by Unknown
Grams shook her head slowly. "Not at first. He wanted to, but I was afraid."
"You're never afraid," Rachel said softly. She smoothed her fingers over her grandmother's hand, the bones fragile under soft skin.
"I was afraid of losing you and your sisters." Grams's eyes shone with tears. "I was a coward. I didn't want an open breach. But we lost you anyway."
"Not at first?" Burkhalter echoed. "Did there come a time when that happened?"
"Something vanished that my husband prized—a cameo that had been his grandmother's, supposedly a gift from a descendant of William Penn. He'd intended it for one of our granddaughters. That was the last straw, as far as he was concerned. But before he could do anything, Donald was gone. Maybe he guessed Frederick was about to confront him."
"Didn't people wonder about it?" Tyler asked. "Hampton disappearing so soon after my grandfather's death?"
Burkhalter shrugged. "I've done some inquiring. As far as I can tell, Hampton came and went so much that nobody questioned his leaving at that particular time. You don't automatically suspect someone of a crime for that."
"Of course not!" The words burst out of Rachel. She couldn't listen to this any longer. "This is my father you're talking about. My father. He wouldn't do anything like that."
Grams patted her hand. Tyler said her name, and she turned on him.
"This is your fault. You're trying to make yourself feel better by blaming all this on my father." She was standing, body rigid, hands clasped, feeling as if she'd go up in flames if anyone tried to touch her. "He didn't do it. He wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone. He was gentle, and charming, and he loved his children. He loved me." She was eight again, her heart breaking, her world ripping apart. "He loved me."
She spun and raced out of the room before the sobs that choked her had a chance to rip free and expose her grief and pain to everyone.
* * *
Rachel came down the stairs from her bedroom, glancing at her watch. Nearly seven and dark already, of course, although the lights on Main Street shone cheerfully and pedestrians were out and about, probably doing Christmas shopping. The house was quiet, the insistent voices that had pushed her to the breaking point silenced now.
She rounded the corner of the stairs into the kitchen. Grams sat at the table, a cup of tea steaming in front of her, Barney curled at her feet. He spotted her first, welcoming her with a gentle woof.
Grams looked up, her blue eyes filled with concern. "Rachel, you must be hungry. I'll get some soup—"
Rachel stopped her before she could get up, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "I'll get it. It smells as if Emma left some chicken pot pie on the stove."
"She sent Levi over with it. She knows it's your favorite."
Rachel poured a ladleful into an earthenware bowl, inhaling the rich aroma of chicken mingled with the square pillows of dough that were Emma's signature touch. "That was lovely of her. Please tell me the entire neighborhood hasn't found out about our troubles so soon."
"People talk. And I'm sure quite a few heard a garbled version of the police searching Longstreet's antiques and saw the police car parked in our driveway." Grams sounded resigned to it. She'd spent her life in country places and knew how they functioned. "Did you sleep any, dear?"
Rachel sank into the chair opposite her, pushing her hair back with both hands. "A little." After she'd cried her heart out—for her father, for the trouble that would hurt everyone she loved, for what might have been with Tyler and was surely gone now. "I guess I made an exhibition of myself, didn't I?"
"Let's say it startled everyone," Grams said dryly. "Including you, I think."
She nodded and forced herself to put a spoonful into her mouth, to chew, to swallow. The warmth spread through her. Small wonder they called this comfort food.
"I thought I'd accepted it a long time ago. Maybe I never did." She met her grandmother's gaze across the table. "This business of Daddy taking things from the house—did Mother know?"
"She never admitted it if she did." She sighed, shaking her head. "That was what precipitated her taking you away. She was upset and angry over your father leaving, and Frederick—well, his patience ran out. He said, 'At least we no longer have a thief in the house.'"
She'd thought she was finished crying, but another tear slid down her cheek. "You tried to stop them from fighting. I remember that." They'd huddled at the top of the stairs, she and Andrea, listening to the battle raging below, understanding nothing except that their lives were changing forever.
