“Safe stays locked up tight,” Tim said, dropping the yellow rag into a plastic bucket under the counter.

“Gene changed the inner combination this morning before he drove over to the diner.”

“Did he touch the metal archive box inside the safe?”

“Nobody touches that box but family,” Tim said.

“Gene carries the main key on his ring, but he said Frank had the spare brass key.”

I reached into my coat pocket and felt the little brass trunk key wrapped in the linen napkin Nurse Sarah had given me in the hospice parking lot.

“I’ll take the photo now, Tim,” I said.