“Sounds like you handled it just fine,” he’d said, dismissing the whole incident.
That was her. She’d been handling every complication since she was twelve years old.
She petted a puzzled but tolerant Chester for another few minutes until Riley rapped on the front door again. Her hands fumbled with the lock and it took her a minute to undo the lock.
“Did you see anything?”
“No murdering psychos. At least as far as I can find.”
“You think I was seeing things, then?”
“Nope. You definitely saw someone out there.”
“How can you tell?”
He pulled a bundle from behind his back and carried it into the house. “I found this in a corner of your porch, back in the shadows. I probably would have noticed it when I came up to the door if I hadn’t been so worried about you.”
She stared at the huge basket. “What on earth?”
“Any idea who might have dropped it off for you in the middle of the night?”
“No. That’s crazy. Why wouldn’t whoever delivered it ring the doorbell?”
“Good question.”
He was wearing evidence gloves, she realized. As if this was a crime scene or something.
“You think it’s...something weird?”
“I’m sure it’s only from one of your many well-wishers. But just to be safe, why don’t I take a look since I’m here and all?”
“This is Hope’s Crossing, not Oakland, Riley. I highly doubt somebody’s left me a pipe bomb in a basket of...of magazines.”
His look was wry. “You didn’t expect anybody to break into your store and vandalize it, did you?”
She had no answer to that, so she merely pushed her chair out of the way. Riley set the basket on the console table in the entryway and began sorting through the contents.
“Looks like we’ve got something in a package that says Sugar Rush. What’s that?”
“Gourmet sweet shop down on Pine Street, opened about a year ago. They have the best ice cream in town.”
“This says blackberry fudge.”
“Ooh. Yum. My favorite.”
He gave her a sidelong look that made her toes tingle like she’d missed a step. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Though I’m not picky,” she confessed. “I like all their fudge. And the ice cream, too. Oh, and their caramel drops. Which is probably why I stay away from Sugar Rush.”
He smiled a little and reached into the basket again. “What else do we have here? Looks like lotion.”
He opened the lid and sniffed. “Nice. Smells like flowers.”
“Christy Powell makes soap and lotion. Maybe the basket is from her.”
“I haven’t seen a note yet.”
He pulled out a thick stack of new magazines, what looked like one issue of just about every offering from the rack at Maura’s bookstore, including several beading magazines, she was touched to see.
Usually Claire didn’t read many magazines. She preferred a good novel as a general rule, but when she was stressed, sometimes leafing through a magazine that didn’t require a major commitment in energy or attention was the perfect thing.
Riley wasn’t done yet. He pulled out about a half dozen of the romantic suspense novels she preferred and then a bag of gourmet hard candy, also from Sugar Rush.
“Wow. Somebody knows what I like. I bet it was Alex.”
Riley didn’t appear convinced. “Why would she bother skulking around your porch and leaving secret baskets instead of what she usually does—barging in and sticking her nose wherever she wants?”
“Good point.” She smiled a little. For all his grousing about his sister, she knew Riley and Alex usually had a great relationship. Alex adored her only brother, as did all the McKnight sisters.
“You’re right. Alex has a key anyway. If it had been her, she would have dropped off the basket on the kitchen table and then started rearranging my spice cupboard and nagging me about why I haven’t replaced the saffron I bought six years ago or something.”
He smiled. “Note to self, keep Alex out of my kitchen.”
“Wise decision,” she answered.
He reached into the basket again. “Check this out. I wonder if it came from Maura’s store.”
He pulled out a small flowered bookmark with a dangly angel charm.
Claire gazed at it for an instant and then gasped as all the pieces clicked into place. “The angel! Oh, my word!”
“Angel?”
“I must have had a visit from the Angel of Hope. Darn! Now I really wish I had been able to see more than just a dark shape out there.”
Riley carefully set the bookmark back into the basket, his wary gaze trained on her like he expected her to start speaking in tongues any minute now. “You think you’ve had an angelic visitation? You haven’t been mixing that pain medication with anything, have you? Like bourbon? Or, I don’t know, maybe peyote?”
She laughed. “Really? Hasn’t anybody in town told you about our angel?”