CHAPTER FIFTEEN AE: THE LAST THREAT
The final threat arrived as a handwritten note pushed beneath my front door.
It said I could still end the trouble by admitting I had lied about the staffing schedule.
The note did not include a name.
I photographed it where it lay and called the officer assigned to the fire investigation.
She told me not to handle it until she could arrange collection.
I sat in the living room and watched the strip of paper under the door.
It seemed absurd that so much anger could fit into two lines.
Leonard came over after I called him to explain why a police car might appear outside.
He stood on the porch until the officer arrived.
The officer collected the note and asked whether I recognized the handwriting.
I said I did not.
She asked whether Owen had contacted me directly since the neighborhood meeting.
I said he had not, but his videos continued to encourage people to question my account.
She recorded the information without claiming the note came from him.
After she left, Leonard asked whether I wanted to stay with friends for the night.
I said I would think about it.
He told me he would leave his porch light on.
I thanked him and locked the door.
That night, I called Rachel and asked whether I could work from the office the following day instead of from home.
She said she would make space for me.
I packed my laptop and notes before going to bed.
The note had not changed my testimony.
It had changed my route to work,
and I resented that more than I expected.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN AF: A SMALL REPAIR
On Friday, the county inspector returned to examine the repaired mailbox post and the damaged edge of the curb.
He checked the post’s stability and confirmed that the replacement met the local placement requirements.
He asked whether I wanted a copy of the inspection note for my insurance file.
I said I did.
While he wrote it, Leonard came outside carrying a bag of soil for his garden.
He asked whether the inspector had found anything wrong.
The inspector said the post was secure and the pavement repairs were satisfactory.
Leonard said that was the most encouraging official statement our street had heard in weeks.
The inspector laughed and handed me the note.
After he left, Leonard asked whether I had decided to keep the mailbox plain.
I said I had considered painting the post blue but did not want to attract another argument about neighborhood appearance.
He told me I could paint my own mailbox whatever color the rules allowed.
I said I knew.
Then I admitted I was tired of making choices based on how Owen might react.
Leonard offered to help me paint it the following weekend.
I said I would buy the paint if he brought the brushes.
He agreed and went back to his tomatoes.
The conversation lasted less than five minutes.
It was the first time I had discussed the mailbox without discussing the fire.
