by Unknown
Tyler was determined to give this quest his best effort, and she'd guess he brought that same single-minded attention to every project he undertook. That would be an asset in his profession, but at the moment she wished he were more easily distracted.
He'd had a difficult relationship with his mother—that much was clear. She sympathized, given her own mother, who was as careless with people as she was with things. She'd always had the sense that her mother could have left her behind on one of their frequent moves and not even noticed she was gone. Not that Andrea would have let that happen.
She rubbed her temples, trying to ease away the tightness there.
I'm spinning in circles, Lord, and I don't know how to stop. Please help me see Tyler through Your eyes and understand how to deal with him in the way You want.
Even as she finished the prayer, she heard the sound of the door opening and closing, followed by Tyler's step in the hallway. She paused, fingers on the keyboard, listening for him to go up the stairs.
Instead he swung the library door a bit farther open and looked around it. "Still working? I didn't realize bed-and-breakfast proprietors kept such late hours."
"It's pretty much a twenty-four-hour-a-day job, but at the moment I'm just trying to finish up some changes to the Web page. Not my strong suit, I'm afraid."
"Mind if I have a look?" He hesitated, seeming to wait for an invitation.
"Please. I think I have it right, but I'm almost afraid to try and upload it."
He smiled, putting one hand on the back of her chair and leaning over to stare at the screen.
"Never let the computer know you're afraid of it. That's when it will do something totally unexpected."
"Just about anything to do with it is unexpected as far as I'm concerned. I'd still be keeping reservations in a handwritten log if Andrea hadn't intervened."
"Andrea. That's the older sister, right?" He reached around her to touch the keyboard, correcting a typo she hadn't noticed.
"Two years older." She tried not to think about how close he was. "She and her new husband are on their honeymoon. Somehow I don't think I can call and ask her computer questions at the moment."
"Probably wouldn't be diplomatic," he agreed. "As far as I can see, this looks ready. All you have to do is upload."
She hesitated, cursor poised. "That's it?"
"Just click." He smiled down at her, giving her a slightly inverted view of his face, exposing a tiny scar on his square chin that she hadn't noticed before.
And shouldn't be noticing now. She was entirely too aware of him for her own peace of mind.
She forced her attention back to the computer and pressed the button, starting the upload. "I can see you're a fixer, just like my big sister. She's always willing to take over and do something for the inept."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she heard how they sounded and was embarrassed. She thought she'd gotten over the feeling that she would never measure up to Andrea. And if she hadn't, she certainly didn't want to sound insecure to Tyler.
"There's nothing wrong with admitting you don't know how to do something. I couldn't make a quiche if someone offered me a million bucks."
"It's nice of you to put it that way." She leaned back, looking with faint surprise at the updated Web site. "It actually worked."
"You sound impressed. The program you're using is pretty much 'what you see is what you get.'"
"I seem to remember Andrea saying that. She actually told me how to do it, but my brain doesn't retain things like that."
Tyler's smile flickered. "Maybe you should write it up as if it's a recipe."
"Just might work." She smiled up at him, relaxing now that the work was done. For a moment time seemed to halt. She was lost in the deep blue of his eyes, the room so quiet she could hear his breathing.
She drew in a strangled breath of her own and broke the eye contact, grateful he couldn't know how her pulse was pounding.
That was unexpected. Or was it? Hadn't the attraction been there, underlying the tension, each time they were together?
Tyler cleared his throat. "You know, you could hire someone to run the Web site for you." He seemed to be talking at random, as much at a loss as she was.
Oddly enough, that helped her regain her poise. "Can't afford it," she said bluntly. "We're operating on a shoestring as it is, and it's getting a bit frayed at the moment."
He blinked. "I didn't realize. I mean—" His gesture took in the room, but she understood that he meant the house and grounds, too. "People who live in places like this often don't have to count their pennies."
"That's why it's a bed-and-breakfast." She wasn't usually so forthcoming, but it wasn't anything that everyone in the township didn't already know. And probably would be happy to gossip about. "If Grams is going to keep the place, this seems her only option. Luckily, she's a born hostess, and she's enjoying it. Otherwise, she'd have to sell."
"She doesn't want to do that, so you feel you have to help her."
"Not exactly. I mean, I love it, too." Was it possible he'd understand her feelings? "But even if I didn't, Grams was always there for us when our parents weren't. I owe her."
"I take it your folks had a rocky marriage."
"You could say that. My father left more times than I can count, until finally he just didn't come back."
"That's when you lived with your grandparents?"
She nodded. "They were our rock. Now it's our turn. I'll do whatever is necessary to make this work for Grams."
His face seemed to become guarded, although his voice, when he spoke, was light. "Even if it means learning how to do the Web site."
"Only until Andrea comes back." She frowned, thinking of yet another chore. "I guess I really should put some Christmas photos up, too. She and Cal won't be home in time to do that."
"If you get stuck, just give me a shout." He turned away, his expression still somehow distant.
Some barrier had gone up between them, and she wasn't sure why. Because of her determination to take care of her grandmother, and he equated that with interference in what he planned? If so, he was right.
