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

word.
    â€œI have to get to the quilt shop,” she jabbered, picking up her car keys and purse from the kitchen counter where she’d left them. “That was Chet Rabinowitz. He’s working late at the flower shop. Someone might have broken into the store.”
    â€œI’ll drive you,” Derek Morse said calmly, taking Joya by the elbow.
    Joya didn’t consider fighting him. This was one time she needed support, and having a solid presence like Derek while she dealt with the police and filled out paperwork would be welcome.
    â€œI’d really appreciate that,” Joya said, meaning it, as, accompanied by Derek, she raced for the door.
    She didn’t protest when Derek suggested they take his pickup truck. She simply slid into the front seat and they roared off, breaking every speed limit there was in Flamingo Beach.
    Flamingo Row was humming with activity when they pulled up. The town’s two police cars were parked outside the quilt shop where a small group of people were gathered, amongst them Harley Mancini and Chet Rabinowitz. An eager young reporter wearing a Southern Tribune polo shirt stood on the sidewalk accosting anyone he could.
    Forgetting the man who had brought her here, Joya leapt from the vehicle and pushed her way through the people gathered. She ignored the hands tugging on her clothes and the questions being thrown at her from the crowd. Right now the only people she would talk to were the police.
    Greg Santana, whom Joya had gone to high school with, was in the middle of taking a statement from a shop-owner when Joya interrupted him.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Joya asked, planting herself in front of Greg.
    â€œYour burglar alarm went off. No one answered when the security company called to check on you. So here we are.”
    â€œThey must have Gran’s home phone number. She’s in the hospital so there’s no way they would reach her,” Joya said out loud, resolving to call the security company and give them her cell number once this mess was sorted out.
    â€œFind out anything?” Derek asked Greg. Joya had almost forgotten about him. And here he was asking the kinds of questions she should be asking.
    Greg pointed his flashlight in the direction of a broken window. “See over there? Someone hurled a rock through the window and that in turn set off the alarm. Of course, by the time we got here there was no one in sight.”
    â€œHave you spoken to Chet?” Joya asked. “He called me with the news, mentioning he was working late at the flower shop. Maybe he saw something.”
    â€œWe’ve spoken to both owners. Lionel and I have walked around the property and up and down the row several times. No one claims to have seen anything.”
    â€œThat’s strange.” This came from Derek. “No one misses a thing in Flamingo Beach.”
    â€œLionel and I aren’t worried. We’ll get a lead. Someone will talk. You must have keys to the shop, Joya. Let’s go in and take a look around.”
    Joya rummaged through her purse and found the keys to the quilt shop. Greg, taking charge, cleared a path so that she and Derek could follow him.
    As she mounted the steps and climbed onto the front porch, she remained hopeful that other than the broken window there’d been no further damage. Greg and Derek flanked her as she turned the knob on the front door. It was still locked and she exhaled a breath.
    â€œNo signs of forced entry,” Greg said, shining his flashlight on the door’s surface.
    Joya inserted her key and after several tries the lock yielded. She was about to step inside when Derek moved her firmly out of the way.
    â€œLet us go first. Coming?” he said to Greg.
    Greg puffed himself up and Joya saw a power play coming. She stood aside and the two men preceded her in.
    The showroom and working area looked just as they had when she had left, nothing visibly out of place. Joya