Shifter's Wish (Fight or Flight Book 1) by Louise Cypress

Author:Louise Cypress [Cypress, Louise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

I left the Thunderbird at home because where I was headed it would attract unwanted attention. The Kia Rio was gutless compared to the T-Bird’s muscles, but its better gas mileage made the hour-long drive down to the flea market in National City more affordable. Statics called it a “swap meet” or if they spoke Spanish “las pulgas.” Every weekend, without fail, Granddad was at his booth moving merchandise.

When I’d been a child and Mom had had to work, Dory and I would sometimes go with Granddad, help him sort the unwanted junk he’d acquired at estate sales, and play with old toys that he hadn’t sold yet. But usually Grandma or Uncle Gabriel would watch us on weekends because the long days Granddad put in at the swap meet could be boring for little kids.

Even though it was 3 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon, I knew Granddad would be at his booth for at least another two hours. He wouldn’t leave until he’d sold everything possible. Storing unsold merchandise was a hassle, and the last thirty minutes of a swap meet were when Granddad was most willing to cut a deal. He’d put unsold goods into his warehouse for storage if he had to, but his goal was always to sell out. More than anything, Granddad loved a clean table.

I parked my Rio in a faraway space in the lot, next to cars that sported license plates from California, Arizona, and Baja. This swap meet’s close proximity to the Mexican border meant that loads of people from Tijuana shopped here for deals. But it also attracted bargain hunters from Arizona.

The familiar sights and sounds of the flea market assaulted me as I wove my way through the booths. There were antique dealers with pump organs and sets of unwanted china. There were booths selling hot tubs and giving away free bottles of water to people who’d sign up on an email list. There were tables with hand-sewn heating packs made out of rice and lavender. Some booths were like Granddad and sold a variety of items, but none had the flair that Granddad’s area did. When you came to Granddad’s section you knew you’d arrived at something different.

Granddad’s territory stretched across three booths and included everything from mink furs to mountain bikes. A brightly colored awning in red, white, and blue pulled the area together and gave it a patriotic look. CASH ONLY was written on the big sign that hung in the middle, right above the vintage cash register. Granddad didn’t accept credit cards or checks, but he did give receipts. The carbon-copied receipt booklet was worth its weight in gold because the swap meet was so useful for laundering money.

“Hey, Granddad,” I said as I walked up to him. He stood behind a table of vintage cookware wearing slacks, a straw hat, and a short-sleeved shirt with a bolo tie. Granddad watched me approach, a huge smile on his face like he’d known I was coming. He probably had because there were Byrds everywhere.

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