by Unknown
"That sounds as if he felt—well, that he thought he was being persecuted. How can you know that any of what he told her was true?"
"I can't. But she thought there were things about his death that had never been explained. She regretted that she'd never attempted to find out. She demanded my promise that I'd try to learn the truth."
His hands clenched. He'd told Rachel more than he'd intended. If she knew about what had happened then—but that was ridiculous. She'd been a child twenty-two years ago. At most, she'd oppose him now out of a need to protect her grandfather's reputation.
"I can understand why you feel you have to honor her wishes," she said, looking as if she chose her words carefully. "But after all this time, how can you possibly hope to learn anything?"
"I thought I might talk to your grandmother—"
"No!" She flared up instantly at that. "I won't have my grandmother upset by this."
A step sounded from the hallway, and they both turned. "That is not your decision to make, Rachel." Rachel's grandmother stood in the doorway, her bearing regal, her face set and stern.
* * *
Rachel's throat tightened. Grams, standing there, hearing the suspicions Tyler was voicing. She'd like to throw something at him for causing all this trouble, but that wouldn't help.
"Now, Grams…" She had to think of something that would repair this situation. Protecting Grams was her responsibility.
She stood and went to her, the desk chair rolling backward from the pressure of her hands. She put her arm around her grandmother's waist.
Grams didn't seem to need her support. She had pride and dignity to keep her upright.
"Don't 'now, Grams,' me, Rachel Elizabeth. I know what I heard, and I don't require any soothing platitudes."
Rachel shot a fulminating glance at Tyler. At least he had the grace to look unhappy at this turn of events. He'd look worse when she finished telling him what she thought.
"Grams, I'm sure you misunderstood." She tried for a light tone. "You always told us that eavesdroppers never hear anything good, remember?"
Grams ignored her, staring steadily at Tyler. "I must apologize. I'm not in the habit of listening in on other people's conversations, but you were both too busy arguing to realize I was there."
"I just want to protect you—" Rachel began.
Her grandmother cut her short with a look. "I don't require protection. I knew my husband well enough to be quite confident that he'd never have been involved in anything underhanded. I have nothing to fear from Mr. Dunn's inquiry."
"Of course not, but it's still upsetting. Please, Grams, let me handle this."
Her only response was to move to her armchair and be seated, folding her hands in her lap. "I'll answer any question you wish to ask." She glanced up at the portrait. "The truth can't harm my husband."
Grams might want to believe that, but Rachel wasn't so sure. Of course she knew Grandfather had been perfectly honest, but rumors, once started, could be difficult to stop.
She glanced at Tyler. He looked as if getting what he wanted had taken him by surprise.
"It's very good of you to agree to talk with me about this." He'd apparently decided on a formal approach. Good. If she caught the slightest whiff of disrespect, he'd be out of here before he knew what hit him.
Grams inclined her head graciously. "I don't know that I have much to offer. My husband only discussed business with me in very general terms."
Tyler's mouth tightened fractionally. "Start by telling me what you remember about John Hostetler. You must have known him, since you were such close neighbors."
"I knew him. Knew of him, certainly. He was a rather difficult person, from everything I recall. After his wife died, he became bitter, cutting himself off from the community."
"Do you know if your husband had any business dealings with him? Did he talk to you about wanting to buy the place?"
She frowned. "I don't remember, but if he did, it would be in his ledgers. Rachel will make them available to you."
She swallowed the protest that sprang to her lips. Tyler could strain his eyes looking through decades of her grandfather's fine black script, and he wouldn't find anything wrong.
"That's kind of you." Tyler seemed taken aback by that kindness, but that was her grandmother. "Do you know of anyone he was on bad terms with?"
A faint smile rippled on Grams's expression. "It might be easier to ask with whom he didn't quarrel. I don't mean to speak ill of him, but it's fairly well known that he argued with just about everyone."
"I remember a visit we made when I was about six. Certainly he and my mother seemed to battle most of the time."
"I'm afraid that was his nature." Grams spread her hands. "I don't know what else I can say. After his death, the neighbors were concerned about the condition of the farm. Several of them came to Fredrick about it, I remember that." She glanced up at the portrait again. "If he did try to buy it, I'm sure that's why."
He nodded, not offering any comment. It was what Rachel had told him, too, but she didn't think he was convinced. He wouldn't understand her grandfather's almost-feudal-lord position in the community. Everyone, Amish and English alike, had come to him with their concerns.
"Do you remember anything about the robbery and his death?"
Grams moved slightly, and Rachel was instantly on the alert. This questioning bothered her grandmother more than she'd want to admit.
"I know we were shocked. Everyone was."
She put her arm around her grandmother. "Of course they were." She darted him a look. "I think my grandmother has told you everything she can."
Grams gave Tyler a level look. "I have, but if there's anything else…"
"Not right now." Tyler seemed to know he'd pushed enough.
Grams rose. "We'll cooperate in any way we can. It's what my husband would wish." She turned toward the kitchen and walked away steadily.
