I thought about the ring. About that one shameful second when I imagined keeping it. I thought maybe somebody had seen me hesitate. Maybe the woman thought I’d stolen something. Maybe the store had cameras.
I went to the door. I didn’t open it. I made sure the chain was on.
“Can I help you?” I said through the door.
“Mrs. Whitfield?” A man’s voice. Deep. Polite. A little out of breath.
“Who’s asking?”
“My name is David Reyes. I’m an attorney.” A pause. “Are you the woman whose granddaughter found a diamond ring yesterday? At the Walmart on Route 50?”
My stomach went cold.
“Yes,” I said. “Why?”
There was a long silence.
Through the gap in the curtain, I saw him glance back toward the black SUV. Then he turned back to the door. He leaned closer. He lowered his voice.
“Ma’am,” he said. “I need you to see something. Immediately.”
