Forty Thousand Dollars and the Deed to Maple Avenue Bakery

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At one o’clock, the afternoon delivery truck arrived, its brakes squealing on the gravel alley.

I left Diana to supervise the flour delivery and walked down Broad Street toward the post office.

The post office smelled of wet cardboard, ink, and old floor wax.

Milt, the postal clerk who had worked the counter since we were girls, slid a long manila continue reading …