It had been forwarded to his house because Margaret’s old address was still associated with the property.
Daniel opened it carefully.
Inside was a letter from the hospital’s records department concerning an old medical bill and a reimbursement that had never been processed.
The amount wasn’t enormous.
But the letter contained something more important.
A notice explaining that the hospital had located additional records connected to Margaret’s final treatment.
Daniel sat down.
For several seconds, the street seemed strangely quiet.
He had spent years wondering whether his mother’s last weeks had been handled properly. She had been too sick to explain everything herself, and Daniel had never been able to get a complete set of records.
Now, three years later, an answer might have arrived in an envelope Karen had nearly destroyed.
Daniel looked back toward the curb.
Karen was still standing there.
“You knew there was mail in here,” he said.
Her expression hardened.
“I knew you had mail.”
“You knew there was mail?”
“I don’t check people’s envelopes.”
“But you put a flame against the box.”
Karen looked away.
The argument that had started over trash cans suddenly seemed painfully small.
For months, Karen had complained about Daniel’s garbage cans.
She claimed they remained visible too long after collection day. She had photographed them, left handwritten warnings, and reported him to the HOA.
Daniel had moved the cans.
He had followed the published schedule.
He had even attended an HOA meeting where the board confirmed that his placement was within the rules.
Karen hadn’t accepted the decision.
She had taken it personally.
And now, in a moment of retaliation, she had nearly destroyed something Daniel could never replace.
He carefully placed his mother’s letter on the table.
Then he called the police.
Karen’s face went pale.
“You’re calling the police over a mailbox?”
Daniel looked at the scorched metal sitting beside the curb.
“No,” he said quietly.
“I’m calling them because you set it on fire.”
CHAPTER 3: THE OFFICERS AT THE CURB
The first patrol car arrived nine minutes after Daniel called.
Karen had not left.
That surprised him.
She stood on her own side of the curb with both arms folded, sunglasses pushed back into place, as if remaining on the scene somehow proved she had nothing to hide. The scorched mailbox still dripped from the hose, black water running down the post and pooling along the gutter.
Officer Michael Torres stepped out first.
His partner, Officer Jenna Walsh, followed.
Torres looked at the mailbox, then at Daniel, then at Karen.
“Who called?”
“I did.”
Daniel stepped off the porch.
“She set my mailbox on fire.”
Karen immediately raised her voice.
“That is not what happened.”
Daniel looked at her.
Torres held up one hand.
“Let me talk to him first.”
Karen stared at the officer as if the instruction itself were unreasonable.