by Unknown
All right. Be calm. If that window was opposite, then she was nearer to the chancel door, wasn't she?
She took a cautious step in that direction, then another, gaining a little confidence. She didn't know where the other person was in the dark, but if she could make it to the door and get through, she could close it. Lock it. She tried to form an image of the door. Lots of the sturdy old wooden doors in the church had dead bolts. Did that one?
She wasn't sure. But she'd still feel a lot better with a closed door between her and the unknown person. She could move quickly through the small vestry, and beyond it was the door that led out to the ramp. It had a clear glass window, so she'd be able to see to get out.
She took another step, groping for the next pew, and froze, her breath catching. A footstep, nearer to her than she'd thought. He was between her and the chancel door—a thicker blackness than the dark around him. Did he realize how close they were? Surely he couldn't see her any better than she could him. If he did, a few steps would close the gap between them.
Not daring to breathe, she inched her way backward, moving toward the outer wall this time. Follow the wall back to the rear of the sanctuary, work her way to the door.
Please, Lord, please. Maybe I'm being silly, but I don't think so. I think there's danger in this place. Help me.
A few silent steps, and her hand brushed the wall. Holding her breath, she moved along it. She'd be okay, she'd reach the back of the church—and then she realized that the footsteps were moving toward her, deliberately, no longer trying to hide.
How did he know—stupid, she was silhouetted against the faint light coming through the stained glass. Moving to the outer wall was the worst thing she could have done. Heedless of the noise, she dove into the sheltering blackness of the nearest pew, sensing the movement toward her of that other, hearing the indrawn breath of annoyance.
Her heart thudded so loudly she could hear it, and terror clutched her throat. She couldn't stay here, helpless in the dark, waiting for him to find her. Even as she formed the thought she heard him move, heard a hand brushing against the pew back, groping.
She scuttled toward the center aisle, praying he couldn't tell exactly which row she was in. If he came after her—yes, he was coming, she couldn't stop, she didn't dare hesitate—
She bolted along the row, giving up any idea of silence. Her knee banged painfully against the pew and then she was out, into the aisle, sensing the clear space around her.
No time to feel her way. She ran toward the back, a breathless prayer crying from her very soul. Help me, help me.
Running full tilt, she hit the door at the rear of the sanctuary. It exploded open, and she bolted out into the cold night, less black than the sanctuary had been. She flew down the few stairs and ran into a solid shape, heard a gasp and felt hard hands grab her painfully tight.
EIGHT
Tyler wrapped his arms around Rachel, feeling her slender body shake against him. The grip of her hands was frantic, her breath ragged.
"Rachel, what's wrong?" He drew her close, all the exasperation he'd been feeling gone in an instant. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, but her grip didn't loosen, and he found her tension driving his own.
"Come on, Rachel. You're scaring me. Tell me what's wrong." He tried to say it lightly, but the depth of concern he felt startled and dismayed him. When had he started caring so much about Rachel?
She took a deep breath, and he felt her drawing on some reserve of strength to compose herself. "Sorry. I'm sorry." She drew back a little. "I'm not hurt. Just scared."
"Why? What scared you?" Fear spiked, making his voice sharp.
She pushed soft brown curls away from her face with a hand that wasn't entirely steady.
"The lights went out. I was in the sanctuary, finishing up the decorating by myself, when the lights suddenly went out."
"There's more to it than that." He gripped her shoulders. "You wouldn't panic just because you were alone in the dark."
She shook her head. "That's just it. I wasn't alone." She drew in a ragged breath. "Someone was there. I know how stupid that sounds, but someone was in there with me."
The fear in her voice made him take it seriously. "Did someone touch you—say something to you?" His mind jumped to the dark figure who'd struck him down at the old farmhouse. But the two things couldn't be related, could they?
She seemed to be steadying herself, as if talking about it was relieving her fear. "I heard him. Or her. I couldn't be sure. And I saw—well, just a shadow."
He studied her face, frowning a little. He didn't doubt what she was saying, but it was hard to imagine a threat against her in the church.
"You don't believe me." Her chin came up.
"I believe you." He ran his hands down her arms. "I'll go in and have a look around." He hefted the torch Rachel's grandmother had given him when he'd said he'd come over to the church and walk her back.
"Not without me." Her fingers closed around his wrist. "Come around to the side. We can go through the education wing door and get to the light switches from there."
If someone was hiding in the sanctuary, that would give the person a chance to escape while they were going around the building. "Maybe we should call the police."
She hesitated, and he could almost see her weighing the possibilities. Finally she shook her head. "I guess it's not a crime to turn off the lights, is it? Let's see what we can find."
He nodded and let her lead him along the walk. Once they'd rounded the corner, they could see the lamp above the side door shining. "Looks like the power's still on in this wing. Could be only one circuit was shut off."
Rachel marched to the door and turned the knob. It wasn't locked. "This is the way we came in. I was supposed to lock it with the key when I left. The sanctuary doors are locked, but they open from the inside."
