by Unknown
Lots of questions. No answers.
She turned into the rutted lane that led to the farmhouse, slowing of necessity. The police car, its roof light still rotating, sat next to Tyler's car. Its headlights showed her Chief Burkhalter's tall figure, standing next to the porch.
Tyler sat on the edge of the porch, head bent, one hand massaging the back of his neck.
She pulled to a stop and slid out, hurrying toward them. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Tyler frowned at the chief. "There was no need for him to call you."
"There was every need." She hoped her tone was brisk enough to disguise the wobble in her tummy. "You're hurt. Let me see."
Ignoring his protests, she ran her hand through the thick hair, feeling the lump gingerly.
He winced. "Are you a nurse as well as a chef?"
"No, but I know enough to be sure you should have some ice on that."
"I offered to take him to the E.R. or call paramedics," the chief said. "He turned me down."
"I don't need a doctor. I've had harder knocks than that on the football field. And the ice can wait until we've finished here."
"Just go over it once more for me," Burkhalter said, apparently accepting him at his word. "You saw the lights from your window at the inn, you said."
Tyler started to nod, then seemed to think better of it. "The side window of my room looks out over Crossings Road. I can see the house—or at least, the upper floor of it. I spotted what looked like a flashlight moving around on the second floor."
"So you decided to investigate for yourself." Burkhalter sounded resigned, as if he'd taken Tyler's measure already.
"I figured I could get here faster than you could."
She wanted to tell Tyler how foolish that had been, but his aching head was probably doing that well enough. Besides, she had no standing—they were nothing more than acquaintances. The reminder gave her a sense of surprise. She'd begun to feel as if she'd known him for years.
"What did you see when you got here?"
"No vehicle, so I thought maybe they'd gone already. My mistake." Tyler grimaced. "I went to look at the front door, to see if it had been broken into, and while I was bending over, somebody hit me from behind."
"You didn't get a look, I suppose."
"Only at the floorboards." Tyler massaged the back of his neck again. "I heard the car come round the house then. They must have parked it in the back. The guy who slugged me jumped in, and off they went. I managed to turn my head at some point, but all I could see were red taillights disappearing down the lane."
"Vehicle was parked by the kitchen door." The patrolman who joined them gave Rachel a shy smile. "Looks like a big SUV, maybe, by the size of the tires. They broke in the back."
"I should have gone around the house first." Tyler sounded annoyed with himself. "I didn't think."
"Wait for us next time," the chief said. "Not that I expect there to be a next time. If these were the same thieves who have broken into other empty houses, they won't be careless enough to come back again, now that they know someone's watching."
"This has happened before?" Tyler's gaze sharpened. "What are they after?"
"Anything they find of value. Old-timers in country places often don't think much of banks, so sometimes it's been strong boxes broken open. Other times silver or antiques."
Burkhalter's lean face tightened. At a guess, he didn't like the fact that someone had been getting away with burglaries in his territory. Nobody blamed him, surely. The township was far-flung, the police force spread too thin.
"If there's nothing else Mr. Dunn can tell you, maybe he ought to get in out of the cold." She was shivering a little, whether from the cold or the tension, and Tyler had rushed out in just a shirt and sweater.
"If you wouldn't mind taking a look around inside first, I'd appreciate it. See if anything's missing."
Tyler stood, holding on to the porch post for a moment. "Ms. Hampton and I were here yesterday, but we didn't go upstairs. And Philip Longstreet stopped while we were here, wanting to have a look around. I told him I'd let him know if I decided to sell anything."
Philip wouldn't be delighted to have his name brought up in the middle of a police investigation. Still, there was no reason for Tyler to hold the information back.
The chief's expression didn't betray whether that interested him or not. He ushered them inside and swung his light around, letting them see the contents of the living room.
In the daylight the place had looked bad enough. In the cold and dark it was desolate, but as far as she could tell, nothing had been moved.
"I think this is pretty much the way it was. Tyler?"
He seemed tenser inside the house than he had sitting on the porch. He gave a short nod. "I don't think they were in this room."
They walked through the dining room, then into the kitchen. Everything seemed untouched, other than the fact that the kitchen door had been broken in.
The chief's strong flashlight beam touched the stairway that opened into the kitchen. "Let's have a look upstairs."
"I haven't been up there yet," Tyler warned. "I can't say I know everything that should be there."
"Anything you remember could help." The chief was polite but determined.
Tyler nodded and started up the stairs. She couldn't assist in the least, since she'd never been in that part of the house, but she didn't like the idea of staying downstairs alone. She followed them, watching her footing on the creaking stairs.
The flight of steps led into a small, square hallway with bedrooms leading off it. Tyler stopped, gripping the railing. "There used to be a slant-top desk there, I remember."
"Not recently." The chief swung his flashlight over the thick layer of dust that lay, undisturbed, where Tyler indicated.
They peered into one bedroom after another. There was more furniture up here, sturdy country pieces, most of it, some probably of interest to collectors. Tyler really should have it properly valued.
