“Before I find your nurse, I’d like to ask for your permission to apply for a business-improvement loan.” Joya held a hand up before Granny J could interrupt. “Hear me out, please.” She went on to explain all the pros of getting a loan with a low interest rate, ending with, “We’d be pretty stupid not to take advantage of this money. Everyone around us is fixing up their places. Why should we be the only eyesore on the row?”
“Joya’s Quilts is not an eyesore,” Granny J huffed.
“The building needs renovating, Gran. We need to keep up.”
“We do not. We manage fine. Besides, I hate owing anybody anything.”
“We already owe the bank. Fixing up the place will only benefit us and help bring more revenue in. Tourists prefer to shop in nice surroundings.”
“How did you find out about my equity line? Never mind. Okay, apply for the loan if you must.”
“That’s a good decision, Gran.” Joya squeezed the old lady’s hand and decided not to ask Granny J about why she’d failed to make her payments on time. She suspected she already knew. She also decided not to mention the firing of the two lazy employees. She didn’t need her grandmother getting further upset, not with an operation and long recuperation period ahead.
“Now that we’ve gotten that squared away, I’m going to find your nurse,” Joya said, rising. “She can call Dr. Benjamin and he can explain to me just what’s going on. When I return there’d better not be one scrap on that plate.”
Granny J stuck out her lower lip. The battle of wills was on.
Joya set off purposefully down the hallway, heading for the nurses’ station. The medical team for the most part now differed from that of the night before, although Joya recognized one or two nurses.
“Can I help you?” a thickset nurse with a serious expression asked.
“I need to know what’s going on with Mrs. Hamill. She tells me her doctor recommends surgery.”
“And you are?”
“Her granddaughter. I’m her next of kin.”
With one eyebrow slightly lifted, the nurse looked Joya over. Then, making up her mind, she said, “I’ll see if I can get Dr. Ben to call in. He can explain the diagnosis to you.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
As Joya waited for the nurse to page the doctor, she prepared herself for the worst. Dr. Ben had told her last evening what he’d suspected and now the reality of the matter was about to hit home.
Deep in her gut she had the feeling she wouldn’t be returning to Los Angeles anytime soon.
Chapter 6
By the time Joya’s intercom buzzed she’d showered, changed and was close to wearing the polish off the lovely wooden floors. She’d just spent the last fifteen minutes pacing back and forth looking blankly at the to-die-for ocean view. What had possessed her to invite Derek Morse to come by? She had a lot on her mind with Granny J’s upcoming surgery. Plus the man made her uncomfortable.
Joya had been fortunate enough to sublet one of Quen’s apartments. That ex-husband of hers had turned into quite the entrepreneur.
“Yes?” she inquired after depressing a button on the wall.
“Ms. Hamill, a gentleman by the name of Derek Morse is here to see you.”
“Send him up.”
Joya did some rapid calculations in her head. If Derek took the stairs he’d be up in maybe three minutes. If he had to wait for the elevator it might take a little longer. Either way it gave her enough time to race into the bathroom and check to make sure she didn’t have broccoli in her teeth or something like that. She gave a quick glance in the full-length mirror, reassuring herself she looked okay.
Joya had pulled her hair back into a ponytail and wrapped a green scrunchie around the rubber band she’d used to keep it back. There wasn’t even a hint of a wisp escaping. Her white shorts were cuffed above the knee and didn’t expose too much leg. The green-and-white striped T-shirt came down to cover her butt. Guaranteed she looked much younger than her thirty-three years, but what the hey.
The doorbell rang as she was debating whether she should change her flip-flops. Heels really didn’t go with the outfit so now Derek would get to see how short she really was.
“Who is it?” she asked, before putting an eye to the peephole. She already knew who it was, but one couldn’t be too careful these days.
“Derek Morse.”
“Just a minute,”
It took her longer than she anticipated to remove the security chain and open the double-bolted locks, she’d grown all thumbs.
Derek had changed his clothes, too, and managed a shower. He smelled of soap again. His jeans were spotless and had a sharp seam in the front indicating they’d been pressed. The crew-neck shirt he wore was the perfect shade of copper to complement the orange tones of his dark skin.
Joya tried her best not to stare at his large hand holding something that looked like a photo album; the nails were meticulously trimmed, not a hint of dirt under them. It was hard to believe construction was his profession.
