Down and Out in Flamingo Beach (7 page)

As she mounted the steps and climbed onto the front porch, she remained hopeful that other than the broken window there'd been no further damage. Greg and Derek flanked her as she turned the knob on the front door. It was still locked and she exhaled a breath.

“No signs of forced entry,” Greg said, shining his flashlight on the door's surface.

Joya inserted her key and after several tries the lock yielded. She was about to step inside when Derek moved her firmly out of the way.

“Let us go first. Coming?” he said to Greg.

Greg puffed himself up and Joya saw a power play coming. She stood aside and the two men preceded her in.

The showroom and working area looked just as they had when she had left, nothing visibly out of place. Joya wandered from room to room accompanied by the two men. She looked around to see if anything was missing. Not that she had a really good sense of the inventory, what she was looking for were empty spots where something might have been.

“I don't think whoever threw that rock actually broke in,” she announced after several minutes of this. “Things are still in their place, plus the back door is locked and bolted.”

“Someone might have wanted to get your attention. Have you or Granny J had an altercation with anyone recently?” Greg asked, his pad out, jotting notes.

Joya thought about the two employees she'd fired and the threats that they'd made. She told Greg about firing Deborah and LaTisha. He continued to scribble.

“Okay, no signs of forced entry, everything in order,” he said, “We'll continue talking to the shopkeepers on the strip as well as anyone in the direct vicinity. What are you going to do about the window?”

Shoot. It was something she hadn't thought about. It was late, after nine, the locksmith would be closed.

“I'll take care of it,” Derek said. “I have plywood in the bed of my truck. I can get that window boarded up in minutes.”

“If you'd do that I'd be grateful. I'll pay you whatever it costs.”

“That won't be necessary.”

Derek sounded as if she'd offended him. Before she could explain or apologize, he was already heading for the front door.

“What's next?” she asked Greg.

“There's not much more to do here. We've determined the store hasn't been broken into so we'll put it down to vandalism. Lionel and I will have a conversation with the two young ladies. Get the window boarded up and go home and have a good night's rest. We'll be in touch.” He shut his notebook.

The sounds of hammering came from outside. Derek was already busy putting up the plywood. Joya made sure the remaining windows were closed and latched. She checked the back door again, made sure it was secure and followed Greg out.

The few people left on the street were talking in loud voices. Bits of the conversation drifted over.

“This town has never had anything like this happen.”

“Things are changing and not for the better.”

“It's all the new people moving in and not the most desirable elements either.”

Naysayers.

Lionel was seated in his police car, the red siren lights still going, waiting for Greg.

“Are you going to be okay? Do you need a ride home?” Greg asked,

“I'll be fine.” Joya still felt a bit dazed and didn't know what to make of the whole thing. A rock hurled through the window of Joya's Quilts was big news and might even make the front page of tomorrow's
Tribune
.

“We'll gladly give you a ride,” Lionel insisted, sticking his head out of the police vehicle.

Sweet as the offer was, if she arrived back at Flamingo Place in a police vehicle, the rumor mongers, specifically resident gossip Camille Lewis, would have it that she had been arrested.

“Derek drove me here. I'm sure he won't mind taking me home.”

“What's with you and Derek?” Greg asked boldly. “You guys got something going on?”

Before Joya could respond to what she thought was a totally inappropriate question, Derek's voice came from behind her.

“Joya, come over and see if I've boarded up the window to your satisfaction. Then I'll take you home.”

She wondered just how much Derek had heard of the conversation. His expression gave nothing away.

“Greg, Lionel,” she said, “You'll call me when you find anything out?”

“Of course we will.”

Lionel started up the police vehicle and the two men drove off.

Derek then surprised Joya by throwing an arm around her shoulder and giving it a little squeeze.

“You've had quite the night. You must be exhausted.”

“I am,” Joya admitted, surprised that she found comfort in a little thing like having a man's arm around her shoulders. Not any man's arm—Derek's.

“So should I take you home or should I take you out for coffee with me?”

“Coffee would be nice,” she shocked herself by saying.

“Then coffee it is, and how about a little key lime pie thrown in for good measure?”

Derek squeezed her shoulder again and she shivered. Why was she having a crazy reaction to this man?

Nothing could come of it. A construction worker was just not part of her plan.

“Y
ou didn't grow up in Flamingo Beach?” Joya asked when she was settled comfortably into one of Mario's worn pleather booths.

“I was born here, but my parents moved up north when I was two.”

Derek wondered whether Joya was genuinely interested in knowing or just making conversation. She was hard to read. She'd been chattering at him non-stop from the minute they'd walked into the diner, the only restaurant in town that stayed open after nine.

“How about you?” Derek asked.

“Born here. Went to high school here. Went off to college and then came back and married a local, then left again.”

Derek's brown-eyed gaze drifted to her left ring finger. “I didn't realize you were married. You should have sent me off to talk to Mr. Hamill about construction.” He felt a stirring of disappointment.

