Page 69 of Five Stolen Rings

“Here’s what I was thinking,” he say. He sits up now and leans closer, keeping his voice low—even though we’re literally the only living creatures in this apartment.

Does he ever get lonely?

“You should get a pet,” I say, which is fully off-topic, but whatever. “A cat, maybe. Like the one you had growing up. Chutney.”

He stares at me for a second, his dark eyes wide, and then he smiles. It’s another one of those bone-melting smiles, small and sweet but secretive, like he understands something I don’t.

“What’s that?” I say, pointing at his mouth. “What’s that expression for?”

He shakes his head and resumes his serious face. “Nothing,” he says, looking back at the box. He clears his throat. “Sorry. Nothing. Stop distracting me.” Then he jerks his chin at the box. “So here’s my plan. I replace the real rings with fake rings and then put them back in her house. That way I have the real rings, and she never knows.”

My stomach is still flip-flopping from that smile, but I force myself to think through his idea. Then I frown. “That wouldn’t work. You don’t have time. She’s coming backtomorrow, Jack.”

“I already have some of the fakes,” he says, reaching for the box. “Look.” He unclasps it and then gently eases it open, revealing a red velvet cushion in which are displayed five rings. My breath catches in spite of myself; I’m not a fancy jewelry person, but I can tell how nice they are. Gold, one inlaid with diamonds, another with one giant emerald, some thin bands, some thick—they’re gorgeous.

Well—I amend that thought as my eyes find two particular rings—mostof them are gorgeous.

“Is that—” I reach for the rings on the far left. “Are thosemoodrings?”

“Yep,” he says, completely unconcerned. “From a cereal box.”

“You can’t replace these with cheap fake stuff,” I say incredulously. “She’ll obviously know.”

“You have no faith in me,” he says. He leans closer to me, and when he speaks, he’s back to that low, conspiratorial tone. “I’m not stupid, Princess. So here’s what I’m thinking. This box had dust on it. All right? It was dusty, tucked awayin the top of her closet. There’s another painting in there, by the way.”

“Ew,” I say, my nose wrinkling. I didn’t go in her closet—and now I never will.

“Yeah,” he says, his lips quirking briefly before he starts talking again. “So here’s my plan. Return the box withhigh qualityfakes. I’ll keep the real ones. She’ll never know, in part because she never takes this box out.”

“I’m sorry,” I say with a shake of my head. “I still can’t get past the mental image of you rummaging around in your stepmother’s closet.”

“It’s not my fondest memory,” he says impatiently, “but can you please focus?”

I sigh, folding my arms. They’re warm and cushiony because of the giant sweatshirt I’m still wearing; in fact, all of me is very soft and comfortable right now. “So what about the mood rings?” I say. “You’re not going to put those in there?”

“Nah,” he says, waving this away. “I was joking. I just have them there as placeholders.”

“If you did this,” I say slowly, “you would be running a decent risk. Because what—are you going to return the box empty for now, and then sneak back in and put the high quality fakes in at a later date? Or would you just keep the entire box and all the rings until you’ve got the fakes? Either way, if she looked at them or looked for the box before you replaced it, she’d know something was wrong.” I lean forward and let my forehead flop onto the table. “Ugh, Jack, I am not a strategic thinker about this stuff. How do criminals figure out heists? Isn’t that hard to plan?”

He huffs a laugh from next to me, and I sit up again.

“All right,” I say. “I can grudgingly admit that your planmight work—might—if you got the fakes in before she noticed the real rings were gone.”

Jack nods, looking satisfied.

“However,” I add, my voice severe now. “If she realizes the rings are gone?—”

“I’m not going to let you take the fall,” he says, rolling his eyes. “If she finds out, I’ll own up to everything.”

I look at him for a moment, biting my lip. Then, finally, I make myself speak. “Have you considered just…not doing this?” I say, my voice soft. “You could legitimately get in a lot of trouble for this, Jack. You’re a doctor. You have a life.”

And I know I’m not imagining the hesitation I see flash through his eyes—a brief moment of doubt, vacillation.

“Because you could talk to a lawyer,” I go on. “You could even just ask what your options are.”

That doubt intensifies; I can see it in the twitch of his jaw, in the furrow of his dark brows. His eyes are on me, but his mind is far away.

When he finally speaks, his voice breaks. “Mymother’s rings,Stella,” he says, and the way his shoulders sag makes me want to hug him.

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