Whoever had killed this man had made one nasty-looking crime scene by stabbing him several times with a kitchen knife on a sunny morning in July several years ago.
Reaching for the envelope again, he turned it over, examining the address label more carefully this time. This obviously wasn’t mail for him.
Kelly Bateman, Apt. 4C.
His apartment was 4B.
"Shit."
The mail carrier had delivered it to the wrong apartment.
Ben ran a hand through his hair, still damp with sweat from his run. He needed to return this immediately. It looked important and highly confidential. What was his neighbor doing with police files from an old murder case? He didn’t know who Kelly Bateman was, but she had an interesting hobby, kind of like his aunts Ava and Kaylee.
He glanced at the kitchen clock. 7:42 AM. Too early to knock on a neighbor's door? Probably. But this wasn't a cup of sugar he was returning; it was sensitive material about a murder victim.
First, a shower, and then he’d go across the hall and give “Kelly” her envelope.
Ten minutes later, Ben emerged from the bathroom feeling marginally more human. He dressed quickly in clean jeans and a t-shirt, stuffing his sweatpants into the hamper. Even if he didn’t necessarily have anyplace to go or anything to do, he was going to try to dress as if he did. He combed his wet hair back with his fingers and glanced in the mirror.
Not bad. At least he didn't look like he'd been living in a cave anymore.
Envelope in hand, he stepped into the hallway and walked the few paces to 4C. He hesitated only briefly before knocking, three sharp raps that seemed overly loud in the quiet morning corridor.
“Who is it?” a voice called from inside the apartment.
Smart. She didn’t open the door for strangers.
“Uh, Ben Reilly. Your neighbor. I accidentally got some of your mail, and I want to deliver it to you.”
There was a pause, and then the door swung open, revealing the woman from the trash room the day before.
Once again, he was struck by how pretty she was with her auburn hair and elfin features. She had a pencil stuck behind her ear and a pair of black glasses perched on her nose.
She had that wary expression again, and he held up the envelope so she wouldn’t think he was a stalker trying to gain access to her home.
Was she Kelly Bateman? And why was she looking at a cold case from a decade ago?
She was wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, a coffee mug clutched in one hand.
"Hi," he started, offering what he hoped was a disarming smile. "As I said, I got some of your mail by mistake. Are you Kelly Bateman?"
The woman stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, coffee mug still clutched in one hand, her expression a careful blend of wariness and curiosity. She didn't invite him in, but she didn't slam the door in his face either, which Ben took as a promising start.
Her eyes moved from his face to the brown envelope in his hand, recognition and then alarm flashing across her features as she realized what he was holding.
She knows what’s in it.
“I am,” she replied. “Thank you for bringing it over. That’s very thoughtful.”
"It was no trouble," Ben said, extending the envelope toward her. "I thought it was mine, so I opened it. When I realized it wasn't, I brought it over."
“You opened my mail?” she asked, her tone turned indignant, snatching the envelope from his hand. “That’s a felony, you know.”
He didn’t think she was going to call the cops on him. The city’s finest probably had more important things to do.
“In my defense, I didn’t know it was yours until I opened it. I thought it was mine. I am sorry. I can assure you that I’m not in the habit of opening other people’s mail for fun and profit.”
Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. She was an extremely attractive woman when she wasn’t telling him that he had Cheetos on his shirt.
