BETH CORNELISON started writing stories as a child when she penned a tale about the adventures of her cat, Ajax. A Georgia native, she received her bachelor’s degree in public relations from the University of Georgia. After working in public relations for a little more than a year, she moved with her husband to Louisiana, where she decided to pursue her love of writing fiction. Since that first time, Beth has written many more stories of adventure and romantic suspense and has won numerous honors for her work, including a coveted Golden Heart award for romantic suspense from Romance Writers of America. She is active on the board of directors for the North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance (NOLA STARS) and loves reading, traveling, Peanuts’ Snoopy and spending downtime with her family. She writes from her home in Louisiana, where she lives with her husband, one son and two cats who think they are people. Beth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171, USA, or visit her website at www.bethcornelison.com.

In memory of my grandmother Alice Miles. I miss you and think of you often.

North Carolina holds a special place in my heart because of you.

Chapter One

Ryan’s killer was most likely a vagrant.

With her brother-in-law’s assessment echoing in her head, Holly Bancroft Cole suppressed a shiver. Rubbing her arms, she cast an appraising glance around the Halloween party at the Community Aid Center in Morgan Hollow, North Carolina.

New faces dotted the crowd. But were any of them killers?

A loud cheer turned her attention to the festivities. The center’s volunteers had all dressed up in goofy, creative and occasionally creepy costumes to entertain the city’s homeless and underprivileged children. At the moment, two clowns led the kids on a wild scavenger hunt for candy, while Holly, wearing her bridal gown, oversaw the refreshments. The children’s parents hovered along the walls, as well as a few men who were regulars at the donated clothing room or the center’s soup kitchen. While the party was billed as a children’s Halloween bash, no one had been turned away.

Flipping back her bridal veil for a better view, Holly scanned the unshaven, bedraggled faces of the vagrants who’d gathered this Friday for free hot cider, entertainment and a warm place to pass the chilly October afternoon. Could one of these men have killed Ryan for his watch, wallet and Reeboks?

Apprehension and suspicion crawled up her spine.

Little evidence had been collected at the crime scene just over a year ago when her husband had been murdered and robbed. The local police, including her brother-in-law Robert, called Ryan’s death a tragic, random attack. Robert held out little hope that Ryan’s killer would ever be caught.

But Robert’s gloomy outlook didn’t sit well for Holly. She wanted resolution to the many mysteries concerning Ryan’s attack. She wanted justice. And she needed closure. While she’d come to grips with Ryan’s death and had begun picking up the pieces of her shattered life, she hated all the blanks in the account of what happened the night Ryan was killed.

Maybe the police wouldn’t ever have enough evidence to bring a suspect to trial, as Robert projected. But any tiny shred of understanding would go a long way in settling the nagging questions she had.

“You know, you should have smeared some blood on your face or worn a scary mask.”

Carol Hamburg’s comment yanked Holly from her morose thoughts.

“That wedding dress is great, but you could have come as the Bride of Frankenstein or something.”

Tucking a stray wisp of her blond hair behind her ear, Holly shrugged as she faced the Community Aid Center’s petite director. “I’d considered fake blood, but I really didn’t want to risk getting makeup on the dress. I wore this gown when I married Ryan, and I’ve worn it every year since for Halloween. It’s a tradition.”

“Really? How’d that get started?”

Holly smiled wistfully. “After our wedding, I complained to Ryan about how much the dress cost, to be worn only once. So, frugal and practical man that he was, he dared me to use it every Halloween as my costume.” She paused and sighed. “I almost didn’t put it on today. But I’m glad I did. It makes me feel closer to him.”

Carol blinked her surprise. “I’m just jealous you’re still the same size you were when you got married.”

Before Holly could reply, a loud cry rose over the chatter in the room. She and Carol exchanged a concerned look before moving together in the direction of the commotion. The crowd of curious children, startled mothers and homeless men shrank away from a little boy in superhero pajamas lying on the floor unconscious.

His lips were blue.

Icy horror washed through Holly in concentric waves as the reality of what was happening sank over her.

“Call 9–1–1!” she shouted to Carol as she dashed to the boy’s side and dropped to her knees.

“He’s not breathing!” the child’s mother screamed. The woman dragged the child up by the arms and began pounding on his back.

