My neighbor kept blaming delivery drivers whenever my packages disappeared. So I decided to order one final box and track exactly where it went.
My grandson, Michael, watched the tracker on his phone.
“Grandma, the signal is in her backyard.”
I grabbed my cane. “Then let’s find out why.”
I’m Eleanor, 80 years old, and I never imagined I’d need a tracking device to protect my own deliveries.
It started with vitamins. My package disappeared, but two days later, Linda, my new neighbor, returned it, claiming the driver had delivered it to her by mistake.
Then my slippers vanished. Next came my granddaughter Lily’s birthday gift—a marker set she’d wanted for months.
Each time, Linda had a different excuse. Once, she even mentioned her husband, despite having told me she’d been divorced for six years.
