A Christmas to Die For (19 page)

"Tyler is settling his grandfather's estate, and in the process he's located a piece that originally belonged to the family." Now that she had firmly linked their mission to the personal, it was time to broach the subject.

She nodded to Tyler. Finally recognizing his cue, he took a tissue-wrapped package from his pocket and opened it to divulge the medal.

"The dealer said that he'd purchased it from your husband's collection." He held it out for Mrs. Albright to see.

She raised the glasses that hung on a gold chain around her neck. "Yes, indeed, that was part of my Stanley's collection." She shook her head. "I didn't want to part with any of it, but my niece persuaded me to begin clearing a few of the things that don't have personal meaning to me."

"Did your husband happen to keep records of the origin of the items he acquired?" Tyler sounded as if he had faint hope of that.

"Certainly he did." She was obviously affronted that he would think otherwise.

"That was very wise of him," Rachel soothed. "So few people are as organized as he was. Do you think we might be able to find out when and from whom he purchased this medal? It was certainly help Tyler in—" she could hardly say in investigating his grandfather's death "—in understanding his family history."

"That's very proper. I wish more young people took an interest, instead of leaving genealogical research to their elders." She rose with a faint rustle of silk. "Just come into my husband's library, and we'll have a look."

Tyler had sprung to his feet as soon as she moved, and he stepped back to let her pass. Behind Mrs. Albright's back, he clasped Rachel's hand for a quick squeeze.

She retrieved her hand and followed their hostess into the next room, hoping she wasn't blushing. Well, if she was, Mrs. Albright would just think—

She stopped, struggling with the idea. Mrs. Albright would think there was something between them. She already thought that. And there was certainly something, but the chances of it leading to a real relationship were slim, maybe nonexistent.

Mrs. Albright leaned over file cabinets against the wall, peering at the labels. "Your eyes are better than mine, young man. You check for it. He organized every item in his collection and each antique in the house by type, and kept a file with its provenance."

Tyler moved with alacrity, running his finger down the file drawer labels and then pulling out one of the drawers. He paused, glancing at Mrs. Albright. "Would you like me to look through the files, or would you prefer to do it?"

She shook her head, waving her hand slightly. "You find it. I think I'll just sit down for a bit."

"Are you all right?" Rachel grasped her arm. "Would you like me to get you something?"

"No, no, I'm fine." But she let Rachel help her to the nearest chair. "This was Stanley's province, you know. I can't come in here without seeing him sitting in that chair, his nose buried in a book, his pipe on the table beside him."

Rachel patted her hand. "It must be so difficult."

"Sixty-one years, we had." She sighed. "I never thought I'd be the one to go on without him."

"I'm sorry if our coming has been difficult. Perhaps we could come another time to look for it—"

"That won't be necessary." Tyler's voice had an odd note. "I've found it." He carried a manila file folder to her.

She took it, almost afraid to look.
Please Lord. Not my father. He couldn't have, could he?

She forced herself to scan the page. The medal was listed, with a minute description. The date Albright had purchased it. Her heart thudded. A year after John Hostetler died.

And the seller. Phillip Longstreet, of Longstreet's Antiques.

Tyler came down the stairs, suppressing the urge to take them a couple at a time. The Unger mansion, even in its incarnation as an inn, seemed to discourage that sort of thing. Nothing wrong with that, except that at the moment his muscles tensed with the need to do something—anything that would resolve this situation and lead him to the truth.

Rachel came out of the family side as he hit the hallway, almost as if she'd been listening for him. Her green eyes were anxious as they searched his face.

"Did you talk to Chief Burkhalter? What did he say?"

His jaw tightened. There was nothing, he supposed, that dictated that he had to tell Rachel. But she'd gone out of her way to help him, in spite of what must have seemed like very good reasons to tell him to get out.

Besides, he'd gotten to like the idea that he wasn't in this alone. "I talked to him." He grimaced. "He pointed out that there could be several perfectly innocent ways for Longstreet to come by that medal."

