“Because the mailman leaves the lid open when the hinge sticks, and the electric bill got soaked on Tuesday,” I said.

I cranked the screwdriver counterclockwise against the rusted bracket, but the screw head was stripped completely smooth.

I wedged the flat iron tip behind the back plate to pry the whole thing away from the painted siding.

Something thick and stiff clicked against the metal tip inside the narrow gap behind the wall mount.

I pulled out a cream window envelope, folded twice lengthwise and coated in grit.

My name was nowhere on the front.