It was a Sunday. I knew the Thomas’ went to church every sunday, and afterward went to a buffet breakfast. I knew what time they got home. To this day I don’t know why I went there.

The Thomas’ house sat on the side of a hill, with the back half facing the downward slope. At the foot of the hill were a grove of apple trees. I approached the house from the trees, carrying my handy milk container in case someone spotted me.

In back beneath the house was a double car garage. One door was open and one of their cars were gone. The other side of the garage was a Ford pickup. I walked into the garage and tried the door to the house. To my surprise it was unlocked.

I removed my shoes and donned the rubber gloves. The bedrooms were up a flight of stairs. I cautiously climbed the stairs arriving at a long hallway. Three side doors were closed, but I could see the master bedroom at the far end of the hall.

Mrs. Thomas kept her jewelry in an ornate oriental jewelry box.