Bea thanked the mailman and bid him happy holidays as she took the day's mail bin. Only three packages today. The lack of packages had been evident to Bea ever since end of October. She'd come from a big city, and had been expecting to have more packages than surfaces to put them on. instead she pulled the three packages from the bin and placed them under the counter so no one would get any ideas about stealing them.

'Protecting mail now?' said a voice in the back of her head, 'Not squirreling it away to open for ourselves?' The voice had arrived after the police had questioned her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The voice was stupid, opening the mail hadn't hurt anyone per se since its owner was dead. 

'Death!' the voice chirped, 'Death just follows you everywhere!'

'That was just mean,' Bea thought, 'it wasn't my fault Dad died, I wasn't home and they never even found his body, just his blood.'

'What about at college?'

'That girl died of an overdose.'

'But you handed her the cup'

'No she grabbed my cup, downed it in two gulps, and screeched away to the dance floor.'

'Whatever you have to tell yourself.' said the voice. Then it retreated to the back of Bea's mind and kept its mouth tightly closed.

Bea sighed, she didn't like the voice to begin with, but bringing up her dad had been a dirty move. Especially because it reminded her of what Evans' mail had said. The letter hadn't had a return address but had been signed 'An Old Friend'. The letter had talked about some other friends first, and then dove into how the Old Friend knew Evans had been in danger, saying there was a plot. Bea had hoped opening the letter might answer some questions, but it only answered one 'who is this from, there's no return address, and it hadn't really answered that one.

Mostly it raised new questions. How could this friend know Evans was going to die? Why did they need to Hide their identity, was it an identity Evans would know from 'Old Friend'? And most of all, if the letter had been warning Evans about his death, why had it arrived three weeks later? Snail mail wasn't that slow anymore.

At the end of the day, Bea bent down and looked at the little basket full of Evans' mail. In a split second decision she grabbed it and stuffed it in the inside pocket of her yellow rain jacket. The owner was dead, and the town needed answers.