"It was no good. They were both too stubborn, and things were said that neither of them would forget." She took a sip of the tea and then set the cup back in the saucer with a tiny ching. "I thought all that unhappiness was over and done with, and that with you and Andrea back, we could just be happy."
"I guess the past is always ready to jump out and bite you. If Tyler had never come—" That hurt too much to go on.
"Perhaps it was meant to be. I know we can't see our way clear at the moment, but God knows the way out."
The faintest smile touched her lips. "When I was little, you told me God was always there to take my hand when I was in trouble."
"He still is, Rachel. Just reach out and take it." Grams stood, carrying her cup to the sink. "I believe I'll read for a while, unless you'd like company."
Rachel shook her head. "After I finish this, I'll take Barney out for a little walk. The cold air will do us both good."
"Don't go on Crossings Road, dear. Not after dark."
"I won't." Grams couldn't help remembering her accident. "We'll take a walk down Main Street, where the shops are still open."
Grams came to pat her cheek and then headed for the steps. "Look in on me when you get back."
"I will. I love you, Grams."
"I love you, too, Rachel."
Barney trotted happily at her heels a few minutes later as she pulled jacket, hat and mittens from the closet. He knew the signs of an impending walk, even if no one said the word.
She stepped outside, the dog running immediately to investigate the snow, not content until he'd rolled over several times in it. Must be close to four inches, but it had stopped at some time since she'd come back from the antique shop. The sky above was clear now, and thick with stars.
She whistled to Barney and started down the street. Grams hadn't mentioned Tyler's whereabouts, but his car wasn't in its usual spot, so he was probably out to dinner. Or even moving out.
She tried to ignore the bruised feeling around her heart. Tyler believed her father guilty of killing his grandfather. They could never get past that in a million years, so it was better not to try.
She tilted her head back. The stars seemed incredibly close, as if she could reach out and pick a frosty handful.
Why did You bring him into my life, when it was bound to end so badly? I thought I was content with things the way they were, and now—
God is always there to take your hand. Grams's words echoed and comforted.
I don't see my way through this. Lord. I don't know how many more hard lessons there are to learn. Please, hold my hand.
Comforted. Yes, that was what she felt. She didn't see any farther, but she didn't feel alone.
Barney danced along the sidewalk, dodging shoppers—some locals that she knew, a few tourists. The Christmas lights shone cheerfully, and in every window she saw posters for the Holiday Open House Tour.
Funny. It had occupied an important place in her mind for weeks, as if its success marked her acceptance as part of this community. Now it was almost here, and she didn't feel her customary flicker of panic. There were too many more important things to worry about. The tour would go on, no matter what happened in the private lives of its organizers.
She passed Sandra and Bradley Whitmoyer's spacious Victorian, ablaze with white lights and evergreens, a lighted tree filling the front window. Across the snowy street, Longstreet's Antiques seemed to be closed, the shop dark.
Would the
police have searched thoroughly? She couldn't imagine Zach Burkhalter undertaking anything without doing it well, and he'd probably love to tie recent antique thefts to Phil. But he didn't think there was enough evidence to charge Phil with anything from the past. That had been clear from his manner.
It had also been clear that he pitied her. That he agreed with Tyler's assessment. That her father had been guilty of that terrible thing.
She stopped, staring at the shop. Barney pressed against her leg, whining a little.
Odd. The shop was dark, but she could glimpse a narrow wedge of light from the office. Phil must still be there.
If she talked to him again—just the two of them. Not Tyler. Not the police. Just two people who had been friends. Would he tell her about her father? Would he help her understand this?
She shouldn't. Chief Burkhalter had been angry enough with Tyler for his interference. He'd be furious with her if she did any such thing.
It was her father. She had a right to know. And the idea of being afraid to talk to Phil, of all people, was simply ridiculous. Snapping her fingers to Barney, she crossed the street, her boots crunching through the ruts left by passing cars.
