Читать книгу Down And Out In Flamingo Beach - Marcia King-Gamble - Страница 7

A little before nine the next morning, Joya parked Granny J’s car in the alley reserved for the shopkeepers. She found the house keys in the usual place, under the pot of geraniums on the porch, and let herself in through the side door.

The keys to the shop were exactly where Granny had said she would find them, hanging on a nail in the back of the closet. Joya tucked them in her purse and opened the windows to let the balmy ocean breeze in. Granny J did not believe in air conditioning.

Joya walked into the store, using the door separating the house from the shop. It never ceased to amaze her that the place was the same as she remembered it as a child. Nothing had really changed except for the peeling paint on the wall.

With a practiced eye, Joya looked around the four rooms that made up the store. The back room, originally a combined kitchen and dining area, was where the quilt guild—beginners to more advanced—met twice a week to develop their skills and work on their comforters. Occasionally the ladies sponsored public quilt shows to raise money for charitable causes.

This same room held a large oak table surrounded by stiff wooden chairs. In the corner were two comfortable Queen Anne seats. Sewing machines were all grouped in one spot, and everywhere the tools of the trade were visible. Reed baskets held thimbles, scissors, scraps of material and itsy-bitsy quilting needles that were called betweens.

The small cubicle was where Granny J had her office. On the other side of that room was a huge storage closet where she kept her fabric and batting.

What the general public saw was the big showroom up front with the enclosed porch facing the street. It was large and sunny with a slanted wooden floor. The walls here were in sad need of a fresh coat of paint.

Outside noises intruded as more and more storekeepers opened for the day. Gran’s neighbors were, for the most part, a friendly bunch and everyone looked out for the others.

Joya made herself focus. What would she do if she were given leeway to perk the place up? Right now it reminded her of some crazy bazaar with jumbled bits of cloth everywhere. Most of the quilts were hard to see. And yes, some colorful tapestries hung from the walls, but the more expensive were folded in smudged display cabinets that could use a good polishing. Afrocentric patterns were hidden from the eye because of the way they were folded. Story quilts were displayed alongside more traditional quilts. The whole place was a mess.

Thrown on a huge brass bed that needed polishing were mosaic patchwork quilts, their hexagons sewn together to form intricate designs. Next to them were comforters depicting historical and biblical events, a style made famous by the nineteenth-century African-American quilt maker, Harriet Powers of Athens.

What Granny’s place needed was order. Order and a big sprucing-up.

The store had huge rectangular windows that looked right out on Flamingo Row. The seats below them held more quilts and rows of patchwork cushions. Newer patterns like Double Wedding Ring, Dresden Plate and Little Dutch Girl resided here. Granny J had once told Joya this was a deliberate strategy to catch the eye of passersby looking for attractive souvenirs but who didn’t want to spend lots of money.

If this were Joya’s shop she’d decorate it differently. Who said a quilt shop had to look like a little old lady owned it? It would have nice warm peach walls and the brass bed would be angled in a more inviting manner. She’d get rid of all that clutter. And she’d cover the bed with the most attractive and expensive quilt in the place, which of course would change on a weekly basis. There’d be flowers and scented candles everywhere. Who knew, she might even offer pedicures or foot massages. Relaxed women spent money.

A tapping on the front door got her attention.

“Anyone home?” a man’s voice called.

“Just me.”

Joya had completely forgotten about flipping the Closed sign in the window to Open.

She pushed open the front door and stuck her head out.

“Hi, Chet!”

Chet Rabinowitz, the mayor’s son, and part owner of All About Flowers took a step back, gaping at her. “Where’s Granny J?” He seemed surprised to see Joya.

“In the hospital. Kept overnight until test results come back.”

Chet clutched his heart, “Oh, my God. Tell me it’s nothing serious. Harley,” he shrieked to his partner and lover. “Granny J’s in the hospital. We need to send her the biggest arrangement we have.”

Harley Mancini, Chet’s partner, came running, clutching the sunflowers he’d been arranging in an oversized vase. “Did you say something happened to Granny J?”

Joya explained what had happened and reassured them her granny would be fine. At least she hoped so. She’d called the hospital right before leaving the condo and the nurse had told her Granny J was resting comfortably.

“Will you be running the shop for her then?” Chet quizzed, giving Joya a dubious look as if that couldn’t possibly be happening. Chet had made it clear from the very first time they’d met that he thought she was all fluff and a general waste of time. And truthfully, Joya had made no effort to charm him. She wasn’t that crazy about Chet. She’d pegged him a busybody and much preferred Harley. He was by far the more diplomatic of the two.

Without waiting to be invited in, Chet sashayed by her. He scrunched up his nose and sniffed loudly. “Joya’s Quilts needs help. It even smells old.”

“Chet,” Harley admonished, “Be nice!”

“I am always nice. Nice and honest.”

“It’s way after nine, how come the two Ms. Things aren’t here? Or are they eating? They eat all the time.” Chet poked his head into the guild room and shook his head. “Late again. What a waste of time those two are.”

