delivered in the Historic District that morning had been slashed open. Some contents were missing. Others were simply discarded.”
“Did they take the credit card statements, bank statements and such?”
Paulette shook her head. “They weren’t interested in those. Or in the paid bills that folks had put out for Hank to take. We found dozens of personal checks to mortgage companies, Connecticut Light and Power, you name it.”
“Then it doesn’t sound like we’re dealing with identity thieves. What did they take?”
“Anything and everything of value. People mail all sorts of gifts to their friends and relatives this time of year. They send Christmas cards with cash or prepaid retail gift cards tucked inside. And a million small packages that’ll fit inside of any mailbox—DVDs, CDs, iPods, Kindles. It’s kind of ironic, really.”
“What is, Paulette?”
“This is the age of high-tech security. We have elaborate systems to protect our homes and our cars. Yet our mailboxes still sit there by the curb, unlocked and unprotected, twenty-four hours a day. Some folks in town prefer to keep a P.O. box for that reason, but not as many as you’d think.”
“Are things disappearing from other routes besides Hank’s?”
“Just Hank’s, near as I can tell.”
“And how long has this been going on?”
“About two weeks. Hank’s furious. He’s taking it personally.”
“Should he be?”
Paulette’s eyes crinkled at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean is someone purposely singling him out?”
“I can’t imagine why they would. Hank’s my most popular carrier. I have no idea why his route is being hit—beyond the simple, obvious reason.”
“Paulette, nothing about this is simple or obvious to me.”
“Hank’s route is the Historic District, which has the highest concentration of wealthy people packed into the fewest number of miles.”
“As opposed to a rural route, you mean.”
“Exactly.”
“Has anyone reported suspicious behavior of any kind? A stranger rummaging through mailboxes, anything like that?”
“Nothing like that, Des.”
One of the town’s big orange plow trucks rumbled by on Shore Road, its plow blade shaking the foundation of the old wood-framed diner. On the radio, Nat King Cole was singing about chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
“The mail was discarded on Johnny Cake,” Des mused aloud. “That tells me it’s someone local. Out-of-town pros would have taken it with them.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a couple of teenaged kids.”
Des gazed out the window at the marsh. The snow was coming down so hard she couldn’t make out the lighthouse in the distance. “How, Paulette? How do a couple of young cheese heads cruise through the Historic District on multiple occasions, raid peoples mailboxes in broad daylight—it must be broad daylight because the boxes are full—and not one person has noticed them? A lot of folks are home during the day right now. The schoolkids are getting one snow day after another. The college kids are back for Christmas break. Plus we’ve got our share of retirees living in the Historic District. The arrival of the mail is the highlight of their morning. I find it hard to believe that anyone could hit those boxes repeatedly without being spotted.”
Paulette made another napkin ball with her thumb and forefinger and placed it next to her spoon. That made eight, nine, ten of them. “Quite a few of the houses are set back pretty far from the road.”
“And quite a few of them aren’t. Plus the Historic District is busy . People go in and out of Town Hall all day long. I’m thinking our grinch must be someone who has a legitimate reason to be accessing the boxes. Like, say, one of Lem’s plow boys.”
Paulette’s eyes narrowed. “Or one of my other carriers?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Des, I can’t vouch for Lem’s people but I can vouch for all ten of my full-time carriers and my five part-time subs.
“Did they take the credit card statements, bank statements and such?”
Paulette shook her head. “They weren’t interested in those. Or in the paid bills that folks had put out for Hank to take. We found dozens of personal checks to mortgage companies, Connecticut Light and Power, you name it.”
“Then it doesn’t sound like we’re dealing with identity thieves. What did they take?”
“Anything and everything of value. People mail all sorts of gifts to their friends and relatives this time of year. They send Christmas cards with cash or prepaid retail gift cards tucked inside. And a million small packages that’ll fit inside of any mailbox—DVDs, CDs, iPods, Kindles. It’s kind of ironic, really.”
“What is, Paulette?”
“This is the age of high-tech security. We have elaborate systems to protect our homes and our cars. Yet our mailboxes still sit there by the curb, unlocked and unprotected, twenty-four hours a day. Some folks in town prefer to keep a P.O. box for that reason, but not as many as you’d think.”
“Are things disappearing from other routes besides Hank’s?”
“Just Hank’s, near as I can tell.”
“And how long has this been going on?”
“About two weeks. Hank’s furious. He’s taking it personally.”
“Should he be?”
Paulette’s eyes crinkled at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean is someone purposely singling him out?”
“I can’t imagine why they would. Hank’s my most popular carrier. I have no idea why his route is being hit—beyond the simple, obvious reason.”
“Paulette, nothing about this is simple or obvious to me.”
“Hank’s route is the Historic District, which has the highest concentration of wealthy people packed into the fewest number of miles.”
“As opposed to a rural route, you mean.”
“Exactly.”
“Has anyone reported suspicious behavior of any kind? A stranger rummaging through mailboxes, anything like that?”
“Nothing like that, Des.”
One of the town’s big orange plow trucks rumbled by on Shore Road, its plow blade shaking the foundation of the old wood-framed diner. On the radio, Nat King Cole was singing about chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
“The mail was discarded on Johnny Cake,” Des mused aloud. “That tells me it’s someone local. Out-of-town pros would have taken it with them.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a couple of teenaged kids.”
Des gazed out the window at the marsh. The snow was coming down so hard she couldn’t make out the lighthouse in the distance. “How, Paulette? How do a couple of young cheese heads cruise through the Historic District on multiple occasions, raid peoples mailboxes in broad daylight—it must be broad daylight because the boxes are full—and not one person has noticed them? A lot of folks are home during the day right now. The schoolkids are getting one snow day after another. The college kids are back for Christmas break. Plus we’ve got our share of retirees living in the Historic District. The arrival of the mail is the highlight of their morning. I find it hard to believe that anyone could hit those boxes repeatedly without being spotted.”
Paulette made another napkin ball with her thumb and forefinger and placed it next to her spoon. That made eight, nine, ten of them. “Quite a few of the houses are set back pretty far from the road.”
“And quite a few of them aren’t. Plus the Historic District is busy . People go in and out of Town Hall all day long. I’m thinking our grinch must be someone who has a legitimate reason to be accessing the boxes. Like, say, one of Lem’s plow boys.”
Paulette’s eyes narrowed. “Or one of my other carriers?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Des, I can’t vouch for Lem’s people but I can vouch for all ten of my full-time carriers and my five part-time subs.
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