She stood for a moment looking up at him, feeling completely dwarfed and more than a little overwhelmed. She needed to move, get away from him. Right now Derek was just too much man for her. She hadn’t been this ruffled by anyone since Quen.
“Can I get you something? Coffee, a beer?”
“Water if you have it. Nice place.”
“It’s not mine. I rent.” Joya headed toward the kitchen to get Derek his water.
“Nice view,” Derek said, stalking toward the window wall that looked directly out onto Flamingo Beach. He set his photo album down on the coffee table. “It’s especially great when you don’t have something like a boardwalk creating an obstruction.”
Joya returned to hand him a cold bottle of water. “I hope that brand’s okay.”
“It’s fine with me. Water is water.”
“Have a seat,” Joya said, wanting to get as far from him as physically possible. He really did make her nervous, something she didn’t understand.
Derek sat on the mint-green couch, legs splayed out in front of him.
“You mentioned you wanted to have a commemorative quilt made up for your great-grandmother’s birthday,” Joya prompted.
“Yes, Nana Belle is turning one hundred at almost the same time as this town is celebrating its hundredth birthday. I’ve planned a big birthday party and I’ve been wracking my brain trying to come up with a practical yet special gift. When I saw your quilts today they seemed like they would make the perfect gift.”
“A custom quilt is the ideal gift for someone as special as your great-grandmother. She’s something of an icon in this town.” An idea was beginning to percolate in the back of Joya’s mind. Being that the centennial was coming up, if Joya’s Quilts could sell commemorative quilts she’d bet they’d rake in the money. The tourists would love it, and if she took orders in advance and got deposits the store could stay in the black. She made a mental note to discuss the idea with the quilting guild. It would mean lots of work for them as well.
“May I?” Joya asked, reaching for the family album that Derek had laid on her coffee table.
“Sure.”
Eagerly she leafed through the scrapbook: pictures of Nana Belle as a young girl, her five marriages, the births of her children, their graduations, birthday parties, weddings and deaths. All the important passages of life were celebrated in the pages of that book. There were newspaper articles, menus from restaurants, wedding invitations, death announcements and photographs of Flamingo Beach at various stages of development. There were pictures of Nana Belle’s home as it had started off as a two-room cabin then grown and grown. Here was the old lady’s whole life encapsulated in one book. Joya’d bet anything Belle had some good stories to tell.
Heat settled in her cheeks as Joya sensed Derek watching her. She closed the album and handed it back to him.
“Think of the quilt as scrapbooking, it would be a gradual progression of Nana Belle’s life and something she wil
l forever treasure,” Joya said.
“She’d like that,” Derek seemed contemplative. “We could scan images, articles etc. right onto the cloth.”
“Exactly.”
Joya ventured a look at Derek. His toffee-colored eyes held her gaze for a second too long. She was the first to look away. She couldn’t deny the attraction, but Derek Morse wasn’t what she was looking for. She wanted someone more ambitious; a man who was going to go places and take her with him. As Granny J was fond of saying, romance without finance is a nuisance. Joya had been there and done that. It wasn’t a place she ever wanted to be again. It was no fun eating chicken backs and necks 24/7 just so you could pay the rent.
“How long will a quilt like this take to make?” Derek asked, breaking into her musings.
“If I can find someone dedicated to doing it, I’d say a month. What will take time is selecting what you’d like to have on the quilt and transferring the images onto the material. And…” Joya took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s going to be expensive.”
“How expensive?”
Derek was watching her intently. She was developing a shortage of breath that wasn’t normal when you were sitting and not exerting yourself. Joya named a figure and waited.
Derek’s long low whistle told her clearly what he thought.
She needed to make this work. Nana Belle and Granny J were friends and had been for a long time.
“How about we split the gift?” Joya suggested.
“Why?”
Derek had suddenly gone all steely-eyed on her. She hadn’t meant to insult him.
She rose and crossed over to the window. While she wasn’t sure she liked Derek Morse, that should have nothing to do with it. This was about the friendship between her grandmother and Belle.
“Your great-grandmother and my granny are friends,” Joya said. “Since my gran would be giving yours a gift anyway, why not make it joint, memorable and something Nana Belle wants?”
Derek rose, too.
“I didn’t come here looking for charity.”
“I’m not offering you charity.”
“I’d prefer to pay for the quilt on my own,” he said more quietly.
“As you wish. I’ll talk to one of the guild and get back to you. You’ll need to discuss color schemes and fabrics, that kind of thing. I’ve just thought of something else.”
