Free Much Ado About Muffin by Victoria Hamilton

humid, so there was a heavy mist over everything, fog clinging in drifting layers to the wood’s edge. I contemplated my property, thinking back to when I first arrived. I often saw a flash of orange, but didn’t know for a time that it was probably my late uncle’s cat, Becket, who had disappeared after Melvyn died. Was he doing the same now, creeping close and watching the castle? I strolled to the edge of the parking area and peered through the mist toward the woods. Was that a hint of orange in the distance? “Becket!” I called, but if it
was
him, he disappeared. It hurt to thinkhe felt I’d abandoned him. I would take some treats into the woods and find him.
    Gogi awaited me at the front door of Golden Acres. I watched her buckle the seat belt, then looked at my watch as I pulled away from the curb. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stop at the post office and see if my luggage has arrived yet,” I said. “That episode on the phone with Minnie has left me uneasy. I don’t know why.
Despite
her being a jerk, I’d still like to apologize for Roma’s behavior.”
    â€œRight, the operatic scene at the tea party,” Gogi said, glancing over at me. “I wasn’t there but heard all about it.”
    I eased around the corner onto Abenaki as I told her my theory about Roma trying desperately to live up to the legendary divas of opera and their infamously touchy temperaments. “It’s like she goes out of her way to stage scenes.”
    â€œOn the other hand, she could just be spoiled rotten.”
    I parked across from the post office. As I got out of the car I waved to Binny, who was in her bakery window changing out the display. She waved and went back to work, trading back-to-school décor for fallish fake autumn leaves and gourds. Down the street, a couple of townies entered the Vale Variety and Lunch; morning coffee there is a tradition for many folks and more reliable than the newspaper for local gossip.
    I crossed the quiet street. Just one car was parked in front of mine, and there was no traffic but a tractor that slowly chugged through town. A male jogger in black bike shorts and a T-shirt disappeared around a corner. As I approached the tiny post office, I was puzzled; Minnie was never late to work, and yet the post office was dark. I rattled the door. Locked. I cupped my hands and peered in. Nothing. There was a faint glimmer of light through the darkness—a room in back?
    Gogi joined me. “Minnie hasn’t opened yet? That’s unusual.”
    â€œBut it looks like she’s there. Look . . . you can see a light at the back. Maybe something delayed her from opening.”
    â€œLet’s go around and talk to her. You can at least ask about your luggage.”
    â€œOkay,” I said reluctantly. I didn’t want to disturb Minnie in the middle of work, but I did want to make my apology while I still felt apologetic.
    Gogi led the way down the alley between the post office and another vacant, boarded-up storefront, and around to the back, which was plain brick with an unpainted steel door and no windows. There was a parking lane that ran behind the row of shops, just as there was for the shops across the street.
    â€œThere’s her car,” she said, pointing to a run-down gold-hued Buick LeSabre with a peeling vinyl roof. The lone vehicle parked there, it was low to the ground, like the suspension had been beaten up and had no will to live, or lift.
    I approached the door and knocked. “Minnie, you there?”
    The near silence was deafening; even the crickets had stopped. I ignored a tingle of uneasiness as I tried the handle of the door and pushed. It opened; the lights were on in the room beyond the door, so I stepped through to a smallish space lined with pigeonholes and metal shelves loaded with packages and envelopes. Several mailbags were on the floor, newly arrived, I assumed.
    â€œIs