It belonged to my mother.
She had worn it every day for twenty-three years. She slept in it, showered in it, even kneaded bread with it on. After she disappeared, we found her purse, clothes, and jewelry untouched at home.
Only the ring was gone.
Of course he remembered.
“You recognize it,” Jett whispered.
I nodded. Of course he remembered. I had shown its photograph to every coworker, begging them to tell me if they ever saw it.
My fingers closed around the bag.
The couple had possessed the one thing my mother still had when she vanished.
Whatever they had done to her, they knew where she was.
Jett unlocked his office and pulled up the security footage without another word.
“She didn’t even notice.”
We watched the couple finish their meal. At first, nothing seemed unusual beyond the man’s constant glances at his phone. Then the woman reached into her purse, searching for something. As she withdrew her hand, a small object caught briefly on the clasp.
