THE LETTER IN THE MAILBOX
Chapter I: The Pink Tracksuit at the Curb
It was a quiet Tuesday morning on Maplewood Court, the kind where the sound of lawnmowers hummed lazily across manicured yards and sprinklers ticked in steady rhythm. Rachel was in her kitchen pouring a second cup of coffee when a flash of bright pink caught her eye through the front bay window.
Standing directly at the edge of Rachel’s driveway was her next-door neighbor, Brenda.
Dressed head-to-toe in a velour tracksuit the color of bubblegum, with platinum-blonde hair tied back and sunglasses pushed on top of her head, Brenda wasn’t just passing by. Her hand was reached deep inside Rachel’s white curbside mailbox, casually pulling out a thick stack of morning letters.
Rachel froze, setting her coffee mug down with a sharp clatter.
Mail tampering was a federal offense, but beyond that, Brenda had spent the last two years treating the entire street like her personal fiefdom—reporting trash cans left out two minutes late, measuring grass with rulers, and gossiping with venom.