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