The thieves had evidently started in the master bedroom, where the dresser drawers gaped open and empty. A small marble-topped stand had been pulled away from the faded wallpaper, and a basin and ewer set lay smashed on the floor.
Rachel bent, touching a piece gingerly. "Too bad they broke this. There's been quite a demand recently for sets of this vintage."
"Maybe they weren't educated thieves," Tyler said.
"Or they just don't know about china."
Tyler stepped carefully over the pieces. "Seems like a stupid place for them to hit. Obviously there's no money or small valuables left. My impression is that the rooms used to be fairly crowded with furniture, but that's hardly going to let you trace anything."
"I don't suppose there's such a thing as an inventory," the chief asked.
"My grandfather's attorney did give me a list, but I don't know how complete it is." Tyler's smile flickered. "And given how little I know about Pennsylvania Dutch furniture, I doubt I could even figure out what's being described on the list."
"I can probably help you with that. Furnishing the inn made me something of an instant expert on the subject." She was faintly surprised to hear the offer coming out of her mouth. Didn't she already have enough to keep her busy?
"Sounds like a good idea," Chief Burkhalter said. "Let me have a copy of the list, and mark anything you and Ms. Hampton think has gone missing. At least that gives us a start."
His light illumined Tyler's face briefly. Was Tyler really that pale and strained, or was it just the effect of the glaring white light?
"You folks might as well get home." Burkhalter swung his torch to show them the way out. "We'll be a bit longer. Ms. Hampton, if you wouldn't mind taking Mr. Dunn, I'll have my officer drop his car off later. I don't think he should be driving."
"That's fine," she said, grabbing Tyler's arm before he could protest. "Let's go."
He must have been feeling fairly rocky, since he let her tug him down the stairs. When they reached the front porch, she took
a deep breath of cold air. Even its bite was preferable to the stale, musty scent of decay inside.
No wonder Tyler disliked the place. His grandfather had been an unhappy, miserable man, by all accounts, and that unhappiness seemed to permeate the very walls of the house.
They stepped off the porch, and Tyler shivered a little when the wind hit him. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "So that's it. Minor-league housebreakers." He sounded—She wasn't sure what. Dissatisfied, maybe?
"I suppose so." She led the way to the car.
Maybe Tyler was thinking the same thing she was. Thieves, yes. That seemed logical.
But why now? That was the thing that bothered her the most. Why now?
* * *
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Tyler glanced at Rachel as they walked down Churchville's Main Street the next morning, headed for the antique shop.
She looked up at him, eyebrows lifting. "Why not? It'll be much easier for you to understand the look and value of the furniture on that list if you actually see some examples of Pennsylvania Dutch furniture. And the inn's furnishings aren't really the plain country pieces your grandfather had, for the most part. I have to pick up the final draft of the house tour brochure from Phillip, anyway."
"You're forgetting that I gave Phil Longstreet's name to the police last night. If they've come to call, he may not appreciate the sight of me."
"I'm sure Phil realizes that after the break-in, you had to mention anyone who'd been there. You certainly didn't accuse him of anything."
But he thought he read a certain reservation in her green eyes. She needed the goodwill of her fellow business people in the village. He'd been so focused on getting what he wanted that he hadn't considered how her efforts to help him might rebound against her.
"I don't want you to get involved in my troubles if it's going to make things sticky for you with people like Longstreet. And I sure don't want you involved if it means putting you at any risk."
They were on the opposite side of the road from the inn, because Rachel had wanted to take a digital photo of the inn's exterior decorations. He paused, turning to face her and leaning against the low stone wall that surrounded the church and cemetery.
"Because of what happened last night?" A frown puckered her smooth forehead. "But that was just—" She paused, shook her head. "I was going to say an accident, but it certainly wasn't that. Still, anyone who goes charging into a deserted house at night to investigate a prowler—"
"Deserves a lump on the head?" He touched the tender spot and smiled wryly. "You may have a point there. I just can't help but wonder if last night's episode had anything to do with my reason for being here."
She leaned against the wall next to him, her green corduroy jacket bright against the cream stone. Two cars went by before she spoke.
"Why now, that's what you mean. After all this time of sitting empty, why would someone choose to burglarize the place just when you've returned? I've been wondering about that myself."
She had a sharp mind behind that sensitive, heart-shaped face.
"Right. Assuming it had something to do with my return, or my reason for being here—"
She shook her head decisively. "Not that, surely. No one knows except Grams and me, and I assure you, neither of us goes in for late-night prowling. Everyone else thinks you're here just to sell the property."
He found he wanted to speak the thought that had been hovering at the back of his mind. "If someone had guilty knowledge of my grandfather's death, my coming to dispose of the property might still be alarming." He planted his hands against the top of the wall. "If there's even a chance of that, I shouldn't involve you."
"First of all, I think the chance that last night's thieves were in any way related to your grandfather's death twenty-some years ago is infinitesimal. And second, I'm not offering to mount guard on the farm at midnight. Helping you identify the furniture hardly seems like a threatening activity, does it?"
"Not when you put it that way. You're determined to help, aren't you?"