Rachel hesitated. She wanted his promise that this wasn't going to be all over the township by sunset, but she didn't want to say that where Grams could hear. She'd better make sure Grams was safely in the kitchen with Emma.
"Would you mind sticking around for a minute or two while I speak to Emma? I could use some help moving that ladder."
He nodded, his expression telling her he understood what she wasn't saying. "I'll wait for you outside."
* * *
By the time she went out the front door a few minutes later, Rachel knew exactly how she should behave. She'd talk with Tyler very calmly, explaining the harm that could be done to her grandmother by careless talk. She'd make it clear that they'd already done everything he'd asked of them and that there really was nothing else they could contribute.
She would not express the anger she felt. She'd extended friendship to the man, and all the time he'd been using her to pry into her family.
He waited by the ladder she'd left propped against the house, his leather jacket hanging open in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine. He straightened when he saw her. "Is your grandmother all right?"
"She didn't like being cross-examined," she said sharply, and then snapped her mouth shut on the words. If she wanted discretion from Tyler, she'd better try a little tact of her own. "She was telling you the truth." Katherine Unger was not someone who'd lie to cover up her own or anyone else's misdeeds.
He gave her a slight smile. "I know. Do you think I don't recognize integrity when I see it?"
"I was afraid your judgment might be skewed by your need to find out about your grandfather."
"Look, I said I was sorry for jumping on you with it. I want to be fair about it."
Did he mean that? She hoped so. "There's one thing you said to me that you didn't mention to my grandmother."
He frowned. "What's that?"
He knew. He had to. "You said your mother didn't think her father's death had been adequately explained. You called it murder."
The word seemed to stand there between them, stark and ugly.
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He was silent for a long moment, and then he shook his head. "I don't know, Rachel. That's the truth. I can tell you what my mother said. What she seemed to believe. As to whether it had any basis in fact—" he shrugged "—I guess that's what I have to find out."
"I hope—" She stopped. Would he think she was trying to control his actions? Well, in a way, she was.
"What do you hope?" He focused on her, eyes intent.
"I hope you'll be discreet with the questions you ask people around here, especially anything to do with my grandparents. It doesn't take much to set rumors flying in a small community like this."
"Your grandmother didn't seem to be worried about that."
No, she wouldn't worry about people talking when she felt she was doing what was right.
"Grams can be naive about some things. If the rumor mill starts churning, the situation will be difficult for her. So be tactful, will you please?"
"I'll try." He took a step back from the wooden stepladder as she approached it. "I'm not here to stir up trouble for innocent people."
"Sometimes innocent people get hurt by the backlash." She bent to plug the end of the string of lights into the outlet.
"I can't let that stop me from looking for the truth." His jaw set like a stone.
"And I won't let anything stop me from protecting my family," she said. "Just so we're clear."
"We're clear. Does that mean you want me to move out?"
It was tempting to say yes, but it was safer to have Tyler where she could keep track of him. "You're welcome to stay as long as you want." She started up the ladder, the loop of lights in her hand.
"Thank you. And since I'm staying, I'd be glad to climb up and do that for you. I wouldn't have to stretch as far."
"I can reach." If she stood on the top step on her tiptoes, she could.
She looped the string of lights over the small metal hook that was left in the window frame from year to year. Pulling the string taut, she grasped it and leaned toward the other side.
She stretched, aware of him watching her, and pushed the wire toward the hook—
"Wait!" Tyler barked.
The wire touched the hook—a sharp snap, a scent of burning, a jolt that knocked her backward off the ladder and sent her flying toward the ground, stunned.
FOUR
"I'm fine. Really." Rachel tried to muster a convincing tone, but if she looked half as shaken as she felt, it was hardly surprising that Tyler wanted to rush her to the hospital. "You don't look fine." He had a firm hold on her arm, and he didn't seem inclined to let go any time soon. "My car's right there. If you won't go to the E.R., at least let that local doctor you were talking to have a look."
"I don't need Dr. Whitmoyer to look at me." She rubbed her hands together, trying to get rid of the tingling sensation. "It just knocked the wind out of me, that's all."
He still seemed doubtful, but finally he gave a reluctant nod. "I'll help you inside."
"No." She tried to pull her arm free, but he continued to propel her toward the door. "Look, I don't want my grandmother upset, okay? She's been worried enough about me since the accident, and the last thing she needs is any fresh reason to fear. Besides, she's already had her quota of crises today."
Tyler's face settled in a frown, but at least he stopped pulling her toward the door. "That's dirty pool, you know that?"
"I'll do whatever works where Grams is concerned. She may think she's still as tough as she always was, but that's not true."
After her accident and then Andrea's brush with death in the early summer, Grams had shown a fragility that had hit both of them hard. She was doing much better now—confident that the inn would succeed, happy about Andrea's wedding. Nothing must disrupt that.
Tyler urged her toward the step. "Sit down and get your breath back, at least. When I saw the power arc and you fly backward, I thought my heart would stop."
