Not at the door.
A light thunk against the porch.
I’m on my feet before Amelia turns.
August freezes in the fort, one fruit snack halfway to his mouth.
I hold up a hand. “Stay.”
Amelia moves to August anyway, because no mother on earth obeys an order when her child is in the room.
Good.
I approach the front window from the side. No one on the porch. No vehicle in the drive. Prospects should be watching the road, but the trees are thick and the day is dimming.
Another soft sound.
Not a knock.
Something shifting in the wind.
I open the door with my body behind it, one hand low near the gun I moved to the side table after the church bulletin.
On the porch sits a box.
Small.
Wrapped in brown paper.
A white bow on top.
My blood goes cold.
I step out and scan the yard.
Nothing.
No movement.
No engine.
No footsteps on gravel.
Whoever left it is gone, or they want me looking away from the house.
I back inside, shut the door, and lock it.
Amelia’s voice is thin. “What is it?”
“Box.”
Her face goes white.
August stands in the fort. “For me?”
No one answers.
That is answer enough.