Joya had almost forgotten about the two women Granny J employed. She made a mental note to look for LaTisha and Deborah’s phone numbers in the Rolodex Granny J still used. She’d give them a call.

A loud banging came from the other side of the partition. Joya frowned but Chet wiggled his head knowingly. “Hallelujah. Construction has begun.”

“Construction?” Joya repeated. “Is one of the stores being renovated?”

“We are being renovated,” he announced, arms wide to encompass the block. “The two buildings on either side of you and those across the street have started. I can’t wait to have my grand reopening.”

If the entire block was getting a facelift, why wasn’t Joya’s Quilts? This was something she’d take up with her grandmother.

Joya addressed Harley, who’d been very quiet. “Where’s this money coming from?”

“The bank,” Chet answered. “There are special low-interest loans being offered to store owners, all because of the hundred-year anniversary of Flamingo Beach. This centennial will bring tourists here in droves. We’re in the Historical District. This is where Flamingo Beach got started and that’s why we’re being showcased.”

Why hadn’t Joya heard about this gentrification before? Because she’d been trying to deal with the fact that her ex was moving on.

“How did you find out about these loans?” Joya asked, “And why hasn’t Granny applied for one?” It was a rhetorical question. She already knew the answer.

“Remember who Chet’s daddy is?” Harley added, smiling and winking at her.

“Did you explain to my grandmother how they work?” Joya persisted, looking from one man to the other.

“Yup. But she didn’t want to deal with the paperwork, though I offered to help.” Chet leaned in and placed his hands on his hips. “You know your grandmother and how stubborn she is. She told me her store looks fine just the way it is. She doesn’t need any showpiece.”

It sounded like something Granny J would say. She was practical to the bone.

“Excuse me.” Another man’s voice came from the road. “If that’s your SUV you’ll need to move it.”

“Hang on, Derek. Be right back,” Chet’s partner called, racing off to move the truck he’d parked illegally while unloading it.

Vehicles were technically not allowed on the narrow cobblestoned streets of Flamingo Row. It was supposed to be a pedestrian haven, allowing shoppers to roam freely and safely in and out of stores.

Something about the man standing on the sidewalk was familiar. He fitted his blue jeans nicely, though they were faded, ripped and soiled in a few spots. He was well over six feet with a narrow waist and a tight high butt. His T-shirt, though relatively clean, adhered like a bandage across his broad chest and wide shoulders. The sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms. Aviator-style sunglasses, the kind in vogue, hid his eyes.

He must have noticed her staring because he inclined his head but did not smile.

“Glad you made it home safely from church,” he said. “My great-grandmother, Belle Carter, sends your grandmother her regards.”

It was Derek Morse, a completely different-looking man than the one who’d been to church yesterday in his professional gray suit. He’d been the one who’d helped Gran into her car.

“What are you doing here?” Joya asked, aware her voice sounded a little too high. She’d almost forgotten about Chet, who stood checking them out but for once wasn’t running his mouth. That would come later.

“Working,” Derek answered.

“Working?” Joya repeated.

“I told you we were under construction,” Chet broke in. “Derek is crew boss or something like that. If you convince your granny to fix Joya’s Quilts he’d be the man to see. Him or the contractor, Preston Shore.”

Joya would never have guessed the guy she’d met yesterday, who was now staring at the departing SUV, worked with his hands.

There was an awkward silence, finally broken by Chet. “Joya, Harley and I are thinking of going to Quills and getting coffee. Would you like a cup?”

Quills was the old diner on the corner. It had recently been turned into a combination stationery and bookstore. There was a little café in the back.

“Yes, please. Let me get you money.”

“Our treat. How do you take it?”

Joya told Chet that she liked it light and sweet. She hurried back into the store to find LaTisha and Deborah’s numbers. While she called LaTisha she rehearsed her sales pitch. Granny J needed to take full advantage of those loans. It would increase her property value if she made the place look good. But Granny J was from the old school, and believed that if you couldn’t pay for something with your own cash you didn’t need it.

Neither woman picked up, so Joya left messages. She was on her own, not that there was a large crowd queuing up to be waited on.

Her first customer, a freckle-faced tourist in a straw hat with flowers and two toddlers clinging to the sides of her skirt, finally sauntered in around quarter to ten. The little boy, his mop of red curly hair sticking straight up, was sucking his thumb. The little girl grabbing onto the other side of her mother’s skirt lapped at an orange Popsicle. Joya shuddered. She was an accident waiting to happen.

“Can I help you?” Joya asked, trying to smile pleasantly at the woman.

“Just browsing.” The woman made a slow circle of the outer room, stopping to poke at the occasional quilt or pillow.

It would be easier on her anxiety level just to let them roam around. Curiosity, and the desire to take her mind off the potential accident, caused Joya to pick up the small notebook where Granny J recorded the daily sales. She flipped through several pages and found nothing. At least nothing recorded for almost a week. Could Granny J be getting senile or simply losing it? She’d always been meticulous about writing down even the smallest sale, whether it was quilting thread or the materials she sometimes sold for quilt-making.