“Don’t do that!” One of the unshaven men separated from the others and rushed forward. He placed a hand on the frightened mother’s shoulder and met her eyes. “Let me have him.”

The woman hesitated only a second before relinquishing her son to the dark-haired man. “Please! Save him!”

“I’ll do my best,” he replied, his voice deep and calm. He gently laid the boy back on the floor. After feeling for a pulse in the boy’s neck, he leaned close to listen and look for signs of breathing.

Glancing at Holly, he said, “Watch his chest for me. Tell me if it rises.”

Nodding, Holly scooted back to give the man room to work as he angled the boy’s head and blew two breaths in the boy’s mouth.

“Anything?”

Holly shook her head. “I didn’t see it move.”

The man frowned. “Something’s obstructing the airway.”

Quickly he moved to straddle the boy’s legs and stacked his hands on the child’s abdomen. “Come on, sport. Stay with me,” he mumbled as he gave five sharp upward thrusts with his palms. Crawling to the boy’s side, the dark-haired man did a visual check of the boy’s mouth then swept his finger inside. With a deep sigh of relief, he withdrew a piece of hard candy and tossed it aside.

But the boy didn’t move, didn’t draw a breath.

Pressing his lips in a taut line, the man glanced up and drilled a hard glare at Holly. His sky-blue eyes were clear and intense. “You, the bride. Help me.”

Holly blinked, rallying from her fear-based daze. “How?”

“Give him two full breaths in his mouth, five seconds apart, every time I say now.”

She nodded her understanding and scrambled closer as the man started chest compressions. Adrenaline spiked her pulse as she watched the man working to save the young boy.

“Now.” His clear blue eyes met hers, echoing his command.

Holly bent low and covered the boy’s mouth with hers. Blew. Counted five and blew again.

“Good. Just like that.” Jerking a nod, he resumed compressions.

Holly studied the boy now. His lips had regained a bit of their color, but he remained unconscious. She glanced up at his panicked and crying mother. “He’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Why she was so certain, she couldn’t say. It was risky to assure the mother when she didn’t truly know how this rescue effort would go. But a strange assurance and confidence in the man working on the little boy flowed through her, calming her own frayed nerves.

Holly moved her gaze to Carol, who held a cell phone to her ear. With a look, Holly asked for an update.

“An ambulance is on its way. The operator is still on the line,” Carol said softly.

“Now.”

Holly met the man’s eyes briefly before dipping her head to give another breath. Count five. Breath.

As she raised her head from the last puff, the boy coughed, gasped in air.

“Tommy!” his mother cried and tried to hug him.

“Give me a minute,” the boy’s rescuer instructed, sidling between the mother and child. Again he checked the boy’s pulse, lifted his eyelids to check his pupils, examined the child’s fingernails. “Tommy, can you hear me? Can you talk?”

“I want Mommy,” the boy whimpered.

The man smiled, flashing a set of perfect white teeth as he backed up. “She’s right here, sport.”

Holly dropped back on her heels, her muscles going limp with relief. She stared at the man who’d saved the boy, mulling the inconsistencies in his appearance. While she knew better than to judge anyone by how they looked, little about this man fit the profile of the average homeless client who came to the Community Aid Center. Though his cheeks and chin were covered in a few days’ growth of beard like many of the other men the center served, his hair was much cleaner, his beard shorter and his skin healthier. In fact, despite needing a shave and a haircut, the square cut of the man’s jaw, sharp angles of the man’s cheeks and straight nose gave him an ironically patrician appearance.

“Thank you,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. He turned from watching the mother hug her son. “You saved his life.”

Again his bright blue eyes burrowed deep with their cool intensity, stirring an odd swirling in her belly. “No. We did. Together. Thank you.”

Holly shook her head. “I didn’t—”

He wrapped a large hand around hers, and at his touch, the rest of her reply caught in her throat. A warm ripple of sensation skimmed over her. “Yes, you did.”

She dropped her gaze to his tanned hand and wet her lips. “Really, you’re the one who—” Again her words stalled as she focused on the watch peeking out from under the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

She knew that watch, hadn’t seen that watch since the last morning Ryan left for work. That watch had been stolen from her husband the day he’d been attacked, murdered in an abandoned church not far from the Community Aid Center.

