Rollover by Susan Slater Page A

annoyed.
    â€œI know it’s here…I just can’t seem to find…usually Amber is so careful.”
    â€œYou can’t find when Mrs. Kennedy returned the…her necklace?” Stephanie shook her head. Dan bent over the log running a finger down the entries for August eighteenth and nineteenth. There was a total of six names in the two-day period—three so precise and carefully crafted that the owners had evidently studied the Palmer method of penmanship. Which also indicated they were of Gertie’s vintage. And then three were just a smear. He made a note of the ones he could read. A Peter (Buster) Jenkins PhD—Dan paused and reread the entry. Buster actually put his degree behind his name when signing a log to open his safe deposit box? Somehow that said something about him. Dan looked at the two other signatures that were legible—Jesus Garcia and Antonio Romero. Maybe one of them remembered seeing Gertie at the bank that day. He made a note.
    â€œI’ll call Amber—I’m sure it’s just an oversight.”
    â€œIn the meantime I’ll continue the tour.” Again that tight smile as Lawrence motioned Dan to follow then stopped a few steps beyond Stephanie’s desk. “This is it.” He turned to dial the combination and apply the key that opened the safe deposit box vault. Actually a ten by ten room, windowless, cheerless—its own kind of prison, Dan thought. But it was the slight musty smell mixed with the unmistakable ethyl benzene odor of new carpet backing that almost made him gag. What a mix.
    â€œRepairs have been made?” Dan also noted what looked like new steel shelving on the north wall.
    â€œYes, and no.” Lawrence walked to the far corner and pulled back the carpet and lifted a piece of plywood to reveal a ragged opening in the floor about two feet from the wall. Dan leaned in and took a couple snaps of what looked like blackened edges—blowtorch? The thick metal flooring had been cut in the rough shape of a circle. Maybe high-tech laser equipment? Looked like it. Certainly made less noise than trying to blow up a steel plate like that.
    â€œWe have to have new flooring put down as you can see…this is basically cosmetic for the time being, and safety. We’ve made room in the bank vault for everyone’s valuables. We still haven’t been released to begin repairs.”
    Dan assumed he meant by the Feds. Things could move pretty slowly being somewhat off the beaten path as they were.
    â€œWell, there you have it, not much to see. There are fifteen boxes in this vault—twelve were in use. One wall model safe that’s temperature and humidity controlled for larger objects or those needing a special environment.”
    â€œWhat kinds of things were kept in there?” Dan stood in front of the two-foot by four-foot enameled door marked Irwin, the combination lock neatly cut out allowing entry.
    â€œOh, family Bible for the Garcias, a great-grandfather’s love letters to his sweetheart from the early 1800s for another family. Some pieces of Indian pottery…Anything that could be contaminated by plain air.”
    â€œAnd none of these things were taken?”
    â€œOnly one claim to date…ol’ Doc Jenkins but I’m not sure it’s legitimate. Odd claim…may not come to anything.”
    Dan waited for an explanation of what an odd claim might entail but nothing more was offered. Dan made a note to get the phone number or address of Doc Jenkins.
    â€œStill doesn’t seem like many boxes for a town of three to four hundred people.”
    â€œIn my community you’ll find more riches between the mattress and box springs than right here.”
    â€œIn retrospect that seems like the smart thing to do.” Mattresses or Barbasol cans Dan added to himself.
    Lawrence didn’t seem to see any humor in his remark.
    â€œWere all the boxes vandalized?” Dan stood