He paused at the door, glancing back at her. "Good night, Rachel. Don't work too hard."
"Thanks again for the help."
He vanished behind the partially open door, and she heard his steady footsteps mounting the stairs.
If she let herself start thinking about Tyler's situation, she'd never sleep tonight. "Come on, Barney." She clicked her fingers at the dog. "Let's go to bed. We'll worry about it tomorrow."
* * *
It was unusual to be unable to concentrate on work. Tyler had always prided himself on his ability to shut out everything in order to focus on the job at hand, but not this time.
He closed the computer file and shut down his laptop. No, not this time. Before he came to Churchville, he'd thought the task he'd set himself, although probably impossible, was at least fairly straightforward. Find out what he could about his grandfather's death, deal with the property, go back to his normal life with his conscience intact.
He hadn't counted on the human element. Everyone he'd met since he arrived seemed to have a stake in his actions—or at least an opinion as to his choices.
Restless, he moved to the window that overlooked the street, folding back the shutters, and leaned on the deep windowsill. The innkeeper, the antique dealer, the doctor's wife—it sounded like a ridiculous version of doctor, lawyer, Indian chief.
He glanced down the road in the direction of the antique shop, but there was nothing to be seen. Churchville slept. Not even a car went by to disturb the night. He'd heard of places so small they rolled up the sidewalks at night. Churchville was apparently one of them.
Presumably Rachel and her grandmother were asleep as well, off in the other wing of the building.
He couldn't help wondering how she'd adjusted from the pressure-cooker atmosphere of a trendy restaurant kitchen to the grueling work but slower pace
of running a B&B in the Pennsylvania Dutch countryside. Still, she'd shown him how dedicated she was.
Dedicated to her family, most of all. And yet, from what she'd said, her relationship with her father had been as strained as his with his mother. Maybe that made her other relatives more precious to her.
At least he'd eventually grown up enough to pity his mother for resorting to emotional blackmail with the people she loved. He'd learned to look at her demands in a more objective way. But now he was back in the same trap, trying to fulfill her impossible dying request. No, not request. Demand.
Looked at rationally, the proposal was ridiculous. He'd known that from the start, even colored as the moment had been by shock and grief.
Still, he'd had to deal with the property, and he'd told himself he'd find out what he could about the circumstances of his grandfather's death and then close the book on the whole sad story.
Now that he was here, he realized how much more difficult the situation was than he'd dreamed. Rachel's grandmother's integrity was obvious, and he couldn't imagine her covering up a crime, any more than he could imagine the personality that dominated the portrait over the mantel committing one.
This was a wild-goose chase. A sad one, but nothing more. Moreover, it could hurt innocent people, if Rachel's opinion was true, and he saw no reason to doubt that.
He closed the shutters again, feeling as if he were closing his mind to the whole uncomfortable business. He'd make a few inquiries, maybe talk to the local police and check the newspaper files. And at the end of it he'd be no wiser than he was now.
The shutters still stood open on the window that looked out the side of the house, so he went to close them. And stopped, hand arrested on the louvered wood.
Where was that light coming from?
Below him was the gravel sweep of the drive, well-lit by the security lighting, his car a dark bulk. There was the garage, beyond it the lane that led onto Crossings Road.
The pale ribbon of road dipped down into the trees. From ground level, he wouldn't have seen any farther, but from this height the shallow bowl of the valley stretched out. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, he could make out the paler patches of fields, darker shadows of woods. That had to be the farmhouse—there was nothing else down on that stretch of road.
A faint light flickered, was gone, reappeared again. Not at ground level. Someone was in the house, moving around the second floor with a flashlight.
He spun, grabbing his car keys, and rushed into the hall. He pounded down the stairs, relieved there were no other guests to be disturbed by him.
In the downstairs hall he paused briefly. He should call the police before heading out, should tell Rachel what was going on before she heard him and thought someone was breaking in.
He tried the library door, found it unlocked, and hurried through to the separate staircase that must lead to the family bedrooms. If she was still awake—
A light shone down from an upstairs hall.
"Rachel?"
Soft footsteps, and she appeared at the top of the stairs, clutching a cell phone in one hand. At least she was still dressed, so he hadn't gotten her out of bed.
"What's wrong?" Her eyes were wide with apprehension.
"Someone's in my grandfather's house. I could see the light from my window."
She didn't try to argue about it, but hurried down the steps, dialing the phone as she did. "I'll call the police."
"Good. I'm going down there."
She grabbed his arm. "Wait. You don't know what you might be rushing into."
"That's what I'm going to find out." He shook off her hand. "Just tell the cops I'm there, so they don't think I'm the burglar."
He strode toward the back door, hearing her speaking, presumably to the 911 operator, as he let the door close behind him.
He jogged toward the car, a chill wind speeding his steps. This could be nothing more than some teenage vandals.
And if it was someone else?
Well then, he'd know he'd been wrong. He'd know there was something to investigate after all.
