Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Sylvie rolled her eyes and shared a glance with Miss Carmody.
“Not at all full of himself, I see that.” Gertie beamed up at me. “Truly, it does my heart good to lay eyes on you again, Eli.” She straightened abruptly. “Saying your name out loud just reminded me, and I didn’t put it together until just now. Did you know you have a box here?”
That was unexpected. “A box?”
“You signed up for it five, six years ago? I remember noting the name at the time, wondering if you were coming home, if it was the same Eli Bishop. The box has been collecting junk mail ever since. I was about to send you your annual bill.”
“My bill?” I asked, this piece of the puzzle not fitting, no matter how I turned it in my head.
“Well, I guess I wasn’t sending it to you if you didn’t know you had the box and haven’t been paying for it.”
“Can you tell me where you’ve been sending the bills? Because I definitely didn’t know I had a box.” I wasn’t sure what to make of this new development. Was it connected to Emily Shaw? How could it be, when the box had been rented five years ago?
“I need to see your driver’s license,” she said abruptly.
“All right,” I agreed. If it had been anyone else demanding my license, I might have hesitated, but Gertie Carmody was not at the center of some kind of crime ring. She definitely hadn’t blown up Emily Shaw.
She took it from me, glanced at it, and then turned around. “Stay right there.” She disappeared into the back of the post office and returned with a file. “We do all this on paper. But look—” She handed me a copy of a driver’s license. My license from five years ago. She compared it to my current one, which she placed on the counter. “Same one, same number, same name, same picture—it’s your box.”
She flipped the page over. A billing address was printed there, in Gertie’s neat handwriting, a P.O. box I recognized.
“I’ve been sending the bills here.”
Fucking Silas. Why would he have taken out a box in my hometown and not told me about it?
“How much do I owe?” I asked.
She quoted a number that seemed more than reasonable for a year’s post office box rental. I handed her my card. She ran it and smiled brightly. “I’ll bring you back what’s in it.”
“Okay,” I said, not sure where this was going.
She left and a minute later returned with one of those plastic bins the post office always put accumulated mail in and slid it across the counter.
“I wish I had more to tell you so I could keep you here. I’ve got a million questions.”
“We’re on a schedule,” Sylvie said, “but we have time for a few. Hit me.”
I listened with one ear as Miss Carmody grilled Sylvie on the current season’s case. Sylvie refused to spill the last episode, yet to be released, but revealed a few details she’d kept out of the recordings. As she spoke, her voice low, leaning in close, her cinnamon hair almost brushing Gertie’s gray, the postmistress’s eyes shone with excitement.
Most of my attention was on the bin filled with junk mail.
We’d learned that Silas had arranged for his own P.O. box to forward to Miranda, who handled the logistics for our team, including mail. That meant this secret P.O. box would have hit our radar as soon as the invoice for the coming year made its way to her, something Silas absolutely would have known. He didn’t miss the details.
Methodically, I flipped through stacks of junk mail. Ads for long-ago mattress sales and holiday used car deals stacked up beside me. I wasn’t going to throw anything away until I was sure there wasn’t a secret message somewhere, but so far it looked like exactly what it was. Junk.
Sylvie shot me a look, taking in my progress through the bin, and gave Miss Carmody another scoop, this time on one of the cases she was considering for an upcoming season. I kept sorting through the mail, finding nothing. What the fuck, Silas?
What was he involved in that he couldn’t just tell us about? We were family. If he was in trouble… I knew better than to make assumptions. I needed to keep an open mind. When we had this little evidence, it was too easy to force it into a trail that didn’t exist. So far, all we really knew was that Silas and Emily were connected in some way. Emily was dead, and Silas had disappeared.
With each offer of car insurance or a great deal on a new roof, all addressed to OCCUPANT, I began to think that the box was a tool Silas had set up but never used.
Until the white envelope tucked into a catalog of holiday decorations.