CHAPTER FIVE — THE INSPECTORS ARRIVE

Inspector Naomi Cross came to my house on Thursday with her colleague, Ellis Park.
They arrived in an ordinary compact car and carried small notebooks rather than dramatic evidence cases.
Naomi asked me to describe the missing mail in chronological order.
Ellis checked the porch and the mailbox without touching either one.
I gave them tracking numbers, email notices, and statements from the parents who had sent checks.
They listened to my description of June’s behavior without asking me to interpret her motives.
“Do you believe your neighbor is taking these items?” Naomi asked.
“I think she knows more than she’s telling me,” I said.
“That’s not the same thing.”
Naomi nodded.
“No, it isn’t.”
She explained that mail theft was not established by a suspicious conversation alone.


The inspectors needed a reliable account of what had happened and who had handled the items.
She also asked me to keep Wren out of any effort to gather evidence.
“A child should not become your investigator,” she said.
I agreed immediately.
The investigators left after making a written inventory of my missing correspondence.
Two hours later, June appeared at my door with a bowl of vegetable soup.
“I heard strangers were here,” she said.
“They were officials responding to a report.”
“A report about me?”
“A report about my mail.”
June looked at the soup she was holding.
“You don’t understand what happens if you turn this into a scandal,” she said.
“Then explain it.”
“You would have to understand everything Wren gave up for this ensemble.”
“What did she give up?”
June’s jaw worked as though she were deciding which sentence to swallow.


“She could have transferred to a conservatory program in Milwaukee,” June said.
“She stayed because this group needed her.”
“Did Wren choose that?”
“I chose what was best for her.”
That answer told me more than June intended.
I said she could leave the soup on the porch if she wanted.
She walked away with it untouched.
By sunset, the community center had canceled my Friday rehearsal pending a discussion with the board.
The cancellation email cited “serious concerns regarding staff judgment.”
Someone had copied the parents on the message.
Asha Patel called five minutes later and asked whether the board knew about the altered scores.
“Not yet,” I said.
“Then they are about to,” she replied.

CHAPTER SIX — THE PUBLIC MEETING

The community center board met in a room normally reserved for children’s birthday parties.
Paper stars hung from the ceiling, and a faded banner read “Everyone Belongs Here.”
June sat beside the board chair, Malcolm Voss, with a neat folder on her lap.
I brought my original score, the two altered copies, and copies of the delivery notifications.
Asha came with her son, Dev, and three other parents arrived independently.
Voss opened the meeting by asking us to keep our voices calm.
June immediately declared that I had accused her of a federal crime without proof.
“I did not name a suspect in my report,” I said.
“But you’ve let rumors spread,” she replied.
I asked Voss whether June had told him I was leaving town.
He admitted that she had.
“Did she also tell you I accepted an offer?” I asked.
Voss looked uncomfortable.
“That was my understanding.”
“There is no accepted offer,” I said.
“There may not even be an interview now.”
I placed the tracking record on the table.
June crossed her arms.
“This is becoming a personal matter,” she said.
“You made it a professional matter when you distributed mismatched scores.”
I showed the parents the altered parts.
Felix’s father counted the differing bars aloud.
Voss asked June who had prepared the copies.
“Volunteers,” she said.
“Which volunteers?”
“I don’t recall every person who uses the machine.”
The board chair turned to me.
“Can the ensemble still prepare for Meridian?”
“Yes, if the students receive reliable music and a consistent rehearsal room.”
June leaned forward.
“You are asking us to trust someone who’s trying to abandon the group.”
Asha spoke before I could answer.
“Children can survive a teacher accepting another job,” she said.
“What they cannot survive is adults lying to them.”
Wren was not in the room, but her name seemed to occupy every empty chair.
I asked the board to let the students rehearse under a temporary schedule while the dispute was reviewed.
Voss agreed to a supervised session on Saturday.
June objected, then abruptly announced she was resigning as volunteer coordinator.
The parents exchanged startled looks.
“Effective immediately,” she said.
She collected her folder and left the room without her coat.
Outside, rain had begun to strike the windows.
I watched her cross the parking lot with both hands pressed against the folder.
For one foolish second, I thought resignation would end the matter.
The next day, the postal inspectors found six of my unopened envelopes in a storage locker June had rented near the community center.