chapter seven

Take a deep breath in, and out. well, here goes nothing. detective lu's first stunt.

        The following day after classes I accompanied Minseok to the student post office to drop off a birthday present she was sending to his sister. The box was wrapped in plain brown paper embellished with glittering flowers Minseok had spent half the night working on. He was so proud of it, he’d showed it to me first thing that morning. (He was already at his computer emailing Sura, his girlfriend, when I’d woken up.) Still, he seemed listless as we made our way along the pathways that meandered through Hereford’s extensive grounds. Something was up.

“Why aren’t you going home for your sister’s birthday?” I asked, pulling my coat closer to me to guard against an eddy of wind.

“I wanted to, but my parents didn’t think it was worth the money,” Minseok replied with a shrug. He attempted a carefree smile, but I could tell he was disconsolate. “I was just there for Christmas…”

“Well, I’m sure she’s going to like the present. I mean, a twelve-year-old and a complete make-up kit? It doesn’t get any better than that,” I told him, attempting levity.

Minseok’s smile seemed to brighten a bit. “Thanks. This is it.”

He paused in front of the short wooden door in a stone wall that was covered in ivy. The whole building looked like something from a bygone era with its round windows and it turrets. A metal sign with the letters “S.P.O.” stamped on it hang above the door, but the letters had been almost entirely obliterated by the elements.

“State-of-the-art, huh?” I said.

“Yeah. We don’t need newfangled things around here. Like, oh, legible signage,” he replied, opening the door for me.

I laughed as I stepped into a long room. the left wall of which housed at least three hundred tiny mailboxes, each with its own keyhole. There was a window cut out of the wall to the right, behind which a wizened, stern-looking old man stood, sifting through a stack of mail. Behind him was a system of wooden slot for sorting letters, and who should be haphazardly stacking packages in front of it but Oh Sehun?

I swear, sometimes I’m just so hapless I can hardly believe it. How many times could I bump into the guy?

Okay, but he didn’t see you last night, so he only knows about two of the three times, I thought, although it didn’t make me feel any better.

“Hey, Mr. Smoot!” Minseok said, sliding his package across the counter. The old man’s face lit up when he saw Minseok. I was starting to notice this was sort of a trend with him. People just took to Minseok. Adult people, anyway.

“This is going to your sister, huh?” Mr. Smoot asked genially.

“Yep.”

“Got anything else for me today?”

“Nope. Not today,” Minseok replied, “Just this.”

When Minseok spoke up, Sehun looked up and noticed me standing there.

“Stalker,” he said, dispassionately.

I graced him with my most saccharine smile. “I’m with him,” I told him as Minseok fed instructions for shipping to Mr. Smoot. “I swear I didn’t even know you worked here.”

“Whatever,” Sehun said. He turned and tossed a packaged marked “fragile” halfway across the room. I couldn’t help thinking that his working here was just a little too perfect. He was the epitome of a disgruntled postal worker.

“Do you find it hampers your job performance to ignore the warnings on the packages?” I asked.

From the mutinous look on his face I had a feeling the next box would have a direct trajectory for my nose. But he simply turned his back on me and continued to stumble about his job.

“So, how long have you worked here?” I asked the back of his head.

“Why do you care?” he shot back.

What was the point of trying to initiate a conversation with this person?

Because you have to. It’s your job, I reminded myself, bolstering myself for another try.

“Do they pay well?” I asked.

Ever taciturn, Sehun snorted in response and tossed another package on the pile. I watched as he picked up a small box and read the address. Unlike the others, this one he placed carefully on the high shelf. Huh. What was the import here? Why did it merit such distinction?

And then it hit me. Maybe the package was for Sehun himself. And maybe, just maybe it was a shipment for his little underground drug enterprise. Of course! What better way to smuggle drugs into Hereford than to ensconce yourself in a jab at the antiquated post office? They had no computer system to log who received what and when, and Sehun probably handled every package that came through here!

“So you have some kind of staring problem?” Sehun suddenly snapped.

That was when I realized I had been gaping at him, enthralled, while my Sherlock Holmes brain worked its wonders.

“You know, it’s always so great talking to you,” I said mordantly as Minseok finished his transaction. I followed him over to his mailbox, my turbulent thoughts middling my brain. This was it. A real lead. I had to tell Wufan about this, and I had to step up my attempts to whittle my way into Sehun’s life. But how? The kid clearly thought I was deranged. Whenever I was around him. I became either inarticulate or totally shrill. And at this point, I was having a hard time masking my contempt for him.

I shot a glance over my shoulder at Sehun, just in time to see him bump a shelving unit with his elbow and cause an avalanche of letters to