Down And Out In Flamingo Beach. Marcia King-Gamble

      An hour later, Joya sat at the bar of the Pink Flamingo waiting for her friend Emilie Woodward to show up. Mojito in hand, she stared up at the ceiling of the thatched tiki bar. Pink flamingos of various sizes fluttered from above. They were both cute and tacky and at the very least made for a good conversational topic.

      Emilie was the Director of Leisure Sales for the Flamingo Beach Resort and Spa. She too lived in one of the condominiums at 411 Flamingo Place.

      Where the heck was Emilie? Joya remembered she was habitually late and always blamed it on her job. Clients were running behind or simply didn’t show up. Deals seemed to get screwed up at the last minute.

      Emilie was relatively new to town and had been glad to meet Joya, who was around the same age. Joya liked that Emilie had no preconceived notions about her. Her friends in Flamingo Beach were pitifully few. Most had sided with Quen when the marriage had ended because they felt he’d got the crappy end of the deal. He was still paying her alimony.

      While Joya sipped on her mojito she thought about how she and Emilie had met. Both of them had been huffing and puffing on a treadmill when they’d struck up a conversation. They’d found out they were both single and living in the same building. Hooking up seemed the obvious thing to do.

      Conversation came easily. Who better to commiserate with about the poor pickings on the beach than another single woman? Joya had given up on finding the kind of man she was looking for in Flamingo Beach. It was only a matter of time before she’d have to return to Los Angeles and her flight attendant’s job. Her leave of absence couldn’t go on forever.

      “Sorry I’m late,” Emilie said, rushing in, wearing a dress with a plunging neckline and wide skirt. Green ferns were splashed across the beige material and matched her open-toed mules.

      Several men swiveled on their stools to see who’d arrived. Emily’s long red hair was pulled off her face and held back by beige combs. Physically, she and Joya were complete opposites. Whereas Emilie was tall, Joya was petite. Emilie was also so light-skinned that she was often mistaken for white. She had enormous boobs, swimmer’s shoulders and the kind of face few people forgot.

      She could have been a cover model for a men’s magazine; she knew exactly the effect she had on men and made it work for her. She’d been living with a lawyer in South Jersey, hoping to marry him. But he’d left for work one day then forgotten to come home. Emilie later learned he’d moved in with one of his paralegals.

      Skirt rustling, Emilie swung herself onto the vacant stool Joya had been saving. Joya couldn’t help feeling underdressed and like Plain Jane next to her. Joya had barely made it back to the condo to take a quick shower and toss on a denim mini-skirt and spaghetti-strap shirt. Thank goodness she’d worn her signature high heels or she would have been a total frump.

      “A cosmopolitan, please” Emilie said, smiling at the bartender before turning her attention back to Joya. “What’s new with you, hon? How’s your grandmother?”

      Earlier, Joya had told Emilie about Granny J being hospitalized. Now she told her what Dr. Benjamin had said.

      “Let’s hope it’s nothing serious. Doc is very good at what he does and I quite like him. He recommended me to friends. They’ve since bought time shares.”

      “I heard he had a girlfriend,” Joya ventured.

      Emilie looked at Joya through shuttered green eyes. “It’s a long-distance thing I hear. I don’t think the doctor wants a woman underfoot 24/7.”

      “What’s with Derek Morse?” Joya asked before she could stop herself.

      “Not sure I know him.”

      “He’s a construction worker. Doesn’t everyone know everyone in this town?”

      “Not me. I’m new, but if he’s hot I’d like to meet him.”

      “He’s hot in an obvious way.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Most women would probably think Derek rocked.

      “Maybe I need to be introduced to this Derek Morse,” Emilie said loudly.

      A deep male voice came from behind them, making both women turn.

      “Anything you ladies want to know about Derek Morse you can always ask me.”

      A hulk of a man wreathed in gold chains was almost on top of them. Not waiting for an invitation to enter the conversation—he just spoke up.

      Joya was mortified at having been caught talking about Derek. She quickly recovered and smiled animatedly at the stranger.

      “I’m thinking about having Derek Morse do some work for me. What do you know about him?” she asked.

      “In that case you’ll be wanting to speak with Preston Shore. He’s the contractor Derek works for and my old partner. I sold my part of the firm to him. I’m Vince by the way.”

      He stuck out a large paw and the women shook it.

      “I think I’ll join you,” Vince said sliding onto the vacant seat next to Emilie. “You look thirsty, ladies, let me buy you a drink.”

      “This one is about all I can handle,” Joya said after thanking him.

      “I’ll have another.” Emilie pointed to her half-empty glass. Joya wondered why she was being so accommodating. She probably saw client potential in Vince.

      Vince signaled to the bartender to bring a refresher. “Still interested in hearing about Derek?” he asked.

      Just the sound of the construction worker’s name created a warming effect. It must be the drink.

      “Of course I am,” Emilie said, leaning in close to Vince and batting her eyelashes.

      “Well, he’s only been back in town a couple of months. We think he lost his job in Chicago. He moved in with his great-grandmother Belle Carter.”

      “His great-grandmother?” Emilie scrunched up her nose. “What grown man lives with his great-grandmother?”

      Vince sucked on his lower lip. “Derek’s somewhere around thirty-five. He and Belle have always been close. She owns an old run-down house set back a bit from the boardwalk. There’s plenty of room so that they don’t interfere with each other.”

      Joya listened carefully as Vince spoke until two businessmen strolled into the bar wearing expensive suits and power ties. She found her attention wandering.

      “Derek’s one of these guys who doesn’t stay with a job for any length of time,” Vince added.

      Joya’s attention shifted to the businessmen who’d found a seat. She’d heard enough to confirm that Derek Morse was an irresponsible drifter.

      Not that that came as a big surprise.