Now they might have been recycled years earlier.
Daniel was less discouraged.
“My mother spent twenty years reconstructing what was lost,” he said when we spoke.
“She would have laughed if the original cabinet turned out to be sitting in a thrift store.”
He reminded me that the copies, letters, and witness accounts already mattered.
They could show what had happened even if the cabinet was never found.
I wished I had his patience.
He told me patience was something his mother had taught him, mostly by showing him what happened when you ran out of it.
Chapter 20: The House Meeting
The neighborhood association called a special meeting after rumors about the mail investigation spread.
I considered staying home, but several neighbors asked whether I would explain what I had actually witnessed.
The meeting took place in the school cafeteria under bright fluorescent lights.
About fifty people filled the folding chairs, some carrying notebooks and others holding phones ready to record.
Marjorie did not attend.
The association president, Aisha Rahman, opened by reminding everyone that the group had no authority to investigate crimes or punish residents.
She asked people not to share private addresses or make unsupported accusations.
Then she invited anyone with relevant information to contact the proper agencies.
A man in the back demanded to know why we were protecting Marjorie.
Aisha answered that respecting evidence did not amount to protecting misconduct.
I stood only after Aisha asked whether I wanted to speak.
I described the conversation on my porch and the stone wrapped with a threatening note.
I said the incidents were documented and under investigation.
I refused to speculate about the old fund or repeat private statements from witnesses.
Some people looked disappointed that I had brought no dramatic confession.
Others seemed relieved to hear someone speaking carefully.
A woman named Diane Morton raised her hand and admitted that Marjorie had once warned her not to mail a complaint about road maintenance.
Diane had assumed the warning was personal hostility.
Now she wondered whether the interference went further.
Aisha encouraged her to document her experience rather than debate it in public.
An elderly man stood next and asked whether neighbors could establish a safe way to report lost mail without broadcasting personal details.
Aisha agreed to share official complaint instructions in the next newsletter.
The conversation gradually shifted from anger toward practical steps.
After the meeting, a mother named Tessa approached me near the exit.
