Chapter 1: The Second Hit
The second impact was the one that made it impossible to call an accident.
The dark-green metal mailbox beside the curb shuddered violently as Karen shoved the small garden cart into it. The mailbox door bent downward with a sharp metallic bang, and the wooden post gave a dry crack near its base.
Karen released the cart.
For half a second, she simply stood there.
Then she stepped back and looked at the mailbox as though she had never seen it before.
That was when Frank Mercer came running from his driveway.
He had been carrying a handful of mail, still wearing the reading glasses he used whenever the afternoon light became too weak. His gray hair was slightly disheveled, and his expression changed from confusion to disbelief as he saw the bent mailbox and scattered envelopes lying across the grass.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “You just smashed my mailbox!”
Karen immediately raised both hands.
Her face changed with astonishing speed.
A moment earlier she had looked irritated and purposeful. Now she wore an innocent smile.
“I didn’t smash anything,” she snapped. “I touched the door and the damn thing fell apart.”
Frank stared at her.
He looked at the cart.
Then at the mailbox.
Then back at Karen.
The first dent was still fresh.
“I watched you hit it.”
Karen’s smile tightened.
“You watched me touch it.”
“I watched you hit it twice.”
The mailbox door swung loosely on its damaged hinge.
Frank stepped between Karen and the post.
Karen glanced around him and reached toward the mailbox.
Frank stopped her.
“Don’t.”
She pulled her hand back.
For a second, neither moved.
The quiet suburban street seemed to hold its breath. A lawn sprinkler clicked somewhere down the block. A dog barked behind a fence. Otherwise, the only sound was the mailbox door tapping softly against its bent frame.
Karen’s eyes narrowed.
“Fine,” she said. “If you’re so worried about it, open it.”
Frank frowned.
“I will.”
Something flickered across Karen’s face.
Not anger.
Fear.
It disappeared almost immediately.
She stepped closer.
“Because if you open that mailbox right now,” she said quietly, “you’re going to find something you were never supposed to see.”
Frank’s hand stopped on the mailbox door.
He looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
Karen didn’t answer.
Instead, she gave him a small, contemptuous smile.
Frank opened the mailbox.
The hinge groaned.
There were several envelopes inside, along with a folded piece of paper that did not belong there.
Karen suddenly reached for his hand.
Frank pulled the mailbox toward himself.
“Get away from it.”
Karen froze.
Frank unfolded the paper.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then stopped.
His expression changed.
Karen folded her arms.
“Go ahead,” she said.
Frank looked up slowly.
Karen’s voice became almost triumphant.
“Then explain to everyone why your wife has been sending my name from this address.”
Frank stared at her.
He had no idea what she was talking about.
But he knew one thing immediately.
Karen hadn’t come to his mailbox by accident.
She had come looking for something.
And now Frank needed to know what it was.
