It did establish that her explanation about carrying groceries was false on that day.

Marcus interviewed her with counsel present.

Her attorney later issued a brief statement denying intentional mail theft.

I did not know what she said in the interview, and I refused to speculate when neighbors asked.

That refusal made me unpopular with some people who expected the story to be simple.

A man named Colin Price approached me outside the grocery store and demanded to know why Marjorie had not been arrested.

I explained that investigations required evidence and that decisions belonged to the authorities.

He called that answer weak.

Then he admitted that he had once let Marjorie collect his mail while he was on vacation.

He had believed her when she said she was keeping the neighborhood organized.

Now he felt embarrassed.

His embarrassment had turned into anger, and he wanted someone else to carry it.

I asked whether he had given the investigator his account.

He said he had not because he was afraid he might get in trouble.

I told him that was precisely why he should seek legal advice and give an accurate statement.

He looked at me as though I had suggested something unpleasant but necessary.

“I guess I thought she’d just look out for the street,” he said.

I understood that better than he knew.

There had been a time when I also mistook Marjorie’s confidence for competence.

Chapter 17: The Second Envelope

The second envelope arrived on a Friday afternoon with a handwritten note from Miriam Fiske.

It was addressed to me directly, so I opened it at the kitchen table after checking the return information.

Inside was a copy of a public museum catalog page and a short letter explaining how Daniel had authorized the release of a historical collection description.

Miriam had included no private financial records.

The page described the donated photographs and noted that the collection included an unprocessed packet of neighborhood correspondence from 2005.

One photograph showed volunteers standing beside donated heaters in the firehouse basement.

Marjorie was absent from the image.

Evelyn stood at the far left beside a dark-haired girl carrying a cardboard box.

The girl’s face looked familiar.

I studied it for several minutes before realizing why.

She resembled the adult woman who sometimes delivered packages to the pharmacy near Sophie’s school.

Her name was Rosa Delgado.

I had met her twice during school fundraisers.

She ran a small courier business and volunteered at the winter clothing drive.