A Christmas to Die For. Marta Perry

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.

      She checked on the service in the parlor and walked back toward the breakfast room. Tyler was in an odd position here—part of the community by heritage and yet a stranger. He probably wouldn’t be around long enough to change that. He’d sell the property and go back to his life in Baltimore.

      Hopefully he wouldn’t leave problems behind in the form of whoever bought his grandfather’s farm. The neighbors disliked seeing it derelict, but there were certainly things they’d hate even more.

      “Rachel, there you are.” Phillip intercepted her in the doorway, punch cup in hand. Fortunately the cup made it easier to escape the arm he tried to put around her. “I wanted to speak with you about the Hostetler place.”

      “So does everyone else, but I don’t know anything. Tyler hasn’t told me what his plans are for the property.”

      “You know I’m all about the furniture, my dear. I remember a dough box that my uncle tried to buy once from old Hostetler. If there’s anything like that left—”

      “You saw the living room. Most of the furniture is already gone.”

      “I didn’t see the rest of the house.” His voice turned wheedling. “Come on, Rachel, at least give me a hint what’s there.”

      “Sorry, I didn’t see anything else.” She slipped past him. “Excuse me, but I have to refill the coffeepot.”

      Phillip was nothing if not persistent. That probably explained how he managed to make such a success of the shop. His uncle had been a sweet old man, but he’d never had much of a head for business, from what Grams said.

      She snagged a mug of hot chocolate and a pfeffernüsse for herself, turning from the table to find Sandra Whitmoyer bearing down on her. As wife of Churchville’s most dedicated, as well as only, physician, Sandra seemed to feel the chairmanship of the decorating subcommittee was hers by right. Luckily no one else had put up a fight for it.

      “Rachel, we really must keep our eyes on the rest of the shop owners along Main Street. It would be fatal to allow anyone to put up a garish display.”

      “I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job of that, Sandra.” She had no desire to turn herself into the decorating police. “I have my hands full already, preparing the inn and organizing the open house tour.” Maybe a little flattery was in order. “You have such wonderful taste. I know everyone will be seeking your advice. And they’ve all agreed to go along with the committee’s decisions.”

      “Well, I suppose.” Sandra ran a manicured hand over sleek waves of blond hair. She was dressed to perfection tonight as always, this time in a pair of gray wool slacks that made her legs look a mile long, paired with a silk shirt that had probably cost the earth.

      Glancing past Sandra, she spotted Tyler standing in the doorway. So he had come down. He looked perfectly composed in the crowd of strangers—self-possessed, as if he carried his confidence with him no matter where he was.

      She’d seen him ruffled at moments that afternoon, though, and she’d guess he didn’t often show that side to people. The derelict house had affected him more than she’d expected.

      And there had been an undercurrent when he talked about his mother, something more than grief, she thought.

      Sandra had moved to the window, peering out at the patio and garden. “I suppose you’ll be decorating the garden for the open house.”

      “White lights on the trees, and possibly colored ones on the big spruce.”

      “It would be more effective without the security lights,” Sandra said. “You could turn them off during the house tour hours. And maybe put a spotlight on the gazebo.”

      “I don’t want to draw attention to the gazebo. I’d be happy to demolish it completely.”

      “You wouldn’t have to do something that drastic.”

      She turned at the sound of Tyler’s voice, smiling her welcome. “What would you suggest, other than a stick of dynamite? Sandra Whitmoyer, I’d like to introduce Tyler Dunn. He owns the Hostetler place, down the road from us.”

      Sandra extended her hand. “Welcome to Churchville. Everyone is curious about what you intend for the property. Well, not my husband, of course. As a busy physician, he doesn’t have time for many outside interests.”

      Bradley Whitmoyer was as self-effacing a man as she’d ever met, but his wife had appointed herself his one-woman press agency.

      Tyler responded, politely noncommittal, and turned back to Rachel. “I wouldn’t recommend high explosives for the gazebo. You wouldn’t like the results.”

      “I don’t like it the way it is.”

      He smiled down at her. “That’s because it’s in the wrong place. If you moved it to the other side of the pond, it would be far enough away to create a view.”

      “Well, I still think you should decorate it for the house tour.” Sandra put down her cup. “I have to go. There’s Jeff looking for me. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Dunn.” She nodded to Rachel and crossed the room toward the hallway.

      “Is that her husband, the physician?” Tyler’s tone was faintly mocking.

      “No, his brother. Jeff Whitmoyer. He has a small construction company. It looks as if he didn’t find it necessary to change before coming by for Sandra.”

      Jeff’s blue jeans, flannel shirt and work boots were a sharp contrast to Sandra’s elegance. There was a quick exchange between them before Sandra swept out the hallway.

      Rachel dismissed them from her mind and turned back to Tyler. “About the gazebo—”

      “Single-minded, aren’t you?” His smile took any edge off the comment. “It might be possible to move it, rather than destroy it. If you like, I’ll take a look while I’m here.”

      “I’d love to find a solution that makes everyone happy. Grams never liked the gazebo at all—she feels it doesn’t go with the style of the house. But Andrea thinks it should stay because Grandfather had it put up as a surprise for Grams.”

      “And it’s your job to keep everyone happy?” The corners of his mouth quirked.

      “Not my job, exactly.” Every family had a peacemaker, didn’t they? She was the middle one, so it fell to her. “My sister says I let my nurturing instincts run amok, always trying to help people whether they want it or not.”

      “It’s a nice quality.” Those deep-blue eyes seemed to warm when they rested on her. “I wouldn’t change if I were you.”

      “Thank you.” Ridiculous, to be suddenly breathless because a man was looking at her with approval. “And thank you for the offer.”

      He shrugged. “It’s nothing. We’re neighbors, remember?”

      It was what she’d said to him, but he seemed to invest the words with a warmth that startled her.

      Careful, she warned herself. It wouldn’t be a good idea to start getting too interested in a man who’d disappear as soon as his business here was wound up.

      Rachel did not like climbing ladders. Any ladder, let alone this mammoth thing that allowed her to reach the top of the house. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be another way of putting up the outside lights anytime soon.

      Grams had