A Christmas to Die For by Marta Perry Page B

to argue about it, but hurried down the steps, dialing the phone as she did. "I'll call the police."
    "Good. I'm going down there."
    She grabbed his arm. "Wait. You don't know what you might be rushing into."
    "That's what I'm going to find out." He shook off her hand. "Just tell the cops I'm there, so they don't think I'm the burglar."
    He strode toward the back door, hearing her speaking, presumably to the 911 operator, as he let the door close behind him.
    He jogged toward the car, a chill wind speeding his steps. This could be nothing more than some teenage vandals.
    And if it was someone else?
    Well then, he'd know he'd been wrong. He'd know there was something to investigate after all.
    He took off down the lane, gravel spurting under his tires. A clump of bushes came rushing at him as the lane turned, and he forced himself to ease off the gas. Wouldn't do any good for him to smash into a tree.
    Rachel's accident slid into his mind, displacing his concentration on the prowler. An image of her, standing in the road, whirling, face white, to stare in horror at the oncoming car—
    He shook his head, taking a firm control on both thoughts and reactions. Get to the farm in one piece. Find out what was happening. Hope the cops got there in time to back him up.
    The car rounded the final bend, and the dilapidated gateposts came into view. He stepped on the brake, took the turn cautiously and then snapped off his headlights. He couldn't have done it earlier, not without smashing up, but he could probably get up the lane without lights. He didn't want to alert the prowlers to his presence too soon. They could hear the motor, of course, but they might attribute that to a car going past on the lane. Headlights glaring at them would be a dead giveaway.
    If they were still there. He frowned, squinting in the dim light of a waning moon. He could make out the rectangular bulk of the house, gray in the faint light, and the darker bulk behind it that was the barn. No sign of a vehicle—no glimmer of metal to give it away. It looked as if he was too late.
    He drew to a stop next to the porch, cut the motor, opened the door and listened. No sound broke the night silence, not even a bird. He got out, moving cautiously, alert for any sign of the intruder.
    Still nothing. He walked toward the steps. Stupid, to have come without a decent torch. He had only the small penlight on his keychain to show him the broken stair. He stepped over it, mounting the porch, the wooden planks creaking beneath his feet.
    He focused the thin stream of light on the door, senses alert. It seemed to be as securely closed as it had been on his first visit. A flick of the light showed him boards secure over the windows.
    The urgency that had driven him this far ebbed, leaving him feeling cold and maybe a little foolish. Could the light he'd seen have been some sort of reflection? He wouldn't think so.
    Well, assuming someone had been here, they were gone now. Maybe he could at least figure out how they'd gotten in.
    He bent, aiming the feeble light at the lock. Had those scratches—
    A board creaked behind him. Muscles tightening, he started to swing around. A shadowy glimpse of a dark figure, an upraised arm, and then something crashed into his head and the floor came up to meet him.

FIVE
    G iven the small size of the township police force, Rachel knew her call would go straight through to whoever was on duty. Thankfulness swept her at the sound of Chief Burkhalter's competent voice.
    It took only seconds to explain, but even so she was aware of how quickly Tyler would reach the farm. And put himself in danger.
    "My guest, Tyler Dunn, the one who saw the lights—"
    "Owns the farm. Right, I know."
    Of course he would. Zachary Burkhalter made it his business to know what went on in the township.
    "He's gone down there. Don't—"
    "I'm not going to shoot him, Ms. Hampton, but he's an idiot. I'll be there in a few minutes."
    And she could hear the wail of the