A good thing, given the way she'd erupted through them. He followed her inside. She reached out, flipping a switch, and lights came on down a hallway with what were probably classrooms on either side.
"Everything seems okay here."
She nodded. "The door to the vestry is around the corner at the end of the hall."
He started down the hallway, not attempting to be quiet. His footsteps would echo on the tile floor, in any event.
Rachel walked in step with him, her face intent but pale, her hands clenched. Obviously she was convinced that something malicious had been intended in the incident. He still wasn't so sure, but—
Footsteps. Someone was coming toward them, around the corner. He heard the quick intake of Rachel's breath. His hand tightened on the flashlight. He grasped Rachel's arm, pushing her behind him.
A figure came around the corner, and all of his tension fell flat. The man had to be eighty at least, and he peered at them through the thick lenses of his glasses.
"Rachel?" His voice quavered. "That you?"
"Mose." Relief flooded Rachel's voice. "I'm glad to see you."
He grunted. "Pastor told me you'd be hanging the greens in the sanctuary tonight. You all finished?"
"Yes, we're done. Why didn't you answer me when I called to you in the sanctuary?"
The old man blinked several times before replying. "In the sanctuary? Haven't been in the sanctuary yet. Just came in the side door and was on my way here when I heard you folks come in." He glanced at Tyler suspiciously.
The color she'd regained melted from Rachel's face. "You weren't? But someone was. The lights went off."
"Lights off?" He sniffed. "We'll just see about that." He turned and shuffled off the way he'd come.
They followed him, and Tyler realized that at some point he'd grasped Rachel's hand. Well, she was scared. Giving her a little support was the least he could do.
Around the corner, through a set of double fire doors, and they were abruptly in the old part of the building again. In the dark. He switched on his flashlight, and the old man's face looked white and startled in its glare.
"Must be a circuit. Just shine your light over to the right, so's I can see what's what."
Tyler did as he was told and the flashlight's beam picked out the gray metal circuit box, looking incongruous against a carved oak cabinet that must be at least a hundred years old.
The custodian flipped it open. "There's the problem, all right. Breaker's thrown." He clicked it, and lights came on immediately, gleaming through an open door that led into the sanctuary.
"Let's have a look inside." Tyler moved to the door. "Rachel heard someone in there."
The elderly man followed them into the sanctuary. The lights showed evergreen branches looping around the columns and flowing around the windows. Everything looked perfectly normal.
Rachel stood close to him. "I'd like to walk back through, just to be sure."
He nodded, sensing that she didn't want to say anything else within earshot of the custodian.
Halfway back along the outside wall, she stopped. "This is where I was," she murmured. "When I realized he was coming toward me. I ducked into that pew, ran along it and out the center aisle to the doors."
"He didn't follow you then?"
"I'm not sure. I was pretty panicked by then. All I wanted was to get out."
Hearing a faint tremor in her voice, he found her hand and squeezed it. "You're okay now."
She nodded, sending him a cautioning look as the custodian came toward them.
"Well, if someone was here, they're gone now." He patted Rachel's arm. "Don't like to say it, but most likely it was one of them kids. Their idea of a joke."
"I guess it could have been." Rachel sounded unconvinced. "Thanks, Mose. Do you want me to go back through and turn off the lights?"
"No, no, you folks go on. I'm going that way anyhow."
Touching Rachel's arm, Tyler guided her toward the door, still not sure what he thought of all this. That Rachel had been frightened by someone, he had no doubt. But was it anything more than that?
They walked side by side out into the chilly night and along the walk. He waited for Rachel to speak first. Their relationship was fragile at best, and he wasn't sure what he could say to make this better.
They reached the street before she spoke. She glanced at him, her face pale in the gleam of the streetlamp. "I suppose Mose could be right about the kids. Though I hate to think they'd be so mean."
He took her hand as they crossed the street toward the inn. "Kids don't always think through the results of their actions. I can remember a couple of really stupid things I did at that age."
She smiled faintly. "I suppose I can, too. Well, thank you for coming to the rescue. I hope I didn't look like too much of an idiot."
"You didn't look like an idiot at all." His fingers tightened on hers. "It was a scary experience, even if Mose is right and it was just intended as a joke. I'm just not sure—" He hesitated. Maybe he shouldn't voice the thought in his mind.
"What?" They neared the side door, and she stopped just short of the circle of illumination from the overhead light.
"I've only known you…what? A week? In that time you've been nearly electrocuted by Christmas lights and—well, call it harassed in the church."
Her face was a pale oval in the dim light. "And you've been hit on the head."
"Seems like we're both having a run of bad luck." He waited for her response.
She frowned, looking troubled. "It does seem odd. But the Christmas lights—surely no one could have done that deliberately."
"Not if they didn't have access to them. If they were safely up in your attic until the moment you brought them down to hang—"
"They weren't," she said shortly. "I brought them down the day before. I was checking on them when I realized it was time for the committee meeting."
He didn't think he liked that. "Where were they during the meeting?"
"In the downstairs rest room."
"Where someone could tamper with them," he said.
"Why would anyone do that? They're all my friends. Anyway, how could they have known I'd be the one to put them up?"
