Clearly, Scarlett was not released for the day. Not yet. Her boss went through umeboshi plums—small, gray, salty things that came in a tiny plastic container—at an astonishing rate. This was a common and easy enough errand, though. She was there and back in a few minutes.

The lobby of Mrs. Amberson’s new building was cold and beautiful, from the marbled walls and floor to the gleam of the brass mailboxes to the buttery leather sofas off to the side. The man on duty was new to Scarlett. He was shaped roughly like a postbox, but moved with slightly less grace than a postbox might if it freed itself from its moorings and went for a stroll down the street. He was spraying the delicate orchid on the coffee table with water, pumping the bottle hard, as if the orchid had said something offensive about his mom. The orchid shook under the onslaught. He took his time setting down the bottle and coming over to the desk. Things really went wrong when she told him that she was going to 19D. He seemed to take it as a personal affront.

“The freight elevator closes at six,” he said, pulling on his name tag for emphasis. His name was Murray.

“Okay?” Scarlett said.

“At six,” he said again. “When you gonna be done? I got to keep the lobby clear. When you gonna be done?”

Scarlett looked around at the lobby, which was empty.

“I can’t have you moving boxes through here all day. And sofas. And chairs. I gotta keep the lobby clear.”

“It is clear,” she said.

“You have to get your stuff up there by six,” he said. “The freight elevator closes at six. I lock it then.”

“It’s not my stuff,” Scarlett said.

“What? I gotta lock it at six.”

“Yes, but…”

“Hey! I gotta keep it clear!”

“Six,” Scarlett replied. “Got it. Six.”

He picked up his phone. Scarlett could just hear Mrs. Amberson’s voice on the other end, and she didn’t sound happy.

“You can go,” he said, disappearing behind his New York Post, still making noises of general disapproval. “Six o’clock. Remember.”

Scarlett turned the corner, around the bank of gleaming brass mailboxes with the marble shelf, to the elevators. She stabbed the button several times in her annoyance.

“What time was that?” she said, in a low, mocking voice. “Six? Was it six? Did you say six? Oh wait…six?”

“Hey!” Murray called loudly. Scarlett blanched, wondering if he’d heard her. She poked her head back around the corner to see him holding up a bundle of large envelopes bound together with rubber bands. Scarlett walked back to collect it.

“Gets a lot of mail,” the guy muttered. “Always going to get this much mail?”