Chapter 3: The Photograph on the Doorbell
The next morning, Daniel checked his doorbell camera.
He hadn’t thought of doing it before.
The camera wasn’t pointed directly at the mailbox, but it covered enough of the driveway to show the front edge of the property.
At 9:14 a.m., Eleanor appeared.
She walked toward the mailbox carrying a small tool bag.
At 9:17, she disappeared behind the mailbox.
At 9:21, the box was no longer upright.
Daniel watched the footage twice.
Then a third time.
He noticed something he hadn’t expected.
Eleanor wasn’t alone.
A man in a gray sweatshirt appeared briefly at the edge of the frame. He looked toward Daniel’s house, then toward Eleanor.
The man left before the mailbox was moved.
Daniel recognized him.
It was Greg Wallace, president of the neighborhood association.
Greg lived three houses away.
Melissa came over again that afternoon.
Daniel showed her the video.
She folded her arms.
“So she planned it.”
“Looks like it.”
“And Greg was there.”
“Looks like that too.”
Melissa wanted to confront both of them immediately.
Daniel didn’t.
Instead, he called Greg.
Greg answered after several rings.
Daniel kept his voice calm.
“Were you with Eleanor yesterday?”
There was a pause.
“I stopped by.”
“Did you know she was moving my mailbox?”
Another pause.
“She said she was going to relocate it.”
“Did you give her permission?”
“No.”
Daniel leaned back in his chair.
“Did you give her permission on behalf of the neighborhood association?”
Greg sighed.
“Daniel, no. We don’t have authority to move private property.”
That sentence mattered.
Daniel wrote it down.
Greg continued.
“Eleanor has been complaining about the appearance of your property for a while.”
“My property?”
“The mailbox. The leaves. The garden border.”
“Did the association file anything?”
“No.”
“Did anyone vote to move the mailbox?”
“No.”
Daniel thanked him and ended the call.
Melissa stared at him.
“Well?”
Daniel looked at the three screws on his workbench.
“She acted like she had everyone’s support.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No.”
“And Greg knows it.”
“Yes.”
Melissa was quiet.
Then she noticed something.
“Dad, why is there another mark on the post?”
Daniel looked.
She was right.
A fresh vertical scratch ran along the side of the wood.
He hadn’t made it.
Neither had Eleanor while removing the mailbox.
Daniel crouched beside it.
There were tiny pieces of metal embedded in the wood.
He carefully pulled one free.
It wasn’t from the mailbox.
It looked like part of a bracket.
Melissa’s expression changed.
“Dad…”
Daniel didn’t answer.
He was beginning to wonder whether Eleanor had simply tried to move the mailbox.
Or whether she’d damaged the post before he ever came outside.
That distinction could change everything.