He took off down the lane, gravel spurting under his tires. A clump of bushes came rushing at him as the lane turned, and he forced himself to ease off the gas. Wouldn't do any good for him to smash into a tree.
Rachel's accident slid into his mind, displacing his concentration on the prowler. An image of her, standing in the road, whirling, face white, to stare in horror at the oncoming car—
He shook his head, taking a firm control on both thoughts and reactions. Get to the farm in one piece. Find out what was happening. Hope the cops got there in time to back him up.
The car rounded the final bend, and the dilapidated gateposts came into view. He stepped on the brake, took the turn cautiously and then snapped off his headlights. He couldn't have done it earlier, not without smashing up, but he could probably get up the lane without lights. He didn't want to alert the prowlers to his presence too soon. They could hear the motor, of course, but they might attribute that to a car going past on the lane. Headlights glaring at them would be a dead giveaway.
If they were still there. He frowned, squinting in the dim light of a waning moon. He could make out the rectangular bulk of the house, gray in the faint light, and the darker bulk behind it that was the barn. No sign of a vehicle—no glimmer of metal to give it away. It looked as if he was too late.
He drew to a stop next to the porch, cut the motor, opened the door and listened. No sound broke the night silence, not even a bird. He got out, moving cautiously, alert for any sign of the intruder.
Still nothing. He walked toward the steps. Stupid, to have come without a decent torch. He had only the small penlight on his keychain to show him the broken stair. He stepped over it, mounting the porch, the wooden planks creaking beneath his feet.
He focused the thin stream of light on the door, senses alert. It seemed to be as securely closed as it had been on his first visit. A flick of the light showed him boards secure over the windows.
The urgency that had driven him this far ebbed, leaving him feeling cold and maybe a little foolish. Could the light he'd seen have been some sort of reflection? He wouldn't think so.
Well, assuming someone had been here, they were gone now. Maybe he could at least figure out how they'd gotten in.
He bent, aiming the feeble light at the lock. Had those scratches—
A board creaked behind him. Muscles tightening, he started to swing around. A shadowy glimpse of a dark figure, an upraised arm, and then something crashed into his head and the floor came up to meet him.
FIVE
Given the small size of the township police force, Rachel knew her call would go straight through to whoever was on duty. Thankfulness swept her at the sound of Chief Burkhalter's competent voice.
It took only seconds to explain, but even so she was aware of how quickly Tyler would reach the farm. And put himself in danger.
"My guest, Tyler Dunn, the one who saw the lights—"
"Owns the farm. Right, I know."
Of course he would. Zachary Burkhalter made it his business to know what went on in the township.
"He's gone down there. Don't—"
"I'm not going to shoot him, Ms. Hampton, but he's an idiot. I'll be there in a few minutes."
And she could hear the wail of the siren now, through the air as well as the telephone. She could also hear Grams coming out of her bedroom.
"I could go down—" Rachel began, with some incoherent thought of identifying Tyler to the chief.
"No." The snapped word left no doubt in her mind. "I'll call you back on this line when we've cleared the place. Then you can come pick up your straying guest, but not until then."
She had no choice but to disconnect. The change in tone of the siren's wail as it turned down Crossings Road was reassuring. They'd be there soon. Tyler would be all right.
Grams reached her. "What is it, Rachel? What's happening?"
Rachel pu
t her arm around Grams, as much for her comfort as her grandmother's. "Tyler saw a light moving around in the farmhouse. He insisted on going down there by himself, but the police are on their way."
Grams shook her head. "Foolish, but I suppose he wouldn't be one to sit back when there's trouble."
No, he probably wouldn't. It didn't take a long acquaintance with Tyler to know that much about him.
"I still wish he hadn't. If he runs right into whoever's there—"
"I'm sure he'll be sensible about it." Grams's voice was matter-of-fact. "The police are probably there by now."
She'd thought she'd have to comfort her grandmother, but it seemed to be working the other way around. Grams patted her shoulder.
"I'll start some hot chocolate. He'll be chilled to the bone, I shouldn't wonder, running out on a cold night like this."
She followed Grams to the kitchen, phone still in her hand, watching as her grandmother paused for a moment, head bowed.
Dear Lord, I should be turning to You, too, instead of letting worry eat at me. Please, be with Tyler and protect him from harm.
Even as she finished the prayer, the telephone rang. Exchanging glances with Grams, she answered.
"You can come on down here now, if you want." The chief sounded exasperated, which probably meant they hadn't been in time to catch anyone. "Maybe help Mr. Dunn figure out what's missing."
Questions hovered on her tongue, but better to wait until she saw what was going on. "I'll be right there."
It took a moment to reassure Grams that she'd be perfectly safe, another to grab her jacket and shove Barney back from the door, and she ran out and slid into the car, shivering a little.
She shot out the drive and turned onto Crossings Road with only a slight qualm as she passed the place where she'd been hit.
Why? The question beat in her brain as she drove down the road as quickly as the rough surface would allow. If someone was in the house, why? More specifically, why now? It had stood empty all these years and been broken into more than once. Why would someone break in now, when surely most people knew that the new owner was here?