Read The Reckoning Stones: A Novel of Suspense for Free Online Page B

reluctantly.
    “Jack Weston called again this morning to ask about the ring,” Jane said, sounding carefully non-accusatory. Weston had inherited millions in lumber money and parlayed it into more millions with a gourmet donut emporium he franchised across the northwest. Landing the design commission from him was the ticket to doubling or tripling Iris’s income, as Jane had pointed out more than once. “He’s getting antsy. His girlfriend leaves for her Doctors without Borders stint next week and he wants to propose before she goes.”
    “I know that!” Iris heard the sharpness in her voice and took a deep breath. “I know,” she said more moderately. “I’m working on it.” She fingered the 4.2-carat emerald she’d been staring at half the morning, tracing its smooth facets. The gem, with remarkably few inclusions and flaws for an emerald that size, glowed greeny-blue from her palm. Jack Weston’s beloved grandmother had given him the stone, set in a necklace, on her deathbed, and he’d kept it the twenty years since, waiting for the right woman to come along. Now almost fifty, he was ready to propose and he’d selected Iris to design an engagement ring setting worthy of the gem. It winked at her, having smugly rejected all her design efforts so far. She couldn’t blame the emerald—the designs had sucked.
    “Really?”
    Iris sat up straighter and winced, hearing something in Jane’s voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “I’m worried about you. Since you heard about—”
    “Not necessary. I’m fine.”
    The exaggerated silence from the other end of the line said Jane didn’t agree.
    “Really.” When Jane still didn’t respond, Iris said, “Look, I’ll have the ring done by close of business. All I’ve got to do is set the stone.” And hope that it doesn’t look like total crap.
    “Good.” Jane didn’t sound convinced, but Iris didn’t give her a chance to say any more, hanging up with a quick, “Gotta get back to work.”
    She folded her fingers around the emerald, wishing it would give her an inspiration as stones sometimes did. She wasn’t surprised when it remained inert. With a sigh, she laid it on the counter and retrieved the ring she’d already made, finished except for the rectangular setting. The wide gold band had tiny leaves of gold, rose gold and platinum layered across the top. It was a variation on a design she’d used before and, thus, unsatisfying, but she couldn’t make any new ideas work. She’d fashioned the gold frames for the setting yesterday, cut spacers, and soldered the two frames together. Now, she cut strips from a 22-gauge gold sheet, scored grooves down their centers and bent the metal inward to form the prongs. She sanded the edges smooth and gold filings drifted to the countertop. Becoming aware that she was wielding the file with anger rather than joy, she set the tool and the band on the counter and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. She hated feeling angry and frustrated with her materials. Part of her worried that her negative feelings would fuse with the metal and the gem. Silly . Superstitious nonsense. Taking a deep breath, she resumed filing more gently.
    Time unspooled in a taut ribbon of concentration and precision as she worked an intricate design along the base of the setting and soldered it carefully to the band. The bitter tang of heated metal filled the workroom. She was vaguely aware of hunger, but felt like she was almost in the zone for the first time in weeks and didn’t get up for fear of dispelling the moment. Trimming the prongs, she soldered them into position and then attached the setting to the band. Done. Taking a deep breath and swiping her hair back, she picked up the emerald and lowered it toward the setting. Her hands shook slightly—low blood sugar, she told herself. Even as her fingers drew away from the unsecured gem, she knew it didn’t work. The setting looked cumbersome; it obscured the pure