She reached for the knob, expecting the door to be locked, but the knob turned under her hand. She'd have expected Phil to stay open tonight, like the other shops, but if he'd closed, why hadn't he locked up?
She stepped inside, reassured by the tinkle of the bell over the door and the feel of the dog, pressing close beside her.
"Phil? It's Rachel. Can I talk with you for a minute?"
No answer. The door to the office was ajar, a narrow band of light shining through it, reflecting from the glass cases.
"Phil?" she shivered in spite of the warmth of the shop, starting toward the light.
And froze at a rustle of movement somewhere in the crammed shop.
Her hand clenched Barney's collar. She felt the hair rise on the ruff of his neck, heard a low, rumbling growl start deep in his throat.
Danger, that's what he was saying. Danger.
She held her breath, though it was too late for that. If someone lurked in the shadows, she'd already announced herself, hadn't she?
She took a careful step toward the outside door, hand tight on Barney's collar, trying to control him. He strained against her, growling at something she couldn't see in the dark.
A step matched hers. Someone on the other side of an enormous Dutch cabinet moved when she did. Fear gripped her throat. Scream, and hope someone on the street heard before he reached her? Let Barney go?
She hesitated too long. Before she could move, a dark figure burst from behind the cabinet, arm upraised. She stumbled backward, losing her hold on the dog, she was falling, he'd be on her—
Barney lunged, snapping and snarling. Something crashed into a glass display case, shattering it, shards of glass flying. Dog and man grappled in the dark, and she fled toward the office, bolted inside, slammed and locked the door, breath coming in sobbing gasps.
Barney—But she couldn't help him. She had to call—
She turned, blinking in the light while she fumbled in her bag for her phone. And stopped.
Phil Longstreet lay on the floor between his elegant Sheraton desk and the door. His arms were outflung, hands open. Blood spread from his head, soaking into the intricate blue-and-wine design of the Oriental carpet.
* * *
Tyler wrenched the steering wheel and spun out of the snowy driveway at the inn, tension twisting his gut. He'd come back to the inn from supper to find Katherine in shock. Phil Longstreet was in the hospital, and Rachel was at the police station.
Incredible. Surely the police couldn't believe that Rachel—gentle, nurturing Rachel—could harm anyone. But he doubted that the police made their decisions based on someone's apparent character.
Think, don't just react, he admonished himself. Katherine Unger had rushed to him the instant he walked in the door. Her incoherent explanation of events had been interspersed with Emma's equally hard-to-understand pleas for her to be calm, to go and lie down, to stop exciting herself.
Finally he'd gotten both of them enough under control to get the bare facts they knew. Rachel had gone out with the dog for a short walk on Main Street. A half hour later, just when her grandmother was starting to worry, a policeman had appeared at the inn with the dog, saying that Phillip Longstreet had been injured and that Rachel was at the station, helping the police inquiry.
Emma had to restrain Katherine from rushing out into the snowy night without even a coat.
"Go after her, please, go after her." She'd grasped his arm, holding on to him as if he were a lifeline. "Someone has to be with her, to protect her. Please, Tyler. She needs you."
He clasped her hands between his. "I'll take care of her." He glanced at Emma. "And you'll take care of Mrs. Unger."
"Ja, I will." Emma put her own shawl around Katherine's shoulders and drew her toward the library. "Come. You come. Tyler will do it."
Now he was forced to slow down, watchful of the small group of pedestrians who hovered on the edge of the street, trying to see what was happening inside the antique shop. He passed a police car and then pulled to the curb in front of the police station, heedless of the No Parking sign.
He raced across the sidewalk, up the two steps and shoved the door open. A young patrolman looked up from the desk, telephone receiver pressed against his ear.
"Rachel Hampton. Where is she?"
"She's with the chief." He glanced toward the door to the inner office with what seemed a combination of fear and excitement. "They can't be disturbed."
