Free The Cruel Ever After by Ellen Hart Page A

walked up to check it out. I could only see it through the windows, but it seemed nice. If nobody lives up there, could I rent it from you? Just for a few days.”
    “I haven’t used that space in years.” She didn’t need the money anymore, but mostly she didn’t rent it because she’d had some bad experiences with renters.
    “I can’t pay you much,” he said.
    “I don’t want your money. Why don’t you just stay in the guest bedroom?”
    “Is there any furniture up there? A bed? A couch?”
    “Sure, it’s completely furnished.”
    “But I’ll bet the dust is an inch thick.”
    “I have my cleaning woman give it a once-over every couple of months.”
    “Clean sheets on the bed?”
    “It’s a single bed. Not as comfortable as the double in the guest bedroom.”
    “You know me. I like my privacy. I won’t be around long. I have a business deal pending that requires me to be in the Twin Cities for another few days, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
    She eased down next to him. He smelled nice, like he’d just showered, shaved, and splashed himself with cologne. He didn’t have any of his bags last night, but tonight a rolling leather suitcase sat in the grass. He must have gone back to “Robert’s” house to get it. He’d also changed into a pair of tan canvas drawstring slacks, leather sandals, and a black linen shirt.
    “Of course you can stay.”
    He leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek. “You’re the best.”
    “I don’t know about that.”
    “I have something for you. I wanted to give it to you right away, but I didn’t want you to think of it as a bribe.”
    “You don’t need to give me anything.”
    “It’s not about need, it’s about want.” He dug into the pocket of his slacks, took out a small, square box, and handed it to her.
    Inside she found a ring. “Chess, no. This looks expensive.”
    “It’s a Roman snake ring from the second century.”
    “It’s too much.”
    “I wore it for a while. Now I’m passing it on to you. It’s just stuff, Jane. Old stuff, for sure, but stuff nonetheless. Nobody really owns something like this. It just gets passed around. Besides, I like giving people beautiful things.”
    She tried it on each of her fingers until she found the one that the ring fit perfectly—the index finger of her right hand. “What’s it made of?”
    “Gold.”
    She pulled it off. “I can’t take this.”
    “Of course you can. You may not know this, but in Turkey, people celebrate special occasions by giving gold as a gift. Turks love gold. Not because they like to show off but because it’s something tangible; it keeps its value in a world where currency fluctuates. This particular ring is worth around two thousand, give or take. In a good year, I sell hundreds of rings like this, and much more besides. I’m hoping to make a big profit from the sale of a piece of Mesopotamian art, but I always travel with jewelry to sell. It’s what I do. Giving you a ring isn’t much different from you treating me to lunch at your restaurant.”
    “There’s a huge difference.”
    “Do you like it?”
    She was touched that he wanted her to have it. “I love it.”
    “Good. I want you to wear it. Something you’ll always have to remember me by.”

9
    The next morning, just after sunup, Chess crept down the long outside stairway and slipped quietly into a waiting cab. He was carrying an orthopedic cane and wearing a snap-brim cap over a gray wig. He also wore the four heavy crew-neck sweaters he’d bought yesterday and an oversized sport coat. The clothing made him look a good thirty pounds heavier. The gray mustache and dark glasses put the finishing touches on an image he hoped would fool anyone watching the Hyatt Regency in downtown Minneapolis.
    Having lived in the Middle East for most of his adult life, Chess experienced a jolt of culture shock as the cabby whisked him through the early morning streets. It seemed odd that there were no mosques, no