The receipt showed a locker associated with the land registry number for my house.
“Why would a storage company tie a locker to property?” I asked.
“Some early customers used property deeds as identity collateral.”
“Could Adrian claim ownership?”
“Not from this receipt alone.”
She cautioned against assuming the locked deposit held money or evidence.
Still, she had located a current custodian willing to inspect the records under a court order.
“Adrian contacted that custodian yesterday,” Naomi added.
Claire stared at her.
“How do you know?”
“He sent them a demand through his attorney and copied me by mistake.”
Naomi slid the letter across her desk.
Adrian claimed that the locker contained intellectual property inherited from Malcolm Pike.
He also claimed that Ruth Bell had stolen the contents before disappearing.
I read the sentence twice.
“He’s saying Mom stole something that may still be locked up.”
“He’s making inconsistent claims,” Naomi said.
“That can be useful, but only if we document them.”
I had entered her office wanting someone to name a villain.
I left knowing that proof required patience my anger did not possess.
Chapter 7: Hazel’s Pink Star
I collected Hazel from the animal shelter while Claire waited at my house.
My daughter noticed the broken mailbox before she saw the police report on the counter.
She stood beside the post and touched her white star with one finger.
“Who did this?”
“Florence Keene.”
“The lady who feeds the stray cats?”
“Yes.”
Hazel turned toward me with an expression I recognized from her mother.
“Why?”
“We’re finding out.”
She inspected the cracked enamel.
“It took me three weekends to paint this.”
I apologized for not protecting it.
Hazel shook her head.
“You can’t stand outside watching the mailbox all day.”
Inside, I showed her only the relevant portions of the doorbell recording.
I told her someone had delivered a suspicious envelope and asked her not to touch it.
She accepted the instruction but wanted to know whether anyone was in danger.
“I don’t know yet,” I said.
She nodded slowly.
“That’s an answer.”
At dinner, Claire explained that our grandmother had belonged to the Hope House volunteer group.
Hazel asked whether her grandmother Ruth had really disappeared voluntarily.
None of us could answer.
She then surprised me with a question about the damaged mailbox post.
“Did you look behind the star?”
“What do you mean?”
“I put a note under the mounting bracket when I painted it.”
Hazel showed me a photograph taken during the installation.
