Flash

survive, by any chance?"
    She gave him a curious glance. "Where are you going with this?"
    "If we assume that the private investigator-turned-blackmailer theory is unlikely, that leaves two other possibilities we need to check."
    "And they are?"
    "Either someone got into Rollie's personal files before the fire and removed some of them—"
    "Oh, my God. I never thought of that." Olivia stared at him. "What if the fire wasn't random vandalism? What if the blackmailer broke in, stole some files, and then set the fire to cover up the theft?"
    "Possible, but I think there's another possibility. What if the blackmailer broke in looking for information and found the location of it instead? He might have still gone ahead and set the fire to cover his tracks."
    "What do you mean?" Olivia demanded.
    "One of the reasons your uncle and I did business together was because we understood each other. We had a lot in common."
    She raised her brows. "Not everything, fortunately."
    He smiled fleetingly. "You're right. Not everything. I'm not gay."
    "You can say that again."
    "But we did have the same approach to information,'' Jasper continued. "And the same degree of respect for it."
    "So?"
    "So I think I can almost guarantee that if Rollie possessed information that he knew was potentially damaging to members of his family, he probably stored it somewhere safer than his study."
    Olivia's eyes widened. "What in the world made you think of that possibility?"
    Jasper thought of the heavy, locked cabinets in his basement. "It's what I'd do."
    "I see." Olivia's voice was very dry.
    "Did you check the basement of his house?"
    "There was only a partial basement. Nothing in it. I looked when I cleaned out the place."
    "Nothing in his study survived?"
    "Nope. He didn't use fire-proof filing cabinets."
    Yet Chantry had apparently treated information with the same kind of respect that he, himself, did, Jasper thought. Which meant that Rollie would have taken pains to protect the most vital and the most potentially dangerous records.
    "Safe deposit box?"
    "I cleaned it out, too. I was his executor, so I got stuck cleaning out everything. There was nothing unusual in the box."
    Jasper went down a mental list of options. "What about a storage locker in a commercial self-storage facility?"
    "Uncle Rollie never mentioned one."
    "If he had a locker," Jasper said slowly, "there would be a record of it somewhere."
    "Probably in his study. Burnt to a crisp."
    "To paraphrase an old expression, there ain't no such thing as free storage. Not in this day and age. If Rollie had a locker, he was paying for it. And if someone got into it after his death, there will be a record of that, too."
    "Hmm." Olivia pursed her lips. "I've arranged to have his mail forwarded to me so that I can be sure to pay any outstanding bills or credit card statements. I haven't received an invoice from a storage facility of any kind."
    "If he had an off-site locker, he probably paid the rent annually or semiannually. You might not see a bill for months."
    "In which case, the charge would probably be on one of his credit card statements or buried in his check register."
    "Damn." Jasper thought quickly. "We'll have to request copies of the statements and canceled checks from the credit card company and the bank. That's going to take a few days."
    "No," Olivia murmured, "it won't."
    He glanced sharply at her. "What do you mean? Weren't they destroyed in the fire?"
    "Yes, but after the funeral I ordered copies of Uncle Rollie's bank and credit card statements. The lawyer and I needed them to settle the estate."
    Jasper allowed himself a cautious flash of optimism. "You've got them stored somewhere very convenient, I hope?"
    "In my basement storage locker." She took another swallow of coffee. "I'll dig them out this afternoon and take a look."
    "I'll help you."
    "Right." Clearly energized, Olivia polished off the latte and tossed the empty cup toward a nearby trash can with a flourish. "You really think we may be on to something here?"
    "Maybe." The cup would never make it into the trash can, he thought. Olivia had made no allowance for the gently gusting wind. Both her aim and her timing were off.
    He watched the breeze catch the empty latte cup just before it reached the can. The paper vessel was whipped about by the light air currents. It sailed away onto the grass.
    "Darn. Hang on a second." Olivia veered off the path to chase down the wind-tossed cup. She scooped it up, dropped it