About Letters About Love, Mostly

The first letter arrived on the same day I found the body. It was addressed to her so I didn’t open it. Not immediately. I put it on the mantelpiece. Then I took the dog for a walk. She was the former tenant, but I didn’t have a forwarding address. I could’ve found out but I didn’t have the energy. So I just left it on the mantelpiece and took the dog for a walk. I used to write a lot of letters myself: letters, poetry, stories-I even started a screenplay once, but it was clumsy and overpopulated, and then everything went wrong and I gave it up. It was months before I could summon the strength to write my own signature, but since I didn’t have a checkbook any more I suppose it didn’t make much difference. This was a bulky letter in a good-quality beige envelope. I propped it...