“Evening, ladies,” called out a chipper voice.
A pleasant-faced Asian man in his late fifties, Grace would have recognized Phil even without his signature golf cart. His dark brown eyes were always kind, and he had a smile and a good word for her every time they met. He liked to think of himself as more than just the entirety of Hamlet’s makeshift postal service. Phil Granger was its welcoming committee, too.
She could see from the dark blue cap he wore, the one with USPS stitched in white, that this meeting had everything to do with his habit of collecting mail from the nearest town and delivering it to the Hamlet locals.
The small village didn’t warrant a post office of its own; just Phil and his repurposed golf cart that he used to gather and dole out the letters and packages.
Unlike an official mail carrier, Phil didn’t make his rounds every day. She usually spied him scooting past Ophelia once a week, though, and she often saw him down at Jefferson’s market where he did the shopping for his family. She liked Phil. Unlike some of the other locals, he never made her feel like she didn’t belong.
After stopping to set down her armful of supplies on the edge of the porch, Grace turned to head toward him. No reason for Phil to climb out of his cart when she could meet him by the street. “Hi, Phil. How are you?”
When she heard Natalie echo her greeting, Grace realized that the deputy had followed her to the curb. Since she wasn’t quite sure she bought Natalie’s reasons for coming over to Ophelia on her day off, she pointedly ignored her in favor of talking to Phil.
“Today delivery day?” she asked.
“That’s right. Let me get Ophelia’s for you.”
Phil kept his oversized mailbag on the passenger seat. As organized as ever, he reached in and pulled out a bundle tied together with a pale blue ribbon. She knew from past experience that he used the same ribbon every time he dropped mail off for Maria. It was his way of distinguishing whose mail went where.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Grace accepted the stack of letters Phil held out toward her. “I’ll make sure Maria gets them.”
“Hang on, Miss Delaney. Looks like you’ve finally got some mail of your own. About time, huh?”
“What? Me?”
He nodded, bending low to retrieve something from the floor of his cart. “Ran into this man just outside of Hamlet’s borders. He asked me to make sure I delivered this to you personally.” Phil beamed, first at one woman, then the other, as he extended the large violet-colored envelope to Grace. “Wasn’t even wearing my hat then and he knew I was in charge of the post in town all the same.”
She had to take it. Though warning bells went off at the mention of some strange man meeting Phil outside of Hamlet, they were clanging sirens by the time she understood that her hiding place had truly been compromised. Not only did this man know she was in Hamlet, but he was also able to trace her right to Maria’s doorstep.
Tucking Maria’s mail under her arm for safekeeping, she peered down at the address scrawled across the front of the pale purple envelope. It might’ve been nerves, or maybe because of the fancy calligraphy, but it took her a moment to read what was written across the center:
Miss Grace Delaney
? Ophelia
12 Orchard Avenue
Hamlet
There was… there was no denying that. No pretending there was a mistake. Her glance flickered to the top left corner. Nothing there. She flipped it to the back. No return address. Back to the front. No stamp, either. It was as if someone had hovered just outside of Hamlet in the hopes that kind-hearted, civic-minded Phil Granger would do everything he possibly could to make sure Grace got this letter.
Her stomach clenched. No. Not someone.
No matter what this envelope held inside of it, Grace had the one thing she didn’t really want: confirmation.
Tommy Mathers had found her at last.
18
While Grace struggled to hold it together, Natalie laughed. “Your fame’s spreading, Phil.”
“You think so, Deputy?”
“Of course.”
“My Erlinda would love to hear that. I’ll have to make sure—”