“What?”
This time Derek did come over to join her at the window.
“I’m thinking that when you send out your invitations to some people special to Belle you could include a block. Have the invitee write a message and sign it using indelible ink, and then have them get it back to us by a certain time.”
“What’s a block?”
“A square of fabric that you’d sew together to make your quilt.”
Derek’s long and meticulously clean fingers stroked his chin. “I like that idea. The quilt would be both a photo album and an autograph book.”
“Exactly.”
“On another note, did you have chance to talk to your gran about renovating the shop?” Derek asked, getting much too close. She could smell the soap on his skin.
Joya took a step back, putting space between them. Why would Derek care? What was in it for him other than making sure he had work?
“I did,” Joya answered, “And she’s finally agreed to take out a loan. When can we start construction?”
From Derek’s startled expression she could tell she’d taken him by surprise.
“I’ll need to speak with Preston Shore, the owner of my construction firm.”
“Would you rather I talk to him directly? I’d like to make this happen sooner rather than later.”
Derek shrugged. “As you wish. I’ll have Preston call you tomorrow. And you’ll get back to me tomorrow about that quilt and how soon it can be done?”
“I will.”
Derek stuck his hand out and wrapped Joya’s small hand in his. A bolt of electricity shot up her arm. Derek must have felt it too because he dropped her hand like a hot potato and quickly turned toward the door.
Joya’s cell phone, clipped to the waistband of her shorts, rang, a welcome distraction. She glanced at the dial, frowned and hesitated.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Derek said pointedly.
“Hello…Yes, Chet? Our alarm went off?…The cops are there?…I’m on my way.”
Joya depressed the button cutting Chet Rabinowitz off before he could say another word.
“I have to get to the quilt shop,” she jabbered, picking up her car keys and purse from the kitchen counter where she’d left them. “That was Chet Rabinowitz. He’s working late at the flower shop. Someone might have broken into the store.”
“I’ll drive you,” Derek Morse said calmly, taking Joya by the elbow.
Joya didn’t consider fighting him. This was one time she needed support, and having a solid presence like Derek while she dealt with the police and filled out paperwork would be welcome.
“I’d really appreciate that,” Joya said, meaning it, as, accompanied by Derek, she raced for the door.
She didn’t protest when Derek suggested they take his pickup truck. She simply slid into the front seat and they roared off, breaking every speed limit there was in Flamingo Beach.
Flamingo Row was humming with activity when they pulled up. The town’s two police cars were parked outside the quilt shop where a small group of people were gathered, amongst them Harley Mancini and Chet Rabinowitz. An eager young reporter wearing a Southern Tribune polo shirt stood on the sidewalk accosting anyone he could.
Forgetting the man who had brought her here, Joya leapt from the vehicle and pushed her way through the people gathered. She ignored the hands tugging on her clothes and the questions being thrown at her from the crowd. Right now the only people she would talk to were the police.
Greg Santana, whom Joya had gone to high school with, was in the middle of taking a statement from a shop-owner when Joya interrupted him.
“What’s going on?” Joya asked, planting herself in front of Greg.
“Your burglar alarm went off. No one answered when the security company called to check on you. So here we are.”
“They must have Gran’s home phone number. She’s in the hospital so there’s no way they would reach her,” Joya said out loud, resolving to call the security company and give them her cell number once this mess was sorted out.
“Find out anything?” Derek asked Greg. Joya had almost forgotten about him. And here he was asking the kinds of questions she should be asking.
Greg pointed his flashlight in the direction of a broken window. “See over there? Someone hurled a rock through the window and that in turn set off the alarm. Of course, by the time we got here there was no one in sight.”
“Have you spoken to Chet?” Joya asked. “He called me with the news, mentioning he was working late at the flower shop. Maybe he saw something.”
“We’ve spoken to both owners. Lionel and I have walked around the property and up and down the row several times. No one claims to have seen anything.”
“That’s strange.” This came from Derek. “No one misses a thing in Flamingo Beach.”
“Lionel and I aren’t worried. We’ll get a lead. Someone will talk. You must have keys to the shop, Joya. Let’s go in and take a look around.”
Joya rummaged through her purse and found the keys to the quilt shop. Greg, taking charge, cleared a path so that she and Derek could follow him.
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.
Down and Out in Flamingo Beach Page 6
