The day was almost idyllic. We’d been walking on one of the prettiest beaches in the world, Siesta Key in Sarasota, Florida. The sun glided the water, the wind blew our hair back as my husband and I held hands and traversed the gritty sand beneath our feet. If this wasn’t perfect enough, my best friend of over forty years and her husband strolled beside us, having come from up North’s snowy cold to our condo to spend some time with us. We were all laughing and celebrating the wonderful day and our chance to be together.

After our walk, we found our rented car in the parking lot, got in and drove to a nearby Superstore to buy some lawn chairs and an umbrella to sit on our beach five miles down the key. My husband opened the trunk to get his wallet.  After scrounging around, he asked if I’d taken it out of the trunk when my friend put in her purse. No, I hadn’t. He told my friend to check her purse for her own wallet. It only took a minute to realize we’d been robbed. Both wallets were missing. As we drove back to our condo to make the requisite calls, we deduced that the thieves must have seen my husband and friend store their valuables in the trunk before we walked. They’d probably jimmied the lock through the window and popped the trunk.  We were all somber on the way back, both of them calling on cell phones to see if there were any changes on the myriad of credit cards in their wallets. I was thinking about the time I lost my computer down here—literally, the trunk popped and it flew out. We didn’t even realize it had fallen for miles. That time I vowed I wouldn’t let fate ruin my vacation here. I mentioned the same thing to them, but it was too soon. They were calm, sober really, but I could tell they were angry, too. As we drove home, they put blocks on some of their cards, but would spend the rest of the day, we knew, taking care of this. No beach today, and the invasion of privacy, the feeling of vulnerability cast a pall over all of us.

A Sarasota police officer showed up shortly after we reported the incident. He was young, professional and thorough as he took our statements. (He was also attractive, my romance novel side noticed. Love those cop heroes.) During the interview, his phone buzzed. A thought went through my head. Someone is calling to tell him they found our wallets.  But he didn’t answer, finished his report then headed outside to dust for fingerprints on the car.  He returned quickly.  He had indeed gotten a phone call. They’ve found your wallets, he said simply. In the men’s room at the park. Someone’s bringing them down.

Wow, how had I known that? On occasion I’ve had snippets of ESP—knowing what someone else was going to say, and yes, having the phone ring and it was who I thought was calling. But this was a bit more specific, dramatic, really.

In any case, another nice, young, handsome cop brought the wallets to us. Ironically, he told us he grew up in the same town we’re from in upstate New York. And the wallets: full of all the cards, the checks, the photo ID my husband and friend both need to fly back home. Everything was there! In a twist of fate, neither had had cash in the wallets.

I thought, well, at least the thieves left the wallets for us when they found no cash, instead of destroying them. My husband, and the cop, contended they may have been caught in the bathroom by someone and ditched the incriminating goods.  I’m going to stick with my altruistic story, though. Call me a writer, I guess. I like a happy ending and good guys, even thieves, who have some sense of decency. In any case, we all had our HEA—happily-ever-after that day. And the sun shone brightly again.

Will you see this event in a book someday? I bet you do. It’s too good to pass up. Now let me see, who were the thieves…maybe a man desperate for money to buy his family food….and it could be the heroine’s car…