The green metal box held our emergency money for paying local delivery drivers.

I folded the two hundred dollars into a tight square and put it in my wallet.

At half past three, I parked my Buick outside Oakridge National Bank.

It was twelve miles from Oak Creek.

The building had tall glass windows and polished granite columns.

It looked nothing like the small brick branch where Brenda Potts worked.

I walked into the lobby.

Five tellers stood behind one long, continuous curve of dark mahogany.