A Christmas to Die For (11 page)

She moved back the center aisle, assessing their progress. In spite of a lot of horseplay and goofing off, the job was actually getting done. Swags of greenery cascaded down the cream-colored pillars that supported the roof, huge wreaths hung on either side of the chancel, and candleholders in each window had been trimmed with greenery. All that was left to do was to put new candles in all the holders.

She glanced at her watch. That was a good thing, since it was nearly nine, and she'd been told to send the kids off home promptly at nine.

"Okay, everyone, that's about it," she called above the clatter of voices. "You've done a fantastic job. Just put the ladders away, please, and you'd better cut along home."

Jon Everhart paused, holding one end of the ladder. "Do you want me to stay and turn off the lights for you?"

"Thanks anyway, Jon. I'll do it. After all, I just have to walk across the street to get home."

Of course the kids didn't leave that promptly, but by ten after nine the last of them had gone out the walk through the cemetery to the street.

She picked up the box of new candles and started along the side of the sanctuary, setting them carefully in the holders. Maybe it was best that she do them herself in any event. Not that the kids hadn't done their best, but she'd feel better if she made sure the tapers were secure in the holders. On Christmas Eve every candle would be aflame, filling the sanctuary with light and warmth.

The sanctuary was quiet—quieter than she'd ever experienced. She seemed to feel that stillness seeping into her, gentling the worry that ate at her over the problem presented by Tyler and her continuing anxiety about the financial state of the inn.

She looked at the window above her, showing Jesus talking with the woman at the well. His face, even represented in stained glass, showed so much love and acceptance. In spite of her tiredness, she felt that caring touch her, renewing her.

I've come so close to You since the accident. Maybe the person who hit me actually did me a favor. He couldn't have intended it, but the accident forced me to stop running away spiritually.

She knew why she'd done that, of course. She spent years unable to refer to God as Father, until she'd finally realized that it made her think of her own father, absent most of the time and fighting with Mom when he was around.

Tyler had his own issues with his parents, but at least he'd had a positive relationship with his father for most of his young life. Did he realize how fortunate he was in that? Or was he too wrapped up in his inability to satisfy his mother's demands?

She started down the opposite side of the sanctuary, securing candles in holders. She should finish this up and get back to the inn. It wasn't really all that late. She could still locate the pertinent ledgers and turn them over to Tyler. Let him strain his vision all he wanted, reading through her grandfather's meticulous notes. He wouldn't find anything to reflect badly on Grandfather, no matter how hard he looked.

She was putting the last candle in place when the lights went out. A startled gasp escaped her. She froze, feeling as if she'd suddenly gone blind.

Slowly her vision adjusted. The faintest light filtered through the windows, probably from the streetlamp at the gate to the churchyard. Dark shadows fell across the sanctuary, though, and if she tried to cut across to where she knew the light switches were, she'd probably crash right into a pew.

Here she stood with a box full of candles and not a single match to light one. The sensible thing was to feel her way along the wall until she got to the front pew where she'd left her handbag. The small flashlight she kept in her bag would help her reach the light switches.

Running her left hand along the cool plaster, reaching out with her right hand to touch the pews, she worked her way toward the front of the sanctuary. Why would the lights go out, anyway? It wasn't as if they were in the midst of a lightning storm.

Still, Grams had often said that the church building, just about as old as the inn, had similar problems. Maybe the overloaded circuits had chosen this moment to break down.

Or the explanation might be simpler. Mose Stetler, the custodian, could have come in, thinking they'd all left, and switched the lights off.

She paused, one hand resting on the curved back of a pew, its worn wood satiny to the touch. "Mose? Is that you? I'm still in the sanctuary."

Really, he should have checked to see if anyone was here before going around switching off lights.

No one answered. If it was Mose, he apparently couldn't hear her.

She took another step and stopped, her heart lurching into overdrive. Someone was in the sanctuary with her.

Ridiculous. She was being foolish, imagining things because she was alone in the dark. She took another step. And heard it. A step that echoed her own and then stopped.

She should call out. It must be someone on a perfectly innocent errand—Mose, or even the pastor, come to see that the church had been properly locked up. She should call out, let them know she was there.

But some instinct held her throat in a vise. She couldn't—she really couldn't speak. Stupid as it seemed, she was unable to make a sound.

Or was it so stupid? She'd already called out, and no one had answered. Whoever was there, he or she seemed anxious not to be heard or identified.

She drew in a cautious breath, trying to keep it silent. Think. A chill of fear trickled down her spine. She'd become disoriented in the dark. How far was she from the double doors at the rear of the sanctuary? How far from the chancel door that led out past the organ to the vestry?

Her fingers tightened on the pew back, and she strained to see. Directly opposite her there was a faint gleam coming through the stained glass. Surely that was the image of Jesus with the woman at the well, wasn't it? She could just make out the shape of the figure.

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.

T
yler 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."