I held the cardboard mailer over the slot for one second, looking at my name written in plain black ink on the label.

Then I let it go.

The sealed envelope fell into the dark steel chute with a soft, hollow thud.

The metal flap clicked closed against the cold blue mailbox, leaving me three hours until the annual regional business dinner at the Grand Regency Hotel.

I drove the Buick through the evening traffic, left it in the guest lot behind the hotel and walked in through the heavy brass doors of the main entrance.

The light from the chandeliers in the grand ballroom was bright enough to make my eyes hurt after the dim streetlights outside.