Joya spooned sugar into her coffee and laid the utensil down.

“I don't have a husband, and even if I had you'd still be talking to me. My grandmother left me in charge and with full authority to make decisions.”

“Of course, that was somewhat chauvinistic of me to say.”

Derek felt like applauding her. Diminutive as Joya was she was no pushover. He'd seen a more vulnerable side of her tonight which he liked, and he'd also realized there was more depth to her than he'd given her credit for.

“So why are you back in town?” Derek asked bluntly.

Those sultry gray eyes remained on him for quite some time as she debated how to answer.

“I was burnt out on my job and took a leave of absence. It made sense to come home.”

“And you're here for how long?”

“Long enough to supervise the store's renovation and make sure I'm happy with the changes. What about you? You've only recently returned to Flamingo Beach. Where are you living and how long will you be around? I'd hate for you to start work and then leave me high and dry with my property unfinished.”

He'd left himself wide open for that.

“You have nothing to worry about.”

That's all he would give her. That's all she deserved.

Joya took a sip of her tea. Her long lashes were lowered and it was impossible to see her eyes.

“You've rented a condo? A house? What?” she asked after a while.

“I live with my great-grandmother.” He didn't know where this was going or why she wanted to know.

“I see.”

Mario, the owner of the diner came bustling over.

“Hey Joya,” he said, “You need anything? More pie? Some of mama's famous pasta? You tell Mario. It's on the house.”

“Thank you, but I'm fine. Actually, I'm full,” Joya said, giving Mario one of those wide smiles that made her gray eyes come to life.

The owner moved on to the next table and stood chatting up the occupants. This was pretty much his routine and the reason people enjoyed coming into Mario's. Black, white, tan or yellow you were always welcomed in his diner.

“So let's say your Mr. Shore agrees to refurbishing Nana's store. How soon could you start?” Joya asked.

Derek did some quick mental calculations. “The crew has at least three days work left at All About Flowers. They're currently laying floors and there's still painting to be done. The guys at the Vintage Place have walls to knock down, and then the owners, the Millards, want the windows replaced, so that may take a week or so. We could probably start in the next ten days.”

“And you'd be heading up this crew?” Joya asked, her sculptured eyebrows coming together in a frown. “How long did you say you've been in construction?”

“I didn't say. But to answer your question, all my grown life.”

It was really a half truth. Derek had always liked working with his hands and he'd done most of the work on his own condominium. He'd brought in electricians to handle the wiring and plumbers to take care of the pipes. Other then that he'd done it on his own.

“Hmmm.”

What was that supposed to mean? Before he could analyze the sound, a female voice came from behind him.

“Derek!”

Sheena Grace. She would have to show her face now. As usual she was overdressed, especially for a weekday night. The outfit was ridiculous—pants that stopped above the ankle, wedge shoes with satin ribbons circled her ankles and a scooped-neck, chiffon blouse that reminded him of something women wore to bed.

“Hey, Sheena,” Derek said, popping up—because it was expected of him—and sliding out of the banquette to greet her.

Sheena used that opportunity to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him directly on the lips. When she finally broke the lip-lock, she said, “I haven't heard from you in a while.” A finger reached out tracing a pattern around the emblem on his polo shirt. She was marking him as her territory and he did not appreciate it one bit.

Derek took a step back, successfully putting space between them. He captured Sheena's hand and placed it back at her side where it belonged.

“I've been busy. There's a lot going on.”

“You're always busy. You don't ever make time for me,” she whined as though there was a “them.”

“Do you know Joya?” Derrick asked, turning back to the woman still seated at the table.

Sheena tossed a sulky look in Joya's direction. “I've seen her around.”

“Then let me introduce you.”

Both women pretended graciousness.

Mario's busboys were starting to pick up chairs and stack them on tables. That meant it was almost close to the witching hour, eleven, and boy, was Derek grateful.

“I've got to get home,” Joya said, bailing him out and glancing at her watch pointedly. “Nice meeting you, Sheena. I'll see you at Quen and Chere's wedding.”

Sheena's lower lip flapped open. “They invited you?”

“Yes, and I plan on being there.”

Oh, boy, he hated cat fights, wanted no part of them.

“Ready?” Derek asked Joya, holding out his hand and helping her from the confining banquette. “Nice seeing you, Sheena. I'll be in touch.”

Holding Joya's tiny hand in his, he walked with her to the exit.

 

The next evening the guild gathered in the back room of the quilt shop. Joya welcomed everyone and explained to those who hadn't heard why she was running things instead of Granny J. She had her own quilt work and she wanted to talk to the group about making commemorative quilts for the centennial.

Earlier that day Joya had managed to get someone to come in to repair the window that had been broken. Lionel and Greg had not had much success with Deborah and LaTisha, both had claimed to be elsewhere and the police were checking out their alibis. Meanwhile, the two officers promised to patrol the Row more frequently while keeping an eye on Joya's Quilts in particular.

