Riley acknowledged the correction with a quick nod. “I find myself in need of—”
The bell over the door jingled, interrupting the request he’d been about to make. He found himself in need, but the context changed at the sight of Chief Jensen. He glanced at Peg, wondering if she’d hit a silent alarm to summon the chief when he’d walked in. Did he look that suspicious?
“Good morning, Peg,” Abby called, wiping her feet on the doormat.
“Chief,” the lady behind the counter replied.
Riley surveyed his assignment. The chief looked overdressed for a hardware store, in a soft Christmas-red sweater and charcoal slacks with heeled boots far too dressy for the weather. Her cheeks were bright pink from the cold and a wisp of blond hair had escaped from her ponytail and caught in her lip gloss.
He struggled to ignore the feelings she roused in him. Yes, he’d been sent to protect her, but he was taking her safety much too personally—in record time at that.
Behind the counter, Peg’s demeanor shifted and she gave off a vibe as cold as the biting wind outside. No love lost between these two, Riley decided, wondering if it was just the recent trouble or if their problems went deeper. Not everyone in town was a potential terrorist, but someone was the ringleader of all the trouble falling on Belclare and the police chief.
“Good morning, Mr. O’Brien.”
He corrected her with a slow shake of his head.
She sighed and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “Good morning, Riley. Is that your work out front?”
“It sure is,” Peg volunteered.
“I had some help along the way,” he said.
“It looks good.” Abby gifted him with a smile.
“Thanks.” He gave her a small bow. “I was about to look over some wood stain options while I wait for the next decorating assignment.”
“Aisle three, near the corner,” Peg suggested warmly. Her tone dropped several degrees when she spoke to the chief. “What brings you by?”
Riley ambled away, visions in his head of the options for the kitchen while he eavesdropped on the women at the counter.
“I need a new lock set for my garage,” Abby said. “And a snow shovel.”
Questions rattled through Riley’s head and he hoped Peg would ask them. He hadn’t spotted any problems at her place before he’d driven in to work.
“Was it frozen?” Peg asked. “You could’ve asked Calder to have a look. That is, if he wasn’t in the hospital.”
Ah, so that was the crux of it. Peg and Calder were friends and the lady was blaming the chief for his injury. Wasn’t fair. Abby hadn’t scrawled that threat on the guy’s house and she hadn’t pushed over the ladder. None of this was her fault. Whether these people wanted to face it or not, trouble was brewing in their idyllic little town. The only thing Abby was guilty of was drawing it to the surface.
“Not frozen. Just broken. I guess it wasn’t as sturdy as it should have been.”
He admired Abby’s patience with the constant doubt and irritation. Compared to the threats he knew she was receiving, a little grumpiness must feel like a cakewalk. Riley listened as Peg led Abby to the correct aisle for locks.
“Front of the store for the shovel,” Peg explained, sounding friendlier in Riley’s opinion. “They’re calling for a couple of inches tomorrow night.”
He couldn’t hear Abby’s answer as the women walked farther from him, but Peg came to his rescue with a startled explanation that carried through the store.
“Good grief. Are you okay?”
Abby must have answered in the affirmative because suddenly Peg’s tone changed again. “I respect what it takes to do your job, young lady, but your mouth has put us all in a world of hurt.”
Riley started across the store, ready to leap to Abby’s defense. He couldn’t be the only person in Belclare who recognized her decisions were rooted in her unflagging dedication.
“What happened?” he demanded, ignoring the way Abby jumped at his interruption. “Did the crime-scene techs find something at Calder’s place?”
“No.” Abby cleared her throat. “Someone broke the lock on my garage. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t think so,” Riley challenged. “You live right next door to me. If there’s some twisted prowler in our neighborhood, I’d like to know how to help you catch him.”
Peg’s jaw dropped, her expression shifting from disapproval to shock. Good. The citizens of Belclare should realize Abby Jensen was doing her job and doing it well. At great personal risk. She might have tossed out an ultimatum in the heat of victory over the drug bust, but he couldn’t be the only person around here capable of seeing how she was backing it up. Or trying to.