Marta Perry - A Christmas to Die For

“How did you know?” Rachel sounded exasperated. “If we had a party line, Phillip, I’d suspect you of eavesdropping.”

“I have to be far more creative than that to stay ahead of the competition. If you want to keep secrets, don’t come to a village. Emma’s son, Levi, delivered the news along with my eggs this morning.”

It was an insight into how this place worked. “Are you interested in the contents of the house, Mr. Longstreet?”

A local dealer might be the best choice before putting the house on the market, but Longstreet was obviously trolling for antiques, probably hoping to get an offer in on anything of value before his competition did. Or possibly before Tyler realized what he had.

“Phil, please. I’d like to look around.” Longstreet’s gaze was already scoping out the few pieces left in the living room. “Sometimes there are attractive pieces in these old farmhouses, although more often it’s a waste of time.”

“I’m afraid your time was definitely wasted this afternoon.” He gestured toward the door. “I’m not ready to make a decision about selling anything yet.”

“If I could just take a look around, I might be able to give you an idea of values.” Longstreet craned his neck toward the dining room.

Tyler swung the door open and stepped out onto the porch, so that the man had no choice but to follow. “I’ll be in touch when I’m ready to make a decision. Thank you for stopping by.”

“Yes, well, thanks for your time.” Longstreet stepped gingerly over the broken step. “Rachel, I’ll see you at the meeting tonight.”

Rachel, coming out behind him, bent to snap a leash onto the dog’s collar. “Fine.”

Tyler waited until Longstreet had backed out of the driveway to turn to her. “Is that one of the reputable dealers your grandmother might recommend?”

“Grams probably would suggest him. His uncle was an old crony of my grandfather.”

“But…?”

Her nose crinkled. “Phil’s nice enough, in his way. It’s just that every time he comes to the inn, I get the feeling he’s putting a price on the furniture.”

“I’m not bad at showing people the door, if you’d like some help.”

“I run an inn, remember?” She smiled, her earlier antagonism apparently gone. “The idea is to get people in, not send them away. Are you a bouncer in your real life?”

“Architect. Showing people the way out is just a sideline.”

She looked interested. “Do you work on your own?”

He shook his head. “I’m with a partner in Baltimore, primarily designing churches and public buildings. Luckily I’m between projects right now, so I can take some time off to deal with this.” Which brought him back to the problem at hand. “Well, if your grandmother recommends Longstreet, I’ll still be sure to get offers from more than one dealer.”

“That should keep him in line. He’s probably easier to cope with when he wants to buy something from you. I’m on the Christmas in Churchville committee with him, and he can be a real pain there.”

He pulled the door shut and turned the key in the lock.

“Are you sure you’re finished? You didn’t look around upstairs.”

“I’ve had enough for the moment.” He tried to dismiss the negative feelings that had come with seeing the place again. This was a fool’s errand. There was no truth left to find here—just a moldering ruin that had never, as far as he could tell, been a happy home.

The dog leaped down from the porch, nearly pulling Rachel off balance, and he caught her arm to steady her.

“Easy. Does he really need to be on the leash?”

“I wanted to discourage any more digging around the porch. I’m afraid you may have something holed up in there for the winter.”

“Whatever it is, let it stay.” He took the leash from her hand and helped her over the broken step to the ground. “I won’t bother it.”

She glanced at him as they walked away. “You must be saddened to see the place in such a state.”

He shrugged. “I only saw it twice that I recall. It would have been worse for my mother than for me. She grew up here.”

“Do you think—” She stopped, as if censoring what she’d been about to say.

“That’s why she let it fall to pieces?” He finished the thought for her. “I have no idea. I’d have expected my dad to intercede, but—” he shrugged “—I didn’t know she still owned the place until a few weeks ago, and by then she was in no shape to explain much. Maybe she just wanted to forget, after the way her father died.”

Rachel scuffed through frost-tipped dead leaves that the wind had scattered over the road. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard how it happened.”

“From what my mother told me, he apparently confronted someone breaking into the house. There was a struggle, and he had a heart attack. He wasn’t found until the next day.”

She shivered, shoving her hands into her pockets. “It’s hard to think about something like that happening here when I was a child. It always seemed such an idyllic place.”

They walked for a few moments in silence, their footsteps muted on the macadam road. He glanced at her, confirming what he heard. “You’re limping. Did you twist your ankle getting off that porch?”

“It wasn’t that.” She nodded toward the bend in the road ahead of them, the wind ruffling her hair across her face so that she pushed it back with an impatient movement. “I had an accident just up the road back in the spring.”

He frowned down at her. “It must have been a bad one. Did you hit a tree?”

She shook her head. “I was jogging, too late in the evening, I guess. A car came around the bend—” She stopped, probably reliving it too acutely.

That explained why she’d stepped back into the trees when he’d come down the lane last night. “How badly were you hurt?”

“Two broken legs.” She shrugged. “Could have been worse, I guess. It only bothers me when I’m on my feet too long.”

“I hope the driver ended up in jail.”

“Hit and run,” she said briefly.

Obviously she didn’t want to talk about it any further. He couldn’t blame her. She didn’t want to remember, any more than he wanted to think about the way his grandfather died, or the burden his mother had laid on him to find out why.

“I guess this place isn’t so idyllic after all.”

“Bad things happen anywhere, people being people.”

“Yes, I guess they do.” Of course she was right about that. It was only the beauty that surrounded them that made violence seem so out of place here.

Rachel was thankful when the business part of the “Christmas in Churchville” meeting was over. The strain of mediating all those clashing egos had begun to tell on her after the first hour.

Now the battling committee members wandered around the public rooms of the inn, helping themselves to punch and the variety of goodies placed on tables in both the back parlor and the breakfast room. She’d figured out a long time ago that if you wanted to keep people circulating, you should space out the food and drink.

She and Grams had put cranberry punch on the round table next to the fireplace in the back parlor, accompanied by an assortment of cheeses, grapes and crackers. The breakfast room had coffee, tea and hot chocolate on the sideboard, along with mini éclairs and pfeffernüsse, the tiny clove and cardamom delicacies that were her grandmother’s special holiday recipe.

Would Tyler come down? Thinking of him alone in his room, she’d suggested he join them for refreshments. He’d know when the business meeting was over, she’d told him, when the shouting stopped.

Her committee members weren’t quite that bad, but they did have strong opinions on what would draw the holiday tourists to spend their money in Churchville.