When an unknown scruffy faced man with stringy gray hair approaches us in our front yard, and in a high pitched twang asks, “Hey, you must be new to the neighborhood,” my husband and I cautiously pause midway between our front door and car with boxes in hand.
Alarm bells sound in my head.
“Yep we officially move in tomorrow,” my husband responds.
The man moves toward our front porch, and it is then that I notice he is wearing faded light blue postal carrier shorts and a button up shirt. His dingy white tube socks slouch around his ankles and a well warn UNC ball cap shades his face. After the lid of our mailbox clangs shuts, the mailman continues, “You big University of North Carolina fans? I noticed the UNC decal on your car.”
Is he stalking us?
“Yes, both of our kids attend.” I reply cautiously.
Dan and I set our moving boxes down on the grass. “Did you go there?” Dan asks.
“Yep! I’m a huge fan.”
And just when I think this homeless man who is masquerading as a postal carrier is about to walk out of our yard and into our neighbor’s, he announces, “Bet you didn’t know your house is almost famous.”
“Yeah. Your neighbor was shot and killed in her house several years back, and I was the first person on the scene shortly after she was murdered. I didn’t know about the crime at the time of my delivery, but when I rounded the corner to continue my route, twelve police cars surrounded me with guns drawn. They proceeded to haul me off to the police station for questioning.”
Oh. My. God. Our mailman is a murder!
(To be continued.)