Read Online Death Takes Priority by Jean Flowers - Free Book Online

machines, half expecting to see headlines about Scott/Quinn, but, of course, there’d be no new local paper until Friday and until then we’d be getting all our news from a not-very-local television station and the ever-accurate word of mouth.
    My building was dark except for the lobby and the night-lights in the sorting area. Ben had kindly taken down the flag and closed shop. I picked up a few candy wrappers and empty chip bags from the parking area, stuffed them into the trash container at the edge of the lot, and walked around to the side door. I let myself in, my gaze reaching to the far corner, where the phone books had rested what seemed like ages ago. I smiled at the ridiculous idea that somehow the directories might be back, perhaps delivered by the police. I had a moment of satisfaction that I hadn’t filed a theft report with the postal inspectors. Though I’d always found them very helpful and dedicated, I was glad not to have taken attention away from more serious cases like identity theft and hazardous mail. There was hardly a crime they didn’t deal with, if it in any way involved misuse of mail service.
    I’d forgotten to ask Sunni about the disposition of the books, and wondered if they were now considered evidence in a murder investigation. Who would break the news to Wendell, who’d facilitated the delivery, to the merchants who’d bought ads, and to those residents who may be counting on the updated books? New questions and problems were sprouting as if it were springtime and the trees were sending forth blossoms, instead of becoming more dry and barren every day.
    I made myself some coffee, inferior to the police department’s, and decided to put in a couple hours of work to make up for my absence this afternoon. I needed the satisfaction of completing chores that could be checked off and put behind me. Ben had, unwittingly, I guessed, obliged by leaving me a list of things to be done in the next day or so. He often set aside a pile of special pieces of mail, labeling them with notes that said FUNNY, or STRANGE, or simply adding a large question mark.
    I sat on my stool and surveyed the envelopes on the counter. One of today’s notes from Ben read DUMB. Under the note, I found what looked like a bill addressed to
Masinmary Olly Pendergast.
Our school principal Molly Pendergast, who lived a couple of streets over, had apparently failed in her efforts to spell out her first name. It was hard to figure who in Ben’s mind deserved the “dumb” label, Molly or a faraway clerk who took her literally.
M as in Mary . . .
    Under the FUNNY label was a news magazine with a cover article, “The State of the Service Industry.” The magazine’s front cover and first few pages had been nearly torn to shreds by the originating post office. “Mangled in Delivery” was the official designation, and OOPS might have been a better tag from Ben.
    One more piece set aside by Ben was labeled DLO? for DEAD LETTER OFFICE. He’d written the letters with a red marker, which he used when there was an official issue in play. Like many older workers, Ben had yet to adopt the newer, more uplifting and hopeful designation of “MAIL RECOVERY CENTER,” or MRC. I could hear Linda in my head, ranting about how much money had been spenton the committee meetings involved in coming up with the new name.
    I picked up the first-class DLO/MRC letter to a person in Ashcot, Massachusetts. No street address. No clue about the sender through a return address label or a return zip code. Also, there was no such town as Ashcot. The letter had been delivered first to South Ashcot, whose postmaster forwarded it to us. In itself, not an unusual occurrence. At least a couple of times a month, mail was addressed either to North Ashcot when South Ashcot was intended, or vice versa. The two offices cooperated fully, not designating a letter officially “dead”