms. Tate, we’ll contact you.”

Sandra thanked him and followed him to see why the woman was shouting.

“I’ve called the city about those oleanders a dozen times,”

she insisted. “I’ve told them someone was going to get hurt.”

Peterson began talking to her, and the woman’s voice lowered.

Sandra looked at the bushes. They really were a hazard. She walked into the driveway and stood where a car would normally set before pulling out. She was not able to see the street. She kept moving forward until she could see around the oleanders.

A car would have to be in the street before the driver could see clearly.

An EMS technician approached Sandra. “Are you hurt? You seem to be moving around pretty good.”

“I hit my shoulder, but it’s okay.”

“Let me take a look at it just to be safe?”

Sandra started to argue but realized it would be faster and less hassle to go ahead and let him. It would also help her case when she told Laura and Allison. An accident on her first day was not going to look too good. She did not want to think about the lecture she would get from Margaret, if she heard about the accident. Sandra certainly did not intend to tell her.

“You’re lucky you were wearing a jacket. The pavement

would have messed you up bad,” the tech said, probing Sandra’s shoulder. “It’s already bruising. You should see a doctor.”

“I’ll go in later if it keeps bothering me,” Sandra promised.

She was again watching the woman who hit her bike. She had finished talking to the police officers and was standing by her car staring at Sandra’s bike. Sandra thanked the tech and walked to her bike.

“I’m really sorry,” the woman said, as Sandra draped her jacket across her arm.

“You came out of the driveway like a bat out of hell,” Sandra accused, trying to keep her anger in check. She knew the oleanders blocked the woman’s view, but they had not grown there overnight. The bushes had obviously been a safety issue for some time.

The woman looked at her. “I didn’t see you coming until it was too late. I was trying to get out of your way.”

Sandra felt sick looking at the mangled wheel of her beautiful bike. She shuddered when she realized what could have happened to her without Dee’s coaching.

“Are you all right?”

Sandra pulled on her ripped jacket despite the warmth of the day.”Where do you want the bike to go?”

Sandra turned to find a tall, thin guy with a clipboard in hand. He was wearing a drab green shirt with a tag that read Feltz Towing Service. She hesitated, uncertain where she should send her bike for repairs.

“I know a guy who has a shop near here. He’s really good with bikes,” the woman offered.

“Do you work on a commission? A percentage of everything you can run over and send him?” Sandra snapped, instantly regretting her childish outburst.

The woman’s voice filled with exasperation and her gaze locked onto Sandra. “I’m trying to help. I’ve already told you I’m sorry about this,” she said, waving her hand at the wreckage.

“Being sorry won’t fix my bike,” Sandra argued. She turned

to the tow truck driver. “Is there a Honda dealership in town?”

The guy removed a battered Spurs basketball cap and scratched his balding head. “I don’t know much about motorcycles. I can call the dispatcher and have her check around.”

Sandra sensed a major hassle about to start and did not want to spend the next hour dealing with it. “Is your friend really any good?” she asked the woman while staring at the restaurant.

“He’s the best in town,” she assured her.

“What’s the address?”

The woman retrieved a day planner from her car and gave the driver the address.

Sandra wrote the address and telephone number for Bill’s Motorcycle Repair and Body Shop in her note pad before turning to the driver. “Tell them I’ll be over to take care of the paperwork later.”

He started to protest, but Sandra nailed him with her best boardroom glare. He shrugged, handed her a clipboard of papers to sign, and went to work.

Sandra cringed as he hooked the front of the car to the tow truck and raised the front end up enough to pull her bike free.

The police officers and a bystander helped the driver load the bike onto the back of the truck. He lowered the car, unhooked it, and left. Other than a small dent at the bottom of the door, the car seemed no worse for wear.

To Sandra’s consternation, the police officers were directing the woman to pull her car back into the parking lot. The woman would now have to pull back out into traffic. “She will probably run over someone else,” she growled to no one in particular and started toward the restaurant.

“Can I drive you somewhere?” the woman called after her.

“I was headed to the restaurant to talk to the owner,” she said without slowing.

“What for?”

Sandra stopped and turned back to the woman, astounded at her boldness.

“I’m sorry,” the woman stuttered, sensing Sandra’s shock.

0

“I’m the owner,” she explained, turning off the ignition and getting out of her car. “I’m Cory Gallager,” she said, extending her hand.

Sandra could not help but notice the woman’s long thin fingers, even as the words and their meaning sank in. A part of her had been hoping her mother was the owner of the diner.

“I’m Sandra,” she said and tried to hide her disappointment.

“What did you need to see me about?” Cory asked.

Sandra hesitated. It suddenly seemed ridiculous to say,
I
was
just stopping by to ask how your restaurant got its name.
It no longer mattered. This woman could not possibly be her mother.

Sandra stared at the diner’s sign. She had a gut feeling there were answers here, and her instincts were seldom wrong.

She looked back at the woman’s green eyes. Could she be the attraction drawing her to this place?

“Are you from the employment agency about the dish washing job?” Cory inquired, slowly taking in Sandra’s clothes.

Sandra almost laughed.

“It’s only part-time. I have an employee out on disability,”

Cory continued. “So the job’s only good for about six weeks.”

“That’s perfect.” Sandra looked around to see if she had actually spoken the words or someone else had. She experienced a brief moment of doubt about her decision. Was it curiosity about the restaurant, or about its owner?

Cory was still watching her. “You know the job only pays minimum wage, and you’ll be working a split shift.”

Sandra did some quick calculations and tried not to smile.

Her firm spent more on pencils each month. “That’s fine,” she said.Cory seemed to hesitate. ‘Do you have any experience or references?”

“To wash dishes?” Sandra asked dumbfounded. “How much experience do I need?”

A mischievous grin crept across Cory’s face. -Be here at ten tomorrow morning. We don’t serve breakfast, but we have a heavy lunch crowd.”

“I’ll be here,” Sandra assured her. She contemplated what to do next. She had no idea how far away Bill’s Motorcycle Repair and Body Shop was. The odds were against it being within walking distance. She cursed her decision not to ride along in the tow truck.

“Let me drive you to Bill’s.”

Sandra started to protest, but looked into Cory’s green eyes and relented.

“Do you live around here?” Cory asked as they pulled out into traffic.