Down and Out in Flamingo Beach by Marcia King-Gamble Page B

a sandwich in the other. This reminded Joya that she still hadn’t eaten. She placed the merchandise on the table and stood, debating whether to say anything to him.
    Chet Rabinowitz, who’d probably had his nose pressed against the window watching all the action, came out of his flower shop and ambled up the walkway.
    â€œI was just about to call the police,” he said. “What’s going on?”
    â€œI had to fire the two women and they’re angry,” Joya said.
    â€œYou fired the part-timer, too?”
    Joya didn’t know there was a part-timer and said so.
    â€œWhat part-timer?”
    â€œPortia Cortez, she’s a nice girl. She attends the community college and works on weekends or whenever the shop gets busy.”
    Joya made a mental note to call this Portia Cortez and see what her schedule was like. With the two women off the payroll, and scheduling sales help only in a pinch, maybe Joya’s Quilts could start making some money.
    â€œAbout time you had a sale and moved some of your old merchandise,” Chet groused, mounting the steps and beginning to sort through the merchandise. “I need something for my guest room, but it has to be the right shade of green.”
    â€œIf you find anything, let me know,” Joya said magnanimously, “And I’ll reduce it another twenty percent.”
    â€œThat’s an offer I’d be stupid to refuse.” Chet unfolded a version of the Diamond Strip and shook out the quilt. He scrutinized it carefully. “This one has my name on it.”
    â€œGood choice,” Joya said, tracing the outlines of the diamond-shaped pattern. “In African textile tradition the diamond symbolizes the cycles of life. Each point represents a crucial stage. Birth, life, death, rebirth, you know, all the passages of life.”
    Granny J had taught Joya everything she knew about the history of quilting. Chet’s eyebrows were up to his hairline. He seemed surprised by her knowledge. It was time to bury the hatchet with him, Joya decided. Better to have him on her side than not. With a mouth like Chet’s and a powerful father like Mayor Solomon Rabinowitz, he could make things mighty uncomfortable for Gran, even though he professed to like the old lady.
    â€œI’m off to get my checkbook,” Chet said, handing Joya back the quilt and starting down the steps. “Hey, you beautiful man,” he called to Derek, “Didn’t you say you needed a gift for your great-grandmother’s birthday? Now might be the time to get it. Joya’s is having a sale.” To Joya he said in a loud whisper, “You will extend to him the same courtesy you did me? The additional twenty percent? He got rid of those two nasty bitches for you.”
    â€œSure.”
    Derek Morse tossed the remainder of his half-eaten sandwich in a nearby trash can. Standing, he wiped his palms on the legs of his soiled and ripped jeans and reluctantly sauntered up the walkway, stopping to do one of those shoulder bumps men do with each other.
    He and Chet were as different as night and day. Chet was average height and lean, with a pointy face that reminded Joya of a fox. Derek, on the other hand, was at least six foot two with wide shoulders, a narrow waist and long legs. He was the kind of man that ate up your breathing space and made you think of sex. Standing next to him made her nervous and made her forget what she was going to say.
    Derek was now on the veranda and standing very close to her, and even though Joya was wearing her signature high heels he made her feel like a midget.
    â€œWhat have we here?” Derek said, fingering a version of the Log Cabin pattern. Joya hoped his hands were clean. The quilt was yellowing with age anyway but she didn’t need grease on it. She was being mean-spirited, she decided. The man had just gotten rid of two women making a scene out front of the establishment. She could be more