I did not reach for it immediately.

I adjusted my shoulder bag and looked at the brass mailboxes behind him, where my name, Mara Bell, was printed on a small strip of white tape.

“My father was only here once,” I said.

“Twice,” Mr.

Vance corrected, his voice flat.

“And then the junior detective came back yesterday afternoon.

The tenants in 3B are complaining about the police cars blocking the driveway during their shift changes.

This is a quiet building.”