She nodded, but her mouth seemed to tighten. "Andrea is the superstar. Caro is the dreamer. I'm the one who helps."
"I didn't mean that negatively," he said mildly. "It's a quality I admire."
Her face relaxed in a genuine smile. "Then you're an unusual man." She pushed herself away from the wall. "Come on, let's put my helpfulness to use and check out some Pennsylvania Dutch antiques."
"Rachel?"
She glanced back at the query in his tone.
"Thanks. For the help."
"Anytime."
She started briskly down the street. He caught up with her in a few strides, and they walked in a companionable silence for a few minutes. Rachel was obviously taking note of the decorations on the shops, and twice she stopped to take photos.
"They've done a good job of making the place look like an old-fashioned Christmas," he commented. "I like the streetlights."
Churchville's Main Street had gas streetlamps that reminded him of the illustration for a Dickens novel. Each one had been surrounded with a wreath of live greens and holly, tied with a burgundy ribbon.
"You're just lucky you weren't here for the arguments when we made that decision," she said. "I thought Sandra Whitmoyer and Phillip Longstreet would come to blows."
"I couldn't imagine people would get so excited about it."
She raised her eyebrows. "You mentioned that you sometimes design churches. Don't you get into some passionate debates on that subject?"
He thought of one committee that had nearly canceled the entire project because they couldn't agree on the shape of the education wing. "You have a point there. People do feel passionate about things that affect their church or their home. I suppose the same applies when you're talking about a village the size of Churchville. They all feel they have a stake in the outcome."
She nodded. "It surprised me a little, when I came back after spending a lot of time in an urban setting. At first it bothered me that everyone seemed to know everyone else's business, but then I realized it's not just about wanting to know. It's about caring."
He was unaccountably touched. "That's a nice tribute to your community."
"I like belonging."
The words were said quietly, but there was a depth of feeling behind them that startled him. He would like to pursue it, but they'd come to a stop in front of Longstreet's Antiques, and Rachel's focus had obviously shifted to the job at hand.
"Don't show too much interest in any one thing," she warned as he opened the door, setting a bell jingling. "Unless you want to walk out the door with it."
He nodded, amused that she thought the warning necessary, and followed her into the shop.
SIX
Longstreet's Antiques always looked so crowded that Rachel thought Phil must use a shoehorn to fit everything in. When she'd said that to him, he'd laughed and told her that was one of the secrets of his business. When people saw the overwhelming display, they became convinced that they were going to find a hidden treasure and walk away with it for a pittance.
Even though she knew the motive behind it, the place exerted exactly that sort of appeal over her. She'd like to start burrowing through that box of odds and ends, just to see what was there. But she doubted that anyone ever got the better of Phil Longstreet on a deal. He was far too shrewd for that.
Thinking about bargains was certainly safer than letting her thoughts stray toward Tyler. She watched as he squatted beside a wooden box filled with old tools, face intent as he sifted through them. They'd gone so quickly to a level where she felt as if she'd known him for years instead of days.
But there was nothing normal about their friendship, if you could call it that. He'd come here for a purpose that involved her family, and she couldn't forget that. If anything he learned threatened her people—
He glanced up, catching her gaze, and smiled. A wave of warmth went through her. Maybe just for the moment she could shove other issues to the bac
k of her mind and enjoy being with him.
"I'm ready for my lesson whenever you are, teacher." He stood, taking a step toward her.
Pennsylvania Dutch furniture, she reminded herself.
"Well, here's a good example of what's called a Dutch bench, which was on your list." She pointed to the black wooden bench with its decorative painting of hearts and tulips. "It's basically a love-seat-size bench with a back. It's a nice piece to use in a hallway."
He nodded, touching the smooth lacquer of the arm. "Now that I see it, I remember one like this. It was in the back hall. My grandfather used to sit there to pull his boots on before he went to the barn."
"It's not there now. I'd have noticed it when we were in the kitchen."
"No." He frowned. "Of course, it could have gone anytime in the past twenty years, and I wouldn't know the difference."
"A lot of small things might have disappeared without being noticed, even if the attorney visited the place occasionally. You should check on the dishes. According to the inventory, your grandfather had a set of spatterware."
His eyebrows lifted. "And I would recognize spatterware how?"
She glanced around, found a shelf filled with china, and lifted a plate down. "This is it. Fairly heavy, brightly painted tableware. Very typical of Pennsylvania Dutch ware."
Tyler bent over the plate, his hand brushing hers as he touched it. "So I'm looking for gaudy plates with chickens on them."
Laughter bubbled up. "I'll have you know that's not a chicken, it's a peafowl."
"I doubt any real bird would agree with that."
The amusement that filled his eyes sent another ripple of warmth through her. For a moment she didn't want to move. She just wanted to stand there with their hands touching and their gazes locked. His deep-blue eyes seemed to darken, and his fingers moved on hers.
She took a step back, her breathing uneven. It was some consolation that the breath he took was a bit ragged, as well.
"I…I should see where Phil has gotten to. Usually he comes right out when the bell rings." She walked quickly to the office door, gave a cursory knock and opened it. "Phil, are you in here?"