"Sorry about that." She managed a smile as she sank down on the low stone step. It was nice of him to be so concerned about her. "I felt a bit scared myself, not that I had time to think about it. Is it my imagination, or did you tell me to stop just before I touched the hook?"
He nodded, putting one foot on the step and leaning his elbow on his knee as he bent toward her. "A second too late. I caught a glimpse of bare wire where the sun glinted on it. Sorry I didn't see it sooner. And sorry you didn't think to check those lights before you plugged them in."
"I'll admit that wasn't the smartest thing I ever did, but I did look over them when I got the box out of the attic. At least—" She stopped, thinking about it.
"Well?"
She glared at him. "I think I checked them, but I was in a rush to get ready for last night's meeting." She'd shoved the box in the downstairs restroom when she'd realized how late it was. Maybe she had missed some of the strings.
Tyler, apparently feeling it wiser not to pursue the conversation, walked over to the stepladder and cautiously detached the string of lights. He frowned down at it for a moment before carrying it back to her.
"There's the culprit." He held the strand between his hands. Green plastic coating had melted away from a foot-long stretch of cord, and the wire between was blackened and mangled, shreds of metal twisting up like frizzled hair. The acrid smell of it turned her stomach.
"Guess I won't be using that string of lights anytime soon." It took an effort to speak lightly.
"Or ever." He was still frowning, the cord stretched taut between his hands. "That's a lot of bare wire."
She shrugged, trying to push away the creeping sensation on the back of her neck. "All's well that ends well. I'm relatively unscathed, and I'd better get back to work."
"Sit still." He softened the command with a half smile. "Sorry, but you look washed out."
"Gee, thanks."
Now he grinned, his face relaxing. "Just let me see if this blew a fuse before you do anything else."
She hadn't even thought of that, so she leaned back against the step, watching him test the heavy-duty extension cord on a fresh strip of lights.
"Looks okay. Actually that's surprising. Usually the wiring in these old places isn't in great shape."
"You should see the maze of wires in the cellar. It's an electrician's nightmare, but it all seems to work. We did have to have the wiring checked out before we could open the inn, of course."
He gazed up at the house. "It's early eighteenth century, isn't it?"
"I guess an architect would know. The oldest part dates to 1725, according to the records."
"It's been in your family ever since?"
"Pretty much. My maternal grandfather's family, the Ungers, that is."
He was probably making conversation to distract her from the fact that he was going over each strand of lights in the box, checking all of them methodically with eyes and hands.
Well, she wouldn't object to that. She was happy enough just to sit here, feeling the sun's warmth chase the winter chill away.
"Satisfied?" she asked when he'd put gone through every one.
"They're in better shape than I expected." He frowned a little. "You'd think if one was that bad, some of the others would show similar signs."
"Maybe a squirrel tried to make a meal of it, didn't like the taste, and left the rest alone."
"Could be." He picked up a strand of lights and mounted the stepladder.
"What are you doing?" She stood, fighting a wave of dizziness at the sudden movement. "I'll take care of that."
"I've got it."
She'd keep arguing, but he really was getting the job accomplished more easily than she could, given his height. She watched, liking the neat efficiency of his movements, the capability of his strong hands. She was used to doing for herself, and in the months of running the inn she'd learned how to do all kinds of things she'd never dreamed of before, but it was nice to have some help.
She couldn't rely on him. Not Tyler, of all people, given what brought him here. That galvanized her,
and she went quickly to the stepladder.
"I'm sure you have work of your own to do." Such as investigating his grandfather's death.
"This is the least I can do, since your grandmother offered your cooperation in dealing with my problem."
"That's not exactly what she said."
He smiled faintly but continued to thread the cord through the hooks.
And if she did help him, what then? She was as convinced as Grams that Grandfather hadn't done anything wrong.
She watched Tyler, frowning a little, trying to pinpoint the cause of her uneasiness. No matter how irrational it was, she couldn't help feeling that Tyler's determination to look into his grandfather's death was similar to poking a stick into a hornet's nest.
* * *
Rachel searched through the changes she was attempting to make to the inn's Web site. Did she have everything right? Andrea could probably have done this in half an hour, but she'd been working for what seemed like hours.
She glanced at the ornate German mantel clock that stood on one side of her grandfather's portrait above the fireplace. Nearly ten. It had been hours. Grams had gone up to bed some time ago, but Barney still dozed on the hearth rug, keeping her company.
She smiled at the sheltie, and he lifted his head and looked at her as if he'd sensed her movement. "Just a little longer, Barney. I'm almost finished."
He put his head back on his front paws, as if he'd understood every word.
Tyler had gone out earlier and hadn't come back yet. She certainly wouldn't wait up for him, although she'd had difficulty all summer going to bed when guests were still out. He had a key—he'd let himself in.
Thinking about that opened the door to thoughts of him, just when she'd succeeded in submerging her concerns about Tyler in her more prosaic worries.
If she could stay angry with him, dealing with the situation might be easier. Unfortunately, each time he had her thoroughly riled, he managed to show her some side of himself that roused her sympathy.