"Anyone who's been around the inn would know that."
She took a quick step away from him, into the pool of light. "I can't believe that someone I know would try to hurt me." But her voice seemed to wobble on the words.
"I'm not trying to upset you." An unexpected, and unwelcome, flood of protectiveness swept through him. "I'm just concerned."
"Thank you. But please, I don't want Grams to know anything happened. She worries about me."
"She loves you," he said quietly, prompted by some instinct he wasn't sure he understood. "That's a good thing."
She tilted her face back, a smile lifting the corners of her lips. "Most of the time," she agreed.
"All of the time." Without thinking it through, he brushed a strand of hair back from her face. It flowed through his fingers like silk.
Her eyes widened. Darkened. He heard the faint catch of her breath. Knew that his own breathing was suddenly ragged.
He took her shoulders, drawing her toward him. She came willingly, lifting her face. The faintest shadow of caution touched his mind, and he censored it. His lips found hers.
Astonishing, the flood of warmth and tenderness that went through him. The kiss was gentle, tentative, as if Rachel were asking silently, Is this right? Do we want to do this? Who are you, deep inside where it's important?
She drew back a little at last, a smile lingering on her lips. "Maybe we'd better go in."
He dropped a light kiss on her nose. "Maybe we'd better. Your grandmother will be worrying."
But he didn't want to. He wanted to stay out here in the moonlight with her as long as he could. And he didn't care to explore what that meant about the state of his feelings.
* * *
Barney trotted along Crossings Road next to Rachel, darting away from her from time to time to investigate an interesting clump of dried weeds or the trunk of a hemlock. She smiled at his enthusiasm, aware that they were coming closer to the farm with every step.
And that Tyler was there. She'd really had no intention of coming back here or seeing Tyler this afternoon. But Grams had said Rachel was driving them crazy tinkering with the Christmas decorations, and that everything was as ready as it could be for the guests who'd be arriving late this afternoon. Why didn't she take Barney for a walk and get rid of her fidgets?
The dog, apparently remembering their last excursion, had promptly led her down Crossings Road to the Hostetler farm. They reached the lane, and Barney darted ahead of her. She could see Tyler's car, pulled up next to the porch. He'd told Grams he was trying to identify the rest of the furniture today.
To say that she had mixed feelings about seeing Tyler was putting it mildly. She'd appreciated his help the previous night. He'd managed to submerge whatever doubts he had about her story and given her the help she needed.
As for what had happened—she stared absently at the clumps of dried Queen Anne's lace in what had once been a pasture.
Surely she could think about it rationally now. Little though she wanted to believe it, Mose's suggestion was the only sensible one. One or more of the teenagers, motivated by who knew what, could easily have flipped the switch to turn the lights off. Maybe they'd thought it would be funny to give her a scare in the dark.
Well, if so, she'd certainly gratified them by bolting out the way she had. She should have turned the tables on them and grabbed that person in the sanctuary.
She couldn't have. Cold seemed to settle into her. Even now, in the clear light of day with the thin winter sun on her face, she couldn't imagine reaching out toward that faceless figure.
Her steps slowed, and Barney scampered over to nose at her hand. She patted him absently.
Maybe it had been her imagination. She sincerely hoped it had been. But that sense of enmity she'd felt, there in the dark in what should have been the safest of places, had simply overpowered her. She'd reacted like any hunted animal. Run. H
ide.
She forced her feet to move again. Just thinking about it was making her feel the fear again, and she wouldn't let fear control her.
Remembering what had happened afterward was disturbing in a different way. She couldn't stop the smile that curved her lips when she remembered that kiss. It had held a potential that warmed her and startled her. It certainly hadn't clarified things between them—if anything, she felt more confused.
And then what he'd suggested about the Christmas lights—well, it couldn't be, that was all. Except that his words had roused that niggling little doubt she'd felt every time she looked at the lights.
And he was right. Anyone who was there that night could have guessed she'd put them up. It would have been the work of a minute to strip the wires.
Not a surefire way of hurting her, but a quick and easy impulse.
Tyler had left someone out, though. Himself.
He'd had access to the lights, too. And he'd come here convinced that her family was guilty of something in relation to his grandfather's death.
Was he really just after the truth? Or did revenge figure in somewhere?
Ridiculous, she told herself firmly. He wasn't that sort of devious person.
But still—maybe that was all the more reason not to see Tyler alone today. She'd reached the house, but he wasn't inside. Instead she spotted him where the ground sloped up behind the barn.
For a moment she didn't know what he was doing, but then she realized. That tangle of brush and rusted fence was a small cemetery, of course. There were plenty of them, scattered throughout the township, most of them remnants of the earliest days of settlement. Some were well kept, others abandoned. This one fell into the abandoned category.
Tyler seemed totally absorbed. He hadn't noticed her. Good. She'd turn around and go back to the inn—
But before she could move, Barney spotted Tyler and plunged toward him, tail waving, letting out a series of welcoming barks. Tyler looked up and waved. Nothing for it now but to go forward.