While Joya was somewhat uneasy remaining at the store after hours, she kept reminding herself that she was surrounded by a large number of women, and so relatively safe. The quilt makers were a diverse group of people, ranging in age from mid twenties to seniors in their eighties and nineties. They ran the gamut from professionals to stay-at-home moms. And they were all there for one purpose, the love of quilt-making.

When Joya was finished telling everyone about Granny J and her own quilt-making plan she added, “These commemorative quilts are another wonderful opportunity to put our town on the map and generate some revenue. If you're interested, the shop will take your quilts or pillows on consignment. We can showcase the town's history and you can make some money at the same time. I already have one client who wants a combination of family album and autograph book. He needs a fairly quick turnaround. Do I have takers?

Eileen Brown, the marketing manager at the
Flamingo Beach Chronicle
and one young mother's hand shot up.

“Who is the customer?” Eileen asked, “Anyone I know?”

“Derek Morse.”

“Oooh!” the young mother said. “He's a fine-looking man.”

“Down, girl,” another woman hissed, rolling her eyes. “You already have yourself a husband, leave him for someone like me who's single.”

That cracked the group up and they moved on to other gossip. Joya learned who'd taken up with whom and who was soon to be evicted. She heard who'd found a new job and who was expecting a baby.

When there was a lull in the gossip, Joya explained what Derek wanted. “I'll give both of you ladies his contact information at the end of this session and you can work out the particulars with him,” she said. “I've agreed to help as well.”

For what remained of the two hours, she worked on her quilt which was a version of the Tree of Life. Curious to see the others' designs, she wandered about admiring the blocks people were working on.

One woman had started a four-block version of the Poinsettia Feathered Star. She said it would be a gift to her daughter for Christmas. Another, fairly new to the process, was creating a classic four-block redwork wall hanging. Since the octagonal star centers required only beginner to intermediate machine skills this wouldn't be too difficult. The woman freely admitted that she'd taken up quilting as therapy. It soothed her soul as it had done for a lot of women through some of their worst crises.

At the end of the evening, Eileen Brown and the young woman who'd volunteered collected Derek's phone number and e-mail address. The group then made plans to meet again on Saturday morning, and everyone left.

Joya quickly began checking to make sure the windows were securely fastened and each access and exit locked. She made a quick call to the part-time worker, Portia Cortez, to make sure she was coming in tomorrow. Earlier she'd found her number in one of Granny J's books and left a message. Portia assured her she would be in. The backup plan would have been to lock up the store since she needed to be at the hospital tomorrow with Granny J throughout her surgery.

When Joya let herself out the front door, she felt her trepidation build. Anyone could be lying in wait in the shadows. She should have asked one of the women to remain with her while she closed up. She shone her flashlight across the walkway and carefully picked her way down.

“So how did it go? Did you find someone to make my quilt?”

The voice was familiar, male and too close to her ear for her liking.

“Oh, God, you startled me.”

“I'm sorry,” Derek said, touching her arm and making her whole body tingle. “I worked late and saw the light in the back room on, then I saw the number of cars out front and figured something was up. I decided to wait around, one of the women who left early told me the quilt guild was meeting. After what happened last evening I thought you might need an escort to your car.”

“That was nice of you. Two women are interested in making your quilt. I gave them your information and asked them to get in touch with you.”

Derek had hold of her arm by the elbow and together they came down the walkway slowly.

“Did they say what they would charge?” he asked.

“I told you I'd split it.” An idea began to formulate. “Depending on how long it takes Gran to recuperate I might be able to work on some of it myself. That would help cut down the expense.”

“I told you that wasn't necessary. I'm quite capable of paying for the whole thing myself.”

Derek was one proud man. She couldn't imagine where he would find the money to pay for the type of commemorative quilt he wanted his great-grandmother to have. Construction workers didn't make enough money to afford customized quilts. At least not the kind of construction workers who lived with their relatives.

“Can I ask why you're being so resistant?” Joya asked. “What's so wrong with me splitting a gift with you?”

They'd almost reached her car. Derek held out his hand for her key. He used the remote to snap the doors open and then waited for Joya to get in.

“Belle's my folk,” he said, “Not yours. This is my special gift. But if you want to work on the quilt, that I will accept.”

“It'll go faster with three people on it,” Joya said starting the car. “What's happening with my construction job?”

Derek stuck his head through the open window. “Are you in a hurry right now?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I checked on granny earlier. She's gone to bed. Tomorrow is her surgery.”

“Let's pray everything goes well. If you haven't had dinner, join me,” Derek said, “We can discuss what needs to be done, what it's going to cost and how long it will take.”

“Shouldn't Preston Shore be telling me this?”

“Preston is a busy man. He told me to handle it and if we can come to an agreement then he'll draw up the paperwork.”

She was hungry and this was business, Joya reminded herself. Not exactly a date.