Rollover by Susan Slater Page B

imagine.”
    â€œNor can I.” Elaine filled tea cups, placing a beautifully ornate white china pot with gold trim on a trivet in the center of the table before sitting. “This is delightful. Is the pound cake homemade?”
    â€œMy specialty.” Penelope appeared to blush, Dan thought. And the little tea party was “delightful,” but he needed to guide Gertie back to the particulars—ask the questions he’d need for the investigation.
    â€œAlways hate to mix business with pleasure,” he gestured toward Gertie with his tea cup, “but I need to double-check some details.”
    â€œOh my, I have been rattling on. Of course, you just ask ahead. I have no secrets.”
    Usually when people said that, a big red flag flipped up, but not with Gertie. She was leaning toward him with rapt attention—and the guileless expression of the perfectly innocent.
    â€œHow often did you remove the necklace from the bank’s safe deposit box?”
    â€œWell, I only took it out for cleaning. And that was on a strict schedule—I never missed a date.”
    â€œAnd that was how often?” Gentle prodding but the old gal was eighty-five. She’d earned the right to have some lapses.
    â€œOh my, I forgot to say…let me get the calendar then I won’t be telling fibs.” Gertie walked to another room, an office Dan thought, and brought back a wall calendar showing various costumed poses of the Taco Bell Chihuahua. She backtracked to August and placed an index finger on the tenth.
    â€œThere. Notation reads…‘removed from vault for cleaning.’”
    â€œHow long did you keep it out for these periodic cleanings?”
    â€œNot long. Two days usually. This time I was running low on the ammonia mixture and had to order a bottle. I hadn’t realized this when I’d gotten the necklace out.”
    â€œSo, it was here longer than usual?”
    â€œYes.”
    Dan made a few notes in a forced shorthand he hoped he’d be able to figure out later. It would have been much easier if his left hand had gotten mangled instead of the right.
    â€œDid you wear it anywhere while it was here?”
    â€œOh, my goodness, no. Why I’d be so nervous that I wouldn’t enjoy doing anything. I wouldn’t even wear it around the house.”
    â€œWhen it was here, where did you keep it?”
    He thought for a minute she wasn’t going to answer. A frail, veined hand flew to her mouth, fingers brushing her lips. She sought Penelope’s okay before answering. At her daughter’s nod, she began, “Well, it’s deceptively simple really. We’d thought of putting it in a safe but, you know, that only advertises that you have something to put in it.”
    That’s one interpretation, Dan thought. But under the circumstances probably a wise choice.
    â€œSo, we put it in the Barbasol can.”
    â€œI’m not following.”
    â€œJust give me a minute.” Gertie pushed back from the table again and was gone longer this time. Dan slipped another lemon tart onto his plate and picked it up with his fingers—forks and left hands were a dangerous mix.
    â€œHere we go.” Gertie reentered the room, walked to the table and placed a black- and-red striped can of Barbasol in front of him. “Remember when these were so popular? Penny and I couldn’t decide whether to get the Comet cleanser or the Barbasol.” With that, she twisted off the top to reveal an empty can—someone’s idea of the perfect hiding place.
    Keep it under the sink in the bathroom and no one will ever suspect…yeah, right. Two little old ladies with a can of Barbasol—did they even make the stuff anymore? He was saved having to comment by Gertie continuing, “…you understand, of course, that this was just an overnight fix, so to speak. And I can’t think of a time when either one of us was away from the house