CHAPTER FIFTEEN G: THE MAN AT THE BUS STOP
Leonard called me early the next morning and asked whether I was expecting visitors.
I looked through the kitchen window and saw a man standing beside the bus stop across from my house.
He wore a dark jacket and held a folded newspaper, although the buses had not started their regular route.
Leonard said the man had been there for forty minutes and had photographed my driveway twice.
I asked whether he recognized him.
Leonard said he did not.
I told him not to confront the man and called the officer handling the fire investigation.
She asked me to describe what I could see without approaching the street.
I gave her the man’s clothing and the direction he faced.
While I was speaking,
a small car stopped beside him.
He got into the passenger seat and the car drove away.
The officer said she would document the report and review whether it connected to the ongoing case.
I hung up feeling foolish because the man might simply have been waiting for a ride.
Then my phone received a message from an unknown number.
The message contained a photograph of my replacement mailbox taken from across the street.
Beneath it, someone had written that new things burned just as easily as old ones.
I forwarded the message to the officer and Vanessa without replying.
Leonard came to my porch carrying a thermos of coffee.
He asked whether I wanted him to stay until my ride arrived.
I said I could manage, but I appreciated the offer.
He sat anyway and told me about the year he had driven a bus through a week of severe winter weather.
He said the hardest part had not been the snow.
It had been watching passengers decide whether a delay meant the driver was careless or the road was unsafe.
I asked why he was telling me that story.
He said people could see the same event and invent completely different reasons for it.
Then he asked whether I had called the police about the message.
I said I had.
He nodded and took another sip of coffee.
I realized he had come over because he knew I was frightened and did not want to make me explain it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN H: THE QUESTION AT THE SCHOOL
Sophie called that afternoon because Caleb’s college had received an anonymous complaint about his conduct at work.
The complaint accused him of mishandling confidential deliveries and suggested he should lose his work-study placement.
Caleb had not been employed through the college’s work-study program, but the complaint included his student identification number.
Sophie said the dean had asked Caleb to attend an administrative meeting.
I told her Vanessa might be able to refer him to an attorney familiar with student proceedings.
Caleb joined the call and said he already had representation.
He sounded angry rather than frightened.
He said the complaint was full of details only someone at the courier company would know.
I asked whether he had shown it to the investigator.
He said he had.
Then he said the college had offered to postpone the meeting until the employment inquiry was complete.
I was relieved, but Sophie remained upset.
She said Owen had managed to reach their family even after his dispatch access was suspended.
I asked whether Miriam knew about the complaint.
Sophie said their mother had seen the letter and cried for an hour.
She said Miriam believed the fire had started a chain of punishment she could no longer stop.
I told Sophie the complaint was not her mother’s responsibility alone.
Owen had chosen to use Caleb as leverage, and the college had its own obligation to review accusations fairly.
Sophie asked whether I was willing to tell Miriam that.
I said I would not communicate directly while the investigation was ongoing.
Then I said Sophie could tell her mother that I wanted Caleb protected from retaliation.
Sophie thanked me and ended the call.
I sat at my desk for a long time afterward.
I had spent months trying to prove that my own work record had been manipulated.
Now a nineteen-year-old student was facing a smaller version of the same machinery.
The resemblance made me angrier than the threat to my mailbox.
