Chapter 55: The Mailbox Mystery Begins
Penny calls me at 8 AM on a Tuesday.
"Stuart. You need to see this."
"Good morning to you too."
"Seriously. Come over. Right now."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Something's—weird. Just come over."
Her apartment building mailboxes are in the lobby. Standard wall of brass rectangles with combination locks.
Penny's holding a comic book.
Ms. Marvel #1. Carol Danvers run.
"Where'd you get that?" I ask.
"My mailbox. This morning." She hands me a note attached with a paper clip.
You'll love this one. Strong female lead, excellent character development. Perfect follow-up to Wonder Woman.
No signature. Typed on plain white paper.
"Did you leave this?" Penny asks.
"No. I recommended Ms. Marvel last week but I didn't—" I examine the comic. "This is from my shop. I recognize the bag and board. But I didn't put it in your mailbox."
"Leonard?"
"Why would Leonard leave you comics anonymously?"
"I don't know! That's why it's weird!"
I check the comic thoroughly. Nothing else written. Just the note and a perfectly selected trade that absolutely matches Penny's developing interests.
"Maybe someone from the building?" I suggest.
"Who? My neighbors are like, three college students and an elderly couple. Nobody knows I'm reading comics."
"Someone from the gang?"
"But why anonymously?"
Good question.
"Let's not overthink it," I say finally. "Maybe it's a nice gesture. Someone being kind."
"Or creepy."
"Helpful creepy?"
"Still creepy."
Four days later, it happens again.
Runaways Volume 1. Perfect for Penny's taste—strong female characters, teenage protagonists, emotional depth.
Another note: Thought you'd enjoy this. Trust me.
"Okay, this is definitely weird," Penny says.
We're at my penthouse. She brought the comic over immediately.
"Someone's watching what you read," I observe. "Knows your preferences. Has access to your mailbox."
"That's the creepy part."
"Or the thoughtful part?"
"Stuart. Someone is leaving me comics. Without telling me who they are. That's stalker behavior."
"Helpful stalker behavior?"
"There's no such thing!"
Fair point.
"Want me to stake out your mailbox?" I offer.
"How would that work?"
"I could—I don't know. Sit in your lobby? Watch for whoever's doing this?"
"For how long? They could come at any time."
Also fair.
"We could ask the gang," I suggest. "See if anyone knows anything."
"I already asked Leonard. He said no."
"Suspicious."
"That's what I thought! But he seemed genuinely confused."
"Howard?"
"Wouldn't he do something more—Howard about it? Like, leave me comics about women in bikinis?"
"Probably."
"Raj?"
"Maybe? He's sentimental enough."
"Sheldon?"
We both pause.
"Actually," I say slowly. "Sheldon makes sense. He'd do weird helpful things without understanding social norms around anonymity."
"But how would he know what I like?"
"He pays attention. Probably has a database of everyone's preferences."
"God, you're right. He totally has a database."
Wednesday comic pickup, I pull Sheldon aside.
"Are you leaving comics in Penny's mailbox?"
"No. Why would I do that?"
His confusion seems genuine. Sheldon's a terrible liar—too literal to manage deception well.
"Someone's been leaving her perfectly curated recommendations."
"Fascinating. What's their selection criteria?"
"Strong female leads, character-driven stories, accessible but deep."
"Excellent taste. I approve of this anonymous benefactor."
"So it's not you?"
"I just said no."
"Sometimes you say no but mean something technical that amounts to yes."
"This is not one of those times."
Dead end.
A week into the mystery, Penny's received four comics total.
All perfect selections. All from my shop's inventory. All appearing in her mailbox without explanation.
"I'm installing a camera," she announces.
"In your lobby?"
"On my phone. I'll set it up facing the mailboxes. See who comes."
"That's—actually clever."
"I'm full of surprises."
The camera catches nothing. Twelve hours of lobby footage showing: elderly neighbor getting mail, college students getting pizza delivery, Penny herself checking multiple times.
No mystery comic deliverer.
"How is this possible?" Penny demands, reviewing footage on her laptop.
"Maybe they're really good at timing?"
"Or they have a key to the building."
"Who has keys?"
"Residents. Maintenance. Management."
"So potentially anyone."
"This is so frustrating!"
I'm starting to enjoy the mystery despite Penny's irritation. It's harmless. Thoughtful, even. Someone's putting effort into enriching her comic education.
But the how is genuinely puzzling.
"We'll figure it out," I assure her.
"When?"
"Eventually."
"That's not helpful."
"Neither is stress. Just—enjoy the comics? They're good recommendations."
She glares at me. Then at the latest delivery—Saga Volume 1.
"They are good recommendations," she admits. "That's what makes it weird. Whoever this is knows my taste better than I do."
That night, lying in bed, I run through possibilities.
Leonard: Said no, seemed honest.
Howard: Too subtle for his style.
Raj: Possible but unlikely—would've cracked by now.
Bernadette: Doesn't make sense.
Sheldon: Denied it, seemed genuine.
Someone else: Who?
The tingle flares briefly. My memory trying to surface something.
But there's nothing. This isn't in the show's timeline I remember. This is—new. Different.
Proof that I'm creating a divergent reality through my presence.
Small changes accumulating.
And honestly?
It's kind of exciting.
Not knowing what's coming.
Actually being surprised.
Even if Penny finds it creepy, I'm enjoying the mystery.
We'll solve it eventually.
For now, it's just one more thread making life interesting.
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