Chapter 13 #2
“I might.” I pulled out my wallet and fished around.
“I was going to give you this anyway, in case you heard anything.” I set it on the counter, turning it over so the blank back left room for Sylvie to sign.
I hadn’t planned until right then to leave my card, but after seeing Miss Carmody again, I realized I was okay being recognized, at least by her.
If there was even the slightest chance it could help me find Silas, I was willing to put up with whatever memories Miss Carmody might dredge up.
“My first name is Gertie,” she said. “Gertie Carmody.” She handed Sylvie a pen, and Sylvie hesitated, tapping the pen against her chin while she thought, before she wrote:
Thanks for being a fan, Gertie!
Sylvie Calloway
“This makes my day.”
Miss Carmody picked up the card and tapped it on the counter, then went stock-still when she saw my name on the other side.
I had the fleeting thought that I should have sent someone else to Hollow Creek before she said, “Eli? Eli Bishop?” She squinted up at me, studying my face.
“Well, I’ll be. You’re the spitting image of your mama.
I don’t know why I didn’t see it when you walked in.
Those curls, those brown eyes. You’re so tall it threw me off. I bet you don’t remember me.”
Even though I’d been expecting the emotional hit, it was still a shock to have her bring up my mother. I shoved my hands in my pockets and ducked my head, suddenly feeling all of ten years old. “I do, ma’am. I just…”
She nodded soberly. “Haven’t been back since, huh? Must be hard.”
I nodded, my throat suddenly tight.
“We miss your family around here, Eli,” she said gently. I nodded again, and Gertie Carmody, taking pity on the child she’d known, let it go. “Well, I’m glad to see you again, looking so well,” she said, “and with my favorite podcaster. What a treat. Are you helping her investigate?”
“In a way,” I said. I mustered up a semi-authentic smile. “We’re partners. Kind of.”
“Except when you boss me around,” Sylvie said with a grin, poking me with her elbow.
Glad for the change in subject, I leaned into the jab. “Well, you’re a podcaster. You know about podcasting. I know about everything else.”
Sylvie rolled her eyes and shared a glance with Miss Carmody.
“Not at all full of himself, I see that.” Gertie beamed up at me. “Truly, it does my heart good to lay eyes on you again, Eli.” She straightened abruptly. “Saying your name out loud just reminded me, and I didn’t put it together until just now. Did you know you have a box here?”
That was unexpected. “A box?”
“You signed up for it five, six years ago? I remember noting the name at the time, wondering if you were coming home, if it was the same Eli Bishop. The box has been collecting junk mail ever since. I was about to send you your annual bill.”
“My bill?” I asked, this piece of the puzzle not fitting, no matter how I turned it in my head.
“Well, I guess I wasn’t sending it to you if you didn’t know you had the box and haven’t been paying for it.”
“Can you tell me where you’ve been sending the bills? Because I definitely didn’t know I had a box.” I wasn’t sure what to make of this new development. Was it connected to Emily Shaw? How could it be, when the box had been rented five years ago?
“I need to see your driver’s license,” she said abruptly.
“All right,” I agreed. If it had been anyone else demanding my license, I might have hesitated, but Gertie Carmody was not at the center of some kind of crime ring. She definitely hadn’t blown up Emily Shaw.
She took it from me, glanced at it, and then turned around.
“Stay right there.” She disappeared into the back of the post office and returned with a file.
“We do all this on paper. But look—” She handed me a copy of a driver’s license.
My license from five years ago. She compared it to my current one, which she placed on the counter.
“Same one, same number, same name, same picture—it’s your box. ”
She flipped the page over. A billing address was printed there, in Gertie’s neat handwriting, a P.O. box I recognized.
“I’ve been sending the bills here.”
Fucking Silas. Why would he have taken out a box in my hometown and not told me about it?
“How much do I owe?” I asked.
She quoted a number that seemed more than reasonable for a year’s post office box rental. I handed her my card. She ran it and smiled brightly. “I’ll bring you back what’s in it.”
“Okay,” I said, not sure where this was going.
She left and a minute later returned with one of those plastic bins the post office always put accumulated mail in and slid it across the counter.
