text: The warm breeze of early fall rustled through the amber-colored leaves urging them into flight for the very first time. The flight was more like a graceful descent, landing momentarily on the tops of children's heads only to be brushed off to continue their peaceful fall to the ground. They crunched and crackled underfoot as people wandered through the various tents and canopies, looking for some little piece of nostalgic antiquity. A portly fellow with thick round glasses was rummaging through different small chests and boxes on his table under a worn and frayed canopy that protected him from the leaves raining down. He almost knocked over a well-aged and olive-colored bronze statue of some Greek philosopher as he searched the last box in desperation. He stood up very straight and slowly looked around with suspicion lurking in his eyes. The leaves crunched rapidly as he moved through the crowd to the microphone that was set up close to the parking lot. “Ahh, excuse me,” he cleared his throat and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the mic. “I have discovered,” he continued as people turned to look at him and his round face began to turn red. “That I am missing a very old and valuable ring !” The crowd gasped but I did not. “So what are you saying, John?!?” A man shouted out as others nodded in agreement. John’s face was very flush now and moisture glistened on his forehead as he ran a hand through his hair. “I-I...” John started again. “I guess what I’m saying is that someone stole my ring!” There were more gasps from the crowd and I studied each face as they whispered to each other. “Are you making accusations?!?” The same man, wearing a brown tweed suit, shouted out and I noticed his face was getting quite red. “Gentlemen!” I said very loudly as I stepped up to John. “I think it’s a little premature to start making accusations.” I looked at John and he cocked his head as he peered back. “And who are you?” John asked in a strained voice as he pointed at me and all heads turned to emphasize the inquiry. “Yeah!” Blurted the man wearing the tweed suit. “Who are you, mister? We’ve never seen you before!” The glaring eyes of the crowd cast a judgemental stare, and I felt like I was sinking into the ground as blood rushed up my neck. “Listen,” I said as I raised my hands, palms towards the crowd as if the physical gesture could ward off the oncoming onslaught of suspicion. “My name is Rodger Finnvick. I’m a retired police detective. And yes,” I shrugged my shoulders as my hands came down and forced a smile. “This is my first time at an antique roadshow. I’m looking for something special for my mother.” Some of the people in the crowd nodded and their stares subsided, but my explanation only fueled the shouting man's furious disposition. “Ha!” He replied. “I’ll bet you did find something special! Show us your pockets!” The majority of the crowd was not supportive of his accusations this time, and a young woman wearing very clean white gloves had eased her way forward. “Oh, Mark!” She looked at the man. “It seems pretty obvious that Detective Finnvick is simply trying to assist in locating the missing ring. And you,” she pointed a slender finger at Mark, “are trying to start a lynching mob! This is not the old west and the Detective is certainly not a horse thief! Can’t you detect that?!?” She forced a smile and wrinkles formed around her scrunched nose. “Would you care to show us your pockets?!?” He scowled at her as he slumped his shoulders and kicked leaves up while walking back to his tent filled with porcelain busts. She turned towards me and seemed to smile with her eyes as a spark of intensity flashed through them. “Detective,” she continued as her green eyes wandered over me, “you seem to be quite the gentleman.” She reached into her purse for a hand fan and pointed it toward Mark. “I’m very sorry about him , he can be a bit of a hothead.” Mark swatted his hand in the air and turned his back to the crowd with a grunt. “How,” she gazed up at me through thick lashes as she fanned herself, “do you suggest we find the missing ring?” I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Ma’am,” I nodded at the young woman and turned to John. “Tell us what the ring looks like. It’s quite possible that the ring is not stolen and simply got knocked onto the ground and is somewhere,” I gestured at the thick carpet of autumn leaves, ”under that.” John’s face was not so flush now and the crowd nodded in agreement as their eyes swept over the leaves. “Yes, yes of course,” stated John. “Thank you Detective for being so level-headed.” He shrugged as he continued. “The ring is very special to me. It’s made of 24-karat gold and has the Latin words ‘Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam’ engraved on the band. It was custom-made for a knight of the Templar and has been passed down for generations.” He paused to wipe his brow. “I am not a direct descendant but it was given to my father by someone who was, during the war,” he paused again to push his glasses up. “But that's another story.” I nodded and asked, “What does the Latin inscription mean?” “Right,” he replied. “It’s the mantra of the knights and means ‘Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but to thy name give the glory’.” He paused to scratch his chin. “It also has a cross on the top and there is a red ruby fixed in the center. The ruby is very well cut for the time, and certainly by a master craftsman.” “No doubt John,” I said as I walked towards his table. “It sounds like a very special piece indeed.” I squatted down to search through the leaves. “Did you show the ring to anyone? And if so, where were you standing at the time?” I looked up at him. He scratched his head. “Um, yes! Yes, I did.” He put the mic down and came over to me. “I was right here by my table with the ring in my hand.” He cupped his chubby chin with his pointer and thumb. “Hmm. I walked over here,” he walked to the table in the tent next to his own. “And I showed the ring to Martha.” He turned to look at an older and very proper woman as she stepped up to us. There was a little dark-haired boy trailing closely behind her. “Yes,” she said. “I was standing right here admiring the craftsmanship of the ring.” She touched John's shoulder. “And it truly is a fantastic piece, John.” He smiled wide revealing his crooked teeth. “Then,” she turned around. “I set the ring down on his table because he was talking with Mark and I thought they had seen me do it.” She looked at John and he nodded. “Yes I did see you out of the corner of my eye, but then,” he looked around and his eyes stopped on the little dark-haired boy behind Martha. “I was distracted by your grandson. He was running behind me.” John squatted down as low as he could and the fabric of his pants stretched almost to the breaking point. “Come here, boy.” He waved his hand at the boy. “Come talk to me.” The boy slid out from behind Martha’s skirt with his hands deep in his pockets and head hanging. “Ralphy,” Martha said. “Were you running around in here?” Ralphy nodded his head. “Didn’t I tell you ‘no running’?” The crowd moved a little closer as he looked up at her with glassy eyes. “Yeah.” His little voice was almost a whisper. John looked at Martha then back at Ralphy. “Ralphy,” John said. “Did you see my ring?” Some of the crowd squatted down to watch him and the other children moved closer to their parents. Ralphy hung his head lower. “Yeah,” he squeaked out. “Was it here on the table?” John patted the edge of the table. Ralphy shook his head no. “Where did you see it?” Ralphy shuffled over to John and pointed to a spot on the ground. “Here?” John asked as he grazed his hand over the ground where Ralphy was pointing. Ralphy shook his head yes. “Did you pick it up?” Ralphy nodded his head again very slowly. “And where is it now?” Ralphy took a step closer to Martha and turned his back to John as he buried his face in his grandmother's skirt. “Where is it Ralphy?” Martha asked. He slid his hand into his pocket and slowly pulled it back out to reveal the missing ring. I heard many gasps as Martha took a very quick breath in and John reached over to pluck the ring out of Ralphy’s hand. “Ralphy!” Her voice was sharp. “Why would you steal the ring?” I cleared my throat. “Hold on now,” I said. “There’s no need for harshness.” I patted Ralphy on the head and squatted down in front of him. “Why did you take the ring, Ralphy?” He turned to look at me with puffy red eyes. “I didn’t mean to steal nothin', I found it on the ground!” He choked out. “And the rule at school is, finder’s keepers!”