"Is there an attorney with her? Because if not, I'm certainly going to disturb them."
"Now, sir—"
The door opened and Zach Burkhalter came out, closing it behind him, looking at Tyler with an annoyed glare.
"Mr. Dunn. Now, why am I not surprised that you've turned up here?"
"You're talking to Rachel Hampton. If she doesn't have an attorney with her—"
"Ms. Hampton isn't being charged with anything. And she said she doesn't want an attorney."
Tyler's eyes narrowed. "I'd like to hear that from her." Maybe it was better if he didn't look too closely at the emotions that drove him right now.
Burkhalter's annoyance seemed to fade into resignation. He opened the door. "Go ahead."
A few more steps took him into the room, and the sight of Rachel sent everything else out of his mind. She sat on a straight-backed chair in the small office, huddled into the jacket that was wrapped around her shoulders. It wasn't cold in the room, but she shivered as she looked up at him.
"Tyler." She blinked, as if she were close to tears. "Phillip…did you hear about him? About what happened?"
"Shh. It's all right." He knelt next to her chair, taking her icy hands in his and trying to warm them with his touch.
A sidelong glance told him that Burkhalter had left the door open, and there was no sound from the outer office. They'd hear anything that was said here.
"But Phillip—"
He put his hand gently across her lips. "Don't. Just tell me what the chief asked you."
The truth was that he liked Burkhalter—he judged him a good man and probably a good cop. But he was a cop, and that's how he thought.
"He wanted me to tell him exactly what happened." Her eyes were wide and dark with shock. "I told him. I was out for a walk with Barney, and I saw that the office light was on at the antique shop. I thought I should talk to Phil. Just as a friend, that's all, to try and understand."
"The shop was unlocked?" His mind worked feverishly. She'd already told this to the police, so it was as well that she told him, too. He had to understand what they were dealing with.
She nodded. "I went in, calling his name. He didn't answer. And then I realized someone else was there, in the shop."
Fear jagged through him. "Did he hurt you?"
"I'm all right." But she didn't sound all right. "Barney went afte
r him. Gave me time to run into the office and lock the door."
"Did you see his face? Who was it?"
She shook her head. "I never got a look at him. And then I saw Phil lying on the floor. His head—" She stopped, biting her lip.
He smoothed his hands over hers. "What did you do next? Did you try to help him?"
"I was afraid of making things worse. I thought I shouldn't touch the things on his desk, so I used my cell phone to call the police."
If she hadn't touched anything else in the office, that was good, but she'd undoubtedly been in there before, maybe touched things then.
Her fingers gripped his suddenly. "The paramedics wouldn't tell me anything, but it didn't look good. They took him to the hospital. Someone must know by now how he is."
Burkhalter came back into the office on her words, as if he'd been listening. For an instant he eyed Tyler, kneeling next to Rachel, as if he weighed their feelings for each other.
Well, good luck figuring that out. He didn't know, himself. He just knew that Rachel needed help and he was going to make sure she got it.
"What about it, Chief?" He rose, standing beside Rachel, his hands on her shoulders. "The hospital must have been in touch with you."
The chief's stoic expression didn't change for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Longstreet is in serious condition with a head injury."
"Is he conscious?"
"No." He bit off the word.
That meant that the police had no idea when or if Longstreet would be able to talk to them. He tightened his grip on Rachel's shoulders. "I'm sure Ms. Hampton has already helped you as much as she can. It's time she was getting home."
"If we went over her story again, we might—"
"She's told you everything. She's exhausted and upset, and she probably should be seen by a doctor. Is she being charged with anything?"
Rachel moved at that, as if it was the first time she'd realized that she might be under suspicion. His grip warned her to be still.
Burkhalter leaned against his desk, arms crossed, looking at them. "Charged? No. But from my point of view, she quarreled with Longstreet earlier in the day. She was upset about his accusations against her father. She went to the shop."