Harley returned with her coffee just then, and Joya put aside the notebook to look at later. Chet returned to the flower shop; having done his duty he wanted no part of her.

They’d butted heads a time or two, once when Joya had parked in front of their store. She’d only meant to run in to Joya’s for a minute or so, but then she’d ended up helping Granny J with something or another. Chet had come out of his shop and loudly pointed out that this was a pedestrian-friendly street, yet it was ironic that he and his partner had done exactly the same thing this morning. It was always one thing or another. What was good for the goose was not good for the gander.

The mother and her two kids left, promising to return after a trip to the ATM. A few locals came in, browsed and departed. More tourists trickled in, but it was already late morning and so far not one sale.

Close to eleven o’clock, LaTisha skated in, sputtering apologies.

“Where’s Granny J?” she asked, looking around the room as if she expected the old lady to materialize from a corner. Realizing that it was Joya she had to deal with, she smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I had a flat tire. Ed at the service station couldn’t get to it until now.”

Joya glanced at her watch pointedly, “And you couldn’t call? I left a message on your answering machine when you didn’t show up when you were supposed to.”

“Granny J doesn’t have a problem with me being late,” LaTisha said rudely.

“But I do, especially when I don’t know what’s going on. By the way, Granny J’s not going to be in for a while. She’s in the hospital. When she’s released she’ll need time at home to recuperate.”

“But she was fine the last time I saw her.”

Not, How is she? What can I do to help? Nothing.

“I’ll need your help rearranging a few items,” Joya said, changing the topic. She picked up some quilts from the bed and draped them on a divan that, wonder of wonders, held nothing.

“I’ll help you as soon as I get back from getting coffee.”

“I need help now. Where’s Deborah? Has she been in touch with you?”

“I don’t keep track of her comings and goings,” LaTisha answered sulkily. She accepted the quilts Joya handed her and stomped off.

Joya was suddenly conscious of the man hovering at the front entrance. His energy was electric. It reached out and zapped her. Derek Morse stood at the doorway taking in the scene, aviator glasses still shading his eyes.

“Was there something you wanted?” Joya asked.

LaTisha did an amazing turn about when she spotted Derek. With a smile a mile wide, and rolling her hips she headed his way.

“Can I help you find something?”

Derek smiled vaguely at LaTisha as he entered the store. “Do you have a minute to talk?” He asked Joya, dipping his head at the saleswoman who looked as if she might hand him her panties any minute. “Privately.”

Joya led him into the back room where the quilt guild met. She closed the door so LaTisha would not overhear them.

“Have a seat,” she said, waving Derek toward one of the straight-back chairs that suddenly seemed ridiculously small. “What is it you want to talk to me about?”

Derek removed his sunglasses and set them down on the table. He sat, legs apart, blue jeans molding themselves over a bulge that Joya had no business gaping at. She suddenly wished for air-conditioning, something a heck of a lot cooler than the ocean breeze that floated through the open windows.

“I’d like you to speak with your grandmother,” Derek said.

“About what?”

“Renovating the store. My crew’s working on the florist’s shop and the wine and cheese place to the right. This is the center store. If everyone surrounding her has a restored facade and updated interiors, Joya’s is really going to look dated and worn.”

While Joya didn’t care for how he put it, he made a good point.

“My grandmother’s a very stubborn woman,” she said. “Part of the problem is she doesn’t like owing anyone for anything.”

“My great-grandmother is much the same. These ladies come from a different time. They didn’t grow up with credit cards or equity lines they could dip into. I’m saying this because I don’t want to see her lose out, especially when the bank is practically giving money away. Improving the store will increase the property value, and a refurbished exterior and interior will bring in a spending crowd.”

Regardless of whether he was sincere, or simply out to feather his own nest, Derek made sense. And he didn’t sound like any construction worker she knew. Not that Joya knew many. He’d presented his case in a well-thought-out and articulate manner. What he said was worth considering.

“I’ll talk to Granny J after she gets out of the hospital,” Joya agreed. “And we’ll get back to you.”

Derek rose, towering above her. He smelled clean, like soap, surprising because ripping out drywall, hauling debris and pounding nails usually made you sweat.

The phone rang, and Joya was glad to escape to get it. Something about being this close to Derek made her feel flushed and scatterbrained. She felt as if she’d been running a mile and couldn’t catch her breath.

He waved at her and said over his shoulder, “Let me know what you and your granny decide.”

Joya picked up the receiver of the old-fashioned phone.

“Hello.”

“You left a message.”

“Who is this?”

“Deborah.”

The other saleswoman.

“Shouldn’t you be here?” Joya asked.

“I don’t feel well.”

“And you’re calling at this hour?”

There was a pause on the other end, then, “I’ll be in tomorrow, if I feel better. It’s payday and you owe me for the two weeks before.”

Joya hung up, wondering how long these two had been getting away with murder. She couldn’t imagine why Granny J would keep two losers like these on her payroll.

And then she remembered the woman’s words. Granny J owed her for the two weeks before.

Perhaps it was time to take a closer look at her grandmother’s books.