THE UNSENT LETTER
Prompt - The Unsent Letter : Write about a letter that never made it to its recipient
"Any mail?"
"Just something for me that looks like the bank, and one to The Resident. Says Urgent."
"Sounds dodgy. Resident stuff's usually junk trying to get you to switch broadband or something."
"No harm in having a look though. I'll open it after mine."
She checked her own letter. The bank, right enough, offering a loan hey didn't want or need. She examined the bulkier envelope for clues. "Looks like the post office have sent it. Some kind of redelivery. Might as well open it and have a look."
She slit it open and took out the contents. There was a tatty brown envelope and an A5 piece of paper. The former was addressed to Leonard Wilkinson, at their address, with 'Not known at this address' scrawled alongside. There was a printed address on the back for a firm of solicitors in a town twenty miles away. The accompanying note gave some explanation of what had happened.
The letter had been posted twenty two years ago - she checked the postmark to confirm this - and returned by the occupant. Instead of then sending the letter back to the solicitors it had become lost in the system, only to resurface recently. The legal firm no longer existed, so the letter was being sent on in the hope that someone might know something about Leonard Wilkinson. And that if this was not possible the letter should be returned to the post office.
"Well, that's interesting."
"Is it? Why?" Greg didn't share her sense of curiosity.
"Yes. It's a mystery, and mysteries are always interesting, aren't they?"
"Not necessarily." Greg could sense what was coming and he wasn't keen.
"So we should have a go at finding this Leonard Wilkinson, see if we can get the letter to him."
"Isn't that the post office's job? Why don't we just send it back?"
"Because it'll be fun. I fancy a bit of detective work. Something different."
"What can we do that the post office can't? Any why?"
"Why? Because it'll be fun, like I said. And we can start by talking to Mrs McGregor, she's been here for ever." Greg sighed. He knew there was no point in arguing.
A week passed. Mo had spent her Saturday afternoon chatting to her elderly neighbour. Ida McGregor could certainly talk. And she remembered Leonard.
"Nice man, but very quiet, didn't have much to do with the neighbours. Not many people came to visit. I don't think he had any family, but I couldn't be sure. Moved away over twenty years ago, or was it more like twenty five? No idea where he went to. The Harrisons came in his place." Were the relevant bits from over ninety minutes of discourse on the subject. Not much help, but at least it confirmed part of the story.
On the Sunday she'd gone to the solicitor's address, to see what was there now. A supermarket, so that told her nothing. But there was an estate agent across the road, that looked well established, so she went in to see if they knew what had happened to the law firm. The guy who was there was too young, but thought maybe his father might know something. So she went back on Tuesday. And he did.
"They went when old Mackay retired, must be over ten years ago now. He's died since, but his partner Buccleuch went to Grensons. He might know something." A lead worth pursuing.
By this time Greg had admitted that Mo was taking this thing seriously, and actually finding stuff out. He offered to help. His office was near Grensons so he went in during his lunch break. To find that Buccleuch had retired a couple of years back, but if he left his details, and what he wanted to talk about, they'd see if the old man would be willing to talk to him.
Meanwhile Mo had written to Elsa Lauder, who they'd bought their house from, to see if she still had any forwarding address for the Harrisons, and started doing some internet searching. By the time Elsa had come back to say she'd lost all that information, Mo had found Gail Harrison on Facebook, although she had gone up a few dead ends before that. Gail remembered buying the house from Leonard Wilkinson, that it been a bit of a bargain at the time, and she would look to see if she had any information that might help Mo find him.
Twelve days since the letter had arrived, the mystery had been placed before them, and the investigation began. Gail Harrison and Gary Buccleuch got in touch the same day. The solicitor had gone into the office to check over old records and had found very little referring to Wilkinson. He could see that a letter had been sent, but it wasn't clear what it had been about. Probably related to probate though. Had they opened the letter?
They hadn't, and it didn't feel right to do so. But it would be a last resort if they slammed into the buffers. Buccleuch hadn't any forwarding address, but he did have contact details for a relative, Henry Wilkinson, who might have been Leonard's brother.
Gail Harrison had something better. The forwarding address for one Leonard Wilkinson, to which she remembered sending a few items that turned up for him after he'd gone. It was in Tollburn, a one time mining village on the outskirts of town, and definitely not a place on the tourist itinerary. Greg was reluctant to go, but the following Saturday he found himself driving the tired and dirty streets, looking for 19 Winding Street. His reluctance increased when they found it.
In a road of crumbling, untidy cottages number 19 stood out are the crumbliest of the bunch. Flaking paint, missing tiles, long grass, unruly bushes, an old fridge in the front garden. Greg was all for driving on, but Mo wasn't to be deflected.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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