Denise smiled. “Oh, no. This is just my nightgown.” I laughed, not because anything was funny — my brain simply hadn’t caught up yet. “I ordered one exactly like that. It never showed up.” Her smile faded, just slightly. “Well, this isn’t yours.” “Maybe the courier mixed up the houses.” “He didn’t.” “You don’t even know which courier I used.” That’s when her whole face changed. Just slightly. But enough.
I pointed at the side seam. “Can I see the label?” “No.” “I only want to check the brand.” “I said no.” Then she shut the door in my face. I stood on her porch staring at it for several seconds before walking home.
For illustrative purposes only
Boxes That Came Back Resealed
My husband Ryan was in the kitchen when I got in. “What happened?” “She’s wearing my dress.” “Who?” “Denise.” “The missing one?” “The missing one.” Ryan stared at me. “She’s taking your packages.” “I know.” “Call the police.” “And say what? My neighbor owns the same dress I ordered?” “You have delivery confirmation.” “I have a photo proving it was left on our porch. Not one of Denise taking it.” “So you’re just going to let it go?” I looked through the window at her house. “No. I have a plan.” Ryan sighed. “Oh no.”
My name is Jenna. Ryan and I had lived in our house nearly five years when Denise moved in next door about eighteen months earlier. We were friendly — not close enough to trade house keys, but close enough for twenty-minute driveway conversations when one of us was supposedly running late somewhere. She knew where I worked, I knew her divorce had been ugly, she’d borrowed my hedge trimmer once, I’d borrowed her ladder. Normal neighbor stuff. Which is probably why it took me so long to suspect her.
The package problem started around three months earlier. At first nothing actually went missing — boxes just started arriving already opened. Not torn. Carefully opened, tape lifted along one edge and pressed back down. The first time, skincare products; I figured the warehouse had inspected it. The second time, shoes, and Ryan noticed before I did. “Was this already open?” “Maybe.” “That’s weird.” “Probably shipping.”
Then two sweaters arrived with the seal broken, nothing missing, but one clearly unfolded and stuffed back into its plastic. The retailer apologized and offered a discount. The delivery company’s rep told me, “Everything leaves our depot sealed, ma’am. If you’re repeatedly receiving packages opened, you may want to check what happens after they’re delivered.”
“You Should Get a Camera”
I mentioned it to Denise the next afternoon, both of us hauling in our trash cans. “That’s creepy,” she said. “I know.” “Maybe kids?” “I don’t think kids are opening boxes to put moisturizer back.” She laughed. “True.” Then: “You should get a camera.” I remember that clearly now. At the time I just said Ryan and I had been meaning to. Life happened. The camera stayed on the someday list.