"And one guilty one." She shook her head. "I couldn't believe it when I saw his name. And I still can't, not really. He's been a fixture in the community his entire life. Surely, if there was anything to be known, someone would have talked about it by now."

"People can do a good job of keeping a secret when their lives depend on it."

She paled, as if she hadn't considered that outcome. "Your grandfather died from a heart attack, but if it was brought on by the robbery, it could be considered murder."

"Exactly." He shrugged. "I can't blame Chief Burkhalter for moving cautiously. Longstreet is well-known around here. But I've had the sense from you that he's not entirely respected."

"I certainly never meant he was dishonest. Just—maybe a bit too eager to make a good deal. If there had been rumors of anything else—well, I haven't heard them. But Zach Burkhalter would have. He knows what's going on. You can rely on him."

"He said he'd investigate."

"But you're not satisfied." She seemed to know him as well as he knew himself.

"No." His hands curled into fists. "I can't just wait around, hoping he's asking the right questions. I have to do something."

Rachel put her hand on his arm, as if she'd deter him by force, if necessary. "What?"

"See Longstreet. Get some answers myself, before he has time to make up some elaborate cover story."

Her fingers tightened. "Tyler, you can't do that. The chief would have a fit. You'd be interfering in his investigation."

"That's probably true."

"But you're going anyway." She shook her head. "Then I'm going with you."

He frowned. "I don't want to be rude, but I didn't invite you."

"I'm not going to let you confront Phil Longstreet and get yourself in trouble." Her smile flickered. "It would reflect badly on the inn if you were arrested while staying here."

"Or on you? You've been seen in my company quite a bit."

Her eyes widened and then slid away from his. "All the more reason to keep you out of trouble." Her voice wasn't quite steady.

He resisted the impulse to touch her. What was wrong with him? He couldn't pursue a romantic relationship and confront a thief at the same time.

"I'm not going to be violent. Just talk to him."

"You should still have an independent witness," she said. "I'll get my jacket. Are you going to walk over?"

He nodded, waiting while she hurried off to get a jacket. He could leave without her, but she'd just follow him. And what she said made a certain amount of sense. If Longstreet let anything slip, it would be as well to have a third party hear it.

He heard her coming, saying something firm to the dog, who probably scented a walk in the offing.

"Later," she said, pushing an inquiring muzzle back and shutting the door. She turned to him. "I'm ready."

Outside, the air was crisp and cold. It was already dusk—they'd been longer getting back from their meeting with Mrs. Albright than he'd expected. Christmas traffic, Rachel had said.

"I hope Mrs. Albright wasn't tired too much by our visit." Rachel seemed to be reading his thoughts.

"She wouldn't have needed to turn it into a tea party." A few flakes of snow touched his face, and he tilted his head back to look up. "Snow. Are they predicting much?"

"A couple of inches by morning. Good thing we went over to New Holland today." She smiled. "As far as the tea party was concerned—you have to understand that's her way. She wouldn't have talked with you at all, probably, if Grams hadn't been the intermediary."

"Something else I owe to you and your grandmother. I appreciate it." Especially since none of them knew where this investigation would lead. Would it stop at Longstreet? Somehow he doubted it.

"About Mrs. Albright—" Rachel's mind was obviously still on their encounter with the elderly woman. The Christmas lights on the window of the florist shop they were passing showed him her face in images of green and red. "She jumped to some conclusions. About us, I mean. I hope that didn't embarrass you."

"No. But you look as if it did you." The rose in her cheeks wasn't entirely from the Christmas lights.

Her gaze evaded his. "Of course not. Setting young people up in pairs is a favorite local hobby of elderly women. I didn't want you to think—well, it's ridiculous, that's all."

Without a conscious decision, his hand closed over hers. "Is it so ridiculous, Rachel?"

She looked up, and a snowflake tangled in her hair. Another brushed her cheek. "We hardly know each other." She sounded breathless.

"Timewise. But we've come a long way in a short period of time." All the more reason to be cautious, the logical part of his mind insisted, but he didn't want to listen.

