Allison waved goodbye to Bruce and carried the package he delivered to the kitchen. She’d ordered a new cookbook yesterday, but she didn’t think it could have arrived already. Besides, the box was too big for one cookbook.
Once she set the box down on the counter, she walked over to the fridge and grabbed the magnetic box opener off the door. A quick slice over the tape released the flaps. She folded them back and moved the paper aside.
Allison gasped and stepped back.
Black candles were nestled inside the box.
She certainly hadn’t ordered them. She didn’t buy candles—ever. A mistake?
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she took a small step forward and peered into the box. A set of three matching pitch-black candles. No note. No receipt.
Perhaps there was something under the candles or the packaging.
She nibbled on her lip, opened a drawer, and pulled out a spatula. She wasn’t touching the damn things if she could avoid it.
The spatula fit easily between the paper and box. She used the utensil to push the paper down on all sides and then wedged it under the candles to lift them up.
Nothing.
She tossed the spatula in the sink and frowned.
Okay, someone had sent her black candles. Not threatening by themselves. They’re just candles.
Unless someone knew her history.
Allison glared at the box. Could fingerprints be taken from cardboard?
She pulled her phone out of her pocket to search the Internet for the answer but set it on the counter. Literally dozens of people had probably handled the box in transit. Besides, she wasn’t calling the police to report someone sending her candles. They would think she was nuts or charge her for a nuisance call.
If she explained why candles were threatening to her, they’d probably think she deserved the treatment. People tended to make harsh judgments. Not that she could entirely blame them. She was responsible for her parents’ deaths.
She smacked down the lid of the box and searched the label for a clue of its origin.
Potions and Baubles in New York, New York. A store? For the occult?
Picking up her phone, she looked the store up. Sure enough, it was a store for people interested in witchcraft and other supernatural practices. She found a phone number and dialed. Surely, they kept records of orders and deliveries. If someone called it in or ordered it online, they would need a credit card.
“Potions and Baubles, how can I help you?”
“Hi. I received a delivery, but I didn’t order it, and I was wondering if you could tell me who sent it. There’s no note or receipt.”
“What’s your name and address?”
“Allison Delaney. Wigmore Lane, Arlington, Connecticut.”
“When and what was delivered?”
“Today. Three black candles.”
“Oh, I remember that order. I took it.”
“Great, can you tell me who ordered them?”
“’Fraid not. He paid cash.”
Damn it!
“You don’t keep records of deliveries?”
“Not when they order it in person and pay cash. Is that all? I’ve got customers.”
“How about a description?”
“Don’t you have the candles? Look in the box.”
Allison grimaced and stared at the ceiling. The voice on the other end of the line sounded young, like a teenager. By the sound of it, she was rapidly losing patience and interest in Allison’s dilemma. “Not the candles. A description of the man who bought them.”
“Oh, he was tall. But I’m only five feet, so everyone is tall to me.”
“How about hair, eye, skin color?”
“Uh…he was wearing a hat and sunglasses. Look, I only remember him at all because he didn’t look or act like our usual customers. He came right in, knew what he wanted, and paid cash to have them sent.”
Allison sighed. “I appreciate your time. Thank you.”
“Sure, no problem—wait, I’m pretty sure he was white.”
Pretty sure? “Thanks.”
The call ended, and Allison stared at the phone clutched in her hand. The urge to throw it across the room gripped her. Instead, she set it on the counter. She didn’t have the time or inclination to go to the store and get a new phone.
Or have to explain how it got damaged in the first place.
She dropped her face into her hands.
When you add in the phone call—well, no one could call her paranoid for thinking someone was terrorizing her.
But who? And why?