A Christmas to Die For (6 page)

"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.

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.