“I wish I had more to tell you so I could keep you here. I’ve got a million questions.”
“We’re on a schedule,” Sylvie said, “but we have time for a few. Hit me.”
I listened with one ear as Miss Carmody grilled Sylvie on the current season’s case.
Sylvie refused to spill the last episode, yet to be released, but revealed a few details she’d kept out of the recordings.
As she spoke, her voice low, leaning in close, her cinnamon hair almost brushing Gertie’s gray, the postmistress’s eyes shone with excitement.
Most of my attention was on the bin filled with junk mail.
We’d learned that Silas had arranged for his own P.O.
box to forward to Miranda, who handled the logistics for our team, including mail.
That meant this secret P.O. box would have hit our radar as soon as the invoice for the coming year made its way to her, something Silas absolutely would have known. He didn’t miss the details.
Methodically, I flipped through stacks of junk mail. Ads for long-ago mattress sales and holiday used car deals stacked up beside me. I wasn’t going to throw anything away until I was sure there wasn’t a secret message somewhere, but so far it looked like exactly what it was. Junk.
Sylvie shot me a look, taking in my progress through the bin, and gave Miss Carmody another scoop, this time on one of the cases she was considering for an upcoming season. I kept sorting through the mail, finding nothing. What the fuck, Silas?
What was he involved in that he couldn’t just tell us about?
We were family. If he was in trouble… I knew better than to make assumptions.
I needed to keep an open mind. When we had this little evidence, it was too easy to force it into a trail that didn’t exist. So far, all we really knew was that Silas and Emily were connected in some way.
Emily was dead, and Silas had disappeared.
With each offer of car insurance or a great deal on a new roof, all addressed to OCCUPANT, I began to think that the box was a tool Silas had set up but never used.
Until the white envelope tucked into a catalog of holiday decorations.
Addressed to Elias Bishop, the return address Emily Shaw’s from Knoxville, it was postmarked three days after Emily’s death.
I shifted, turning my back to Sylvie and Miss Carmody.
Sylvie didn’t say a word, but moved a second later, sliding to the side to fully block Gertie’s view of the envelope in my hands.
I was officially done being annoyed that I was stuck with a civilian podcaster as a partner.
Sylvie wasn’t trained in my business, but her instincts were spot-on.
I tore open the envelope. Inside, I found a sheet of Creed Global stationery. It was blank except for a single line written in Silas’s handwriting.
Internal > MP > 102398.delsh.active
I stared down at the single line for a long moment, trying to decipher it, before tucking it back in the envelope and folding the whole thing in half.
Questions zinged through my head. Why was this cryptic message postmarked after Emily’s death and sent to me, from her address, to a P.O.
box set up by Silas? Based on the handwriting, I wanted to think Silas had sent it to me as a message.
But what did it mean? Could Emily’s killer have sent it to draw us out?
None of it made sense.
The envelope went in the zippered pocket of my jacket. The rest of the junk mail I dumped back in the bin.
“Time to go,” I said, squeezing Sylvie’s shoulder with my free hand.
She shot a wide smile at Miss Carmody. “It was lovely to meet you. Nothing is more fun than talking to a listener in person.”
“You made my day.” Miss Carmody winked at Sylvie and turned to me. “It does my heart good to see you again, Eli. You don’t have to be a stranger.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Being here had brought more grief than nostalgia. I had two more stops to make before we headed back to Atlanta, and after that, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be back. This town was my past, not my future. I only nodded in response, my throat a little tight.
Sylvie jumped in to spare me from saying anything else. “If Eli gets any mail in that box, do you think you could give us a call? I know it’s not your job to call when mail comes in, but we’re not local and?—”
“Say no more.” Miss Carmody sent a wink my way. “You get anything, I’ll call the number on your card.”
“Appreciate it,” I managed, hefting the bin of mail and turning to the door.
Sylvie said another thanks and looped her arm through mine, practically pushing me to the door, maybe sensing how ready I was to get the hell out of the post office.
I shoved the bin in the back seat and climbed in, fastening my seat belt as Sylvie got in beside me.
“Where to now?” she asked.
“Home,” I said, forcing the word out through my tight throat. “Before we leave, I want to go home.”