I recently moved into my late mother’s house. Life was settling down, but I noticed my mail wasn’t arriving. When I checked the surveillance camera, I saw my neighbor stealing it. The next morning, I caught him red-handed, and shortly after, he suddenly disappeared. The letter I finally received revealed part of the mystery.
After my mother passed away, I moved into her house, a quaint place with a lovingly tended garden. Settling in, I unpacked boxes filled with memories, but the house felt empty without her.
One morning, as I sipped my coffee, I noticed something odd. Days had passed without any mail. At first, I thought it was due to the address change, but weeks went by, and still nothing.
Determined to solve the mystery, I installed a small surveillance camera near the mailbox. It was a tiny, discreet device among the flowers, making me feel like a detective in one of my mother’s beloved mystery novels.
***
The very next day, I eagerly reviewed the footage. My heart pounded as I watched the screen. Suddenly, there he was my new neighbor, casually stealing my mail.
My jaw dropped. He was a tall, grumpy-looking man who kept to himself. I had only seen him a few times, and he never seemed friendly.
But stealing mail? That was bizarre.
I replayed the footage to be sure. There was no mistake. He had my letters in his hands, stuffing them into his coat pockets.
Why would he do that?
***
The next morning, I gathered my courage and walked over to Mr. Thompson’s house. I knocked on the door, and after a moment, it creaked open.
Mr. Thompson stood there, looking annoyed, his brows furrowed deeply.
“What do you want?” he grumbled, not even trying to hide his irritation.
“Mr. Thompson, I need to talk to you about something important,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ve noticed my mail has been missing lately.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Mail? Missing?” He shook his head. “You must be mistaken. Probably the post office’s fault.”
I frowned.
“Actually, I installed a camera near my mailbox.” I paused for effect. “It recorded you taking my mail.”
Mr. Thompson’s face turned red.
“That’s ridiculous! Why would I take your mail?”
He also tried to laugh it off, but it sounded forced.
“Maybe it’s a mistake. You know, cameras can be tricky.”
I glanced past him and noticed how empty his house was. Bare walls, no furniture—just a few scattered boxes.
“You don’t seem to have much here,” I said, changing the subject slightly. “Moving in or out?”
Mr. Thompson’s eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place—fear, maybe.
“Just…downsizing,” he muttered.
“Downsizing, huh?” I echoed. “Doesn’t look like you ever moved in.”
He sighed heavily. “Look, I don’t know what you think you saw, but I didn’t take your mail.”
His evasive answers and strange behavior only increased my suspicions. I knew he was hiding something, and I was ready to find out what.
As I walked back to my house, I resolved to catch him red-handed the next morning. This mystery was far from over.
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