He stepped up to the counter, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his palm. “I’d like to talk to Howard.”

“Mr. Crowell is not here today.”

The words were so simple yet so totally unexpected that they caught him off guard. Howard wasn’t here? Howard was always here. “Is he sick?” he asked.

“Yes he is. May I help you?”

Doug glared at the man. “Maybe you can. My family and I went on a picnic by Clear Creek yesterday, and we found unopened, undelivered mail strewn along the banks of the creek.”

A light smile played across the mailman’s lips. “ ‘Strewn?’”

His mocking intonation was so much like Tritia’s that Doug faltered for a second. But he recovered almost immediately and put the envelopes on the counter. “Here are a few pieces of mail we rescued.”

The mailman reached for the envelopes, but Doug drew them back. “I’m going to give these to Howard.”

“I’m sorry. It is the duty and responsibility of the postal service to deliver mail. It is against the law for you to retain undelivered items.”

Doug could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He was sweating profusely now and again he wiped his forehead. “These all seem to be bills,” he said. “And there were hundreds of more bills at the creek. Now, I haven’t been getting my regular bills lately. In fact, I don’t think I’ve gotten a bill since your predecessor died. I don’t know what’s going on, but a large chunk of my mail seems to be disappearing.”

“I haven’t gotten my bills lately either,” the man in back of him said.

Doug watched the mailman’s face for a reaction, for a sign that he had hit a nerve. He’d expected the mailman to glare at him, to get angry, to somehow tip his hand and admit that he’d been dumping the mail at the creek, but the mailman’s face remained serenely neutral.

“I promise that we will look into these complaints as soon as possible,” the mailman said. His voice was pleasant, unperturbed, calmly reassuring. “Do you have anything else, Mr. Albin?”

“Just that someone’s been sending letters to the department of water and power telling them to cut off my water and electricity. The same person sent a letter to the phone company telling them to disconnect my phone. I believe that’s mail fraud.”

“Yes it is, Mr. Albin. And I assure you we will look into it immediately. I will tell Mr. Crowell of your concerns.”

Doug looked into the mailman’s eyes and saw in them a blank hardness that bored right through him and made him want to glance away, but he forced himself to hold contact. The sweat felt cold on his body. “Thank you,” he said tersely.