"Maybe too far." It came out in a whisper that seemed to linger on the chill air.

"I don't think so." He wanted to touch the snowflakes that clustered more thickly now on her hair. Wanted to warm her cold lips with his.

But they'd reached the corner. And across the street was the antique shop, its lights spilling out onto the sidewalk that was covering quickly with snow.

He'd come here for answers, he reminded himself. Not romance. And some of the answers had to be found inside that shop.

The bell over the door jingled, announcing their arrival. Rachel could only hope that Phil would attribute her red cheeks to the temperature outside, instead of seeing the hint of something more. He was usually far too observant about the state of other people's feelings—probably part of what made him a success as a dealer.

Still, in a few minutes he'd have far more to think about than the state of her emotions. Apprehension tightened her stomach and dispelled the warmth that had flooded her at Tyler's words.

As for Tyler—a swift glance at his strong-boned face told her he'd dismissed it already. Well, that was only appropriate. They had far more serious things to deal with right now.

"Rachel. Tyler." Phil emerged from behind the counter, a smile wreathing his face. He came toward them, hands extended in welcome. "How nice this is. I was beginning to think I might as well close early. The threat of snow sends people scurrying to the grocery for bread and milk instead of to an antique shop."

"We walked over, so the snow wasn't an issue." She brushed a damp curl back from her cheek. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything, but she could hardly avoid greeting a man she'd known for years.

"Well, what can I do for you this evening?" He rubbed his hands together. "A little Christmas shopping for your grandmother? I have some nice porcelain figures that just came in."

She glanced at Tyler, willing him to take the lead. His face was taut, giving nothing away but a certain amount of tension.

"Actually there was something I wanted to talk with you about. A piece of military memorabilia that I ran across recently."

Phil shook his head, his smile still in place. "Afraid I can't help you there. China, silver, period furniture, that's my area. You'd have to see someone who specializes in military."

He was talking too much, being too helpful. The instinctive reaction was so strong she couldn't doubt it. Phil's normal attitude with a customer who expressed interest in something he didn't have was to try to turn them to something he did.

Did Tyler realize that? Probably so.

"I already know about the object. A Bavarian military medal, early 1700s. Sound familiar?" His tone wasn't quite accusing.

Phil turned the question away with a smile. "Sorry. As I said, not my area."

It wasn't, Rachel realized. That made it all the more unusual that it had passed through his hands.

"It came from the collection of Stanley Albright, over in New Holland. You've dealt with him, I suppose?" Tyler would not be deflected or halted. He just kept driving toward his goal.

Phil's smile finally faded. "I knew Albright, certainly. Every dealer in the area knew him. Just like every dealer knows his widow is starting to sell off some of his things. I keep up with the news, but that's too rich for my blood, I'm afraid."

He tried a laugh, but it wasn't convincing. Rachel's heart chilled. Up until this moment she'd convinced herself that there was some mistake, that Phil would explain it all away.

He'd try, she knew that much. But she wouldn't believe him.

"You didn't sell him anything?" Tyler's tone was smooth, but she sensed the steel behind it.

"No, can't say I ever had the pleasure." Phil took a casual step back, groping behind him to put his hand on a glass display case filled with a collection of ivory pillboxes.

"Odd. Because Mrs. Albright says you sold him just such a medal about twenty-two years ago."

Phil was as pale as the ivory. "That's ridiculous. I tell you I never handled anything like that. Mrs. Albright must be—what, ninety or so? She's probably mixed up. She never knew anything about his collection, anyway."

He was talking too much, giving himself away with every defensive word. Tyler should have left this to Chief Burkhalter, or at least made sure Burkhalter was around to hear this. Zach Burkhalter would know Phil was lying, just as she did.

"That might be true." Tyler's voice was deceptively soft. "The thing is, I'm not taking her word for it. If you know anything about Albright's collection, you should know he kept meticulous records. It was there—his purchase from you, a description of the medal, even the date he bought it."

Phil turned away, aimlessly touching objects on the countertop, but she saw his face before he could hide his expression. He looked ghastly.