“Mom takes care of all the house mail now,” Chloe said.

“She grabs everything out of the mailbox as soon as the carrier drives by.”

“Has she been opening my personal bank statements?” I asked.

Chloe lifted her eyes from her screen for three seconds, wide and blank.

“Why would Mom want your bank statements, anyway?” she asked.

“I’m asking you where my mail went.”

“Mom stuck your letters in her bedroom dresser, I guess,” Chloe said, turning her shoulder back toward the upstairs hall.

She went up two steps, then paused and looked back down over her shoulder.