Mrs. Parker surrendered after four days.
Marianne agreed to see us.
Her apartment was filled with framed photographs, ceramic birds, and enough mystery novels to stock a small library.
When Mrs. Parker entered, Marianne studied her carefully.
Then she smiled.
“Eleanor.”
Mrs. Parker stopped.
“Hello, Marianne.”
Marianne looked toward Owen.
“And this must be the investigator.”
Owen’s mouth opened.
Daniel had apparently warned her.
We sat around a little round table.
No one knew how to begin.
Finally Marianne did.
“The letters.”
Mrs. Parker nodded.
“I’ve wondered about them.”
“For fifty-two years?”
“No.”
Mrs. Parker smiled sadly.
“For perhaps ten. Then I learned how not to wonder.”
Marianne folded her hands.
“I owe you an explanation.”
Owen leaned forward.
I touched his shoulder.
He sat back.
Marianne looked at Mrs. Parker.
“The letters were not deliberately hidden.”
Something in the room relaxed.
“The front office used to have wooden sorting shelves,” she explained. “Mail was placed in them every morning.”
