FORTY-FOUR
“NORTH,” I SAID AND lay the gem on the table. “I think.”
I reached into the little bag and produced the other one.
“And East,” it also went on the table. “I think.”
Debbie looked at me from across the table, rolled her eyes and switched the two around, robbing me of some of the drama.
“Naturally,” I told the group sitting around the table this started at a week ago—Tom Bannon, David and Irene Glassberg, Debbie Feinstein—“the South Stone is already back in Abu Dhabi, with Debbie’s new friend.”
“Yes, uhm, they have it back in storage,” Debbie confirmed and swiped a strand of hair behind an ear. “I’ve filled them in about that already.”
Brictric didn’t really care about the stone they didn’t insure, but at least some sort of symmetry would be restored in my head knowing that
