When the Day of Evil Comes by Melanie Wells

looked up at me. “I don’t understand.”
    “Neither do I. It was returned to me recently.”
    “Are you sure it’s the same ring?”
    “I spoke with the jeweler that made it. It’s the same one.”
    “Was someone trying to sell it back to you?” he asked.
    “No. It was, boxed and wrapped. Someone clearly wanted me to have it back.”
    I waited for the news to settle.
    “We had one incident,” he said, rising from his chair and leaving the room. He came back with a file a few minutes later, saying “It must have been twenty years ago. A woman had been buried with a piece of jewelry, I think it was a pin or something, and someone later tried to sell it back to the family.” He thumbed through the file until he found what he wanted and returned to the desk reading a newspaper clipping.
    “Shirley Jean Lucas. It was a ruby and diamond brooch. Very valuable. It had been on the Titanic with her or something. Some big deal. There was a newspaper article about her and the pin before she died.” He scanned the article. “They caught the guy Juan Ramon Rodriguez. An illegal immigrant that had gotten a job digging graves at the cemetery. They determined he’d pried open the casket before closing the grave.”
    “So it is possible,” I said. “Someone might have stolen it out of the casket at some point.”
    “It’s possible. It’s very rare, but it does happen.”
    “Who would have opportunity other than the grave digger?”
    “The mortician,” he said, “who in this case was my father. I think we can safely rule him out. Possibly the driver of the hearse. Usually there are two or three people from the funeral home staff on duty at a funeral, including the mortician. Probably in March of that year it would have been Everett Reed and Buddy Harriman.” He reached for my mother’s file and scanned the pages.
    “Yep. They were both there.” He looked up at me. “They were with my father for years. They both retired when he died.”
    “Do you think either of them would have done it?”
    He shook his head. “Absolutely not. These were reliable men, longtime associates of my father’s. There are firm ethics in this business, obviously. Believe me, even in a small town shop like ours, there’s ample opportunity to steal. There’s a fortune in jewelry planted in the ground out there south of town. You have to have people working with you that you can trust. And besides, if that were going on, something would have come out over the years.”
    “But who would know if anyone was stealing? Once they’re buried, no one would know.”
    “True, but I’ve known these men all my life. Trust me, they’re not the type. It’s possible a grave digger or someone could have done it.”
    “And how could I find out who the grave digger was?”
    “You could talk to-Stan Harland over at the cemetery, but chances are you’re on a wild goose chase. Nobody exactly chooses grave digging as a career, you know? Those folks are hourly wage workers who come and go. It takes half an hour to train them to operate the backhoe and they’re hired. Know what I mean? Could have been anyone.”
    “So there’s not an answer.”
    “No. There isn’t. I’m really sorry.”
    There was an awkward moment of silence.
    “You’re not going to sue me are you?” he said, only half joking.
    This time I was the one that laughed. “No. Definitely not. I’m not the litigious type. Besides, what would be the point? I have the ring.”
    “Would you like us to reinter?”
    “You mean bury it again?”
    He nodded. “I thought I’d offer.”
    “No. I think this ring wants to be with me. Maybe I’ll fill you in on the rest of the story sometime.”
    “I’ve got time now. Want to go get a cherry soda?”
    “You’re kidding. A cherry soda?”
    “At the drug store. They have a real pharmacy soda fountain there. Make a mean cherry soda. It’s too early for beer or I’d take you dancing.”
    “How old are you?” I asked. We’d just