opened his eyes. Marge was coming down the stairs, barefoot. Tom sat up. She had his brown leather box in her hand. “I just found Dickie’s rings in here,” she said rather breathlessly. “Oh. He gave them to me. To take care of.” Tom stood up. “When?” “In Rome, I think.” He took a step back, struck one of his shoes and picked it up, mostly in an effort to seem calm. “What was he going to do? Why’d he give them to you?”