Gasping, she jerked a startled frown up to the man as her brother-in-law’s words reverberated in her head.

Ryan’s killer was most likely a vagrant.

Matt Rankin knew that look well. Disgust. Accusation. Contempt.

The exhilaration of having saved the choking boy evaporated under the icy glare from the center volunteer. When he touched her arm, the beautiful blonde bride who’d helped him resuscitate the boy gaped at his hand, her joy and admiration morphing suddenly into something ugly and cold.

“Where did you get that watch?” she demanded, her tone clipped and accusing. As if he had no right to own something of value.

And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he should have sold the watch months ago to help pay for food, his rent, his child support. But he couldn’t bring himself to part with the last thing he owned that Jill had given him.

He tamped down the swirl of emotions that still ravaged him when he thought of Jill’s death and the terrible repercussions that followed. Keeping his tone even, he met the woman’s hard greeneyed stare. “It was a Christmas gift from my wife a few years ago.”

“Your wife?” She narrowed her eyes skeptically, as if being down on your luck and scrimping to make even a scant income meant you could never have had a wife and children, a home and career. A life to be proud of.

“Yes, my wife.” Matt sighed. He didn’t have much to be proud of now, and he couldn’t really blame the woman for her snap judgment. In her position, he might think much the same. But the past few months had taught him how close every person was to living on the street.

His golden life had suffered a chain reaction of tragic blows and shattered.

An ambulance arrived, and the crowd of spectators cleared a path as the rescue workers huddled around the boy and his mother, checking the child’s vital signs.

Matt inhaled deeply, and looking back at the blonde woman, he pushed to his feet.

He dusted his hands off, then extended one to help the bride to her feet.

She glanced at his proffered hand, hesitated, then let him pull her from the floor.

“I’m sorry. I just…My husband had a watch like that one stolen, and—”

“You thought I’d stolen this one.”

She turned away guiltily. “It just startled me to see it. Your watch is just like Ryan’s and—” She huffed and smoothed a hand over the skirt of her wedding dress costume. “Never mind.” She backed away one step, then forced a tight smile. “Thank you…for helping with Tommy. You saved his life.” Her delicate brow furrowed, and she tipped her head. “How…how did you know what to do?”

“Anyone can learn CPR and the Heimlich maneuver. They are valuable skills to have.” Yes, he was being evasive, cryptic, not fully forthcoming. But he didn’t feel like explaining the whole sordid story of his ignoble downfall—which he’d inevitably have to. When he mentioned his medical degree, his career, the question always followed.

How did a successful doctor end up scavenging a meal from a soup kitchen on Halloween?

“Well, thank you. You saved the day.” Her smile was brighter now, more genuine.

Matt’s gut kicked. Her smile transformed her already beautiful face to nothing short of breathtaking. Not for the first time, his own ragged appearance left him feeling awkward and embarrassed. He nodded to the woman and turned to make his way through the crowd. He needed air, and the small room at the Community Aid Center had begun feeling cramped, stuffy.

As he stepped out of the building, the crisp autumn breeze nipped at his lungs and bit his cheeks with a sobering reminder that winter was mere weeks away. If he didn’t want to freeze at night, he’d have to continue renting his ramshackle room at the Woodgate Inn. Which, in turn, meant he’d have to find a new source of income.

The irony of his situation appalled him. He had a medical degree, had graduated top of his class. But thanks to his appearance, his lack of transportation or a permanent address, he couldn’t find a job that paid enough to make his child support payments and also get ahead. The tanked economy didn’t help, either. The few available jobs were grabbed up by mill workers who’d been laid off, or clean-cut, white-collar men taking second jobs to cover their mortgages.

Pulling his collar up against the cold wind blowing off the slopes of the North Carolina Smoky Mountains, Matt squared his shoulders and headed down the street. He was through feeling sorry for himself, finished wallowing in his pain and failure.

He wouldn’t let the tragic turn of fate defeat him. He had to rebuild his life. For his kids.

He’d pull through this black period somehow and get back on his feet. He wouldn’t quit—even if everyone he loved had quit on him.

Tommy’s choking had rattled Holly, and seeing the watch, so much like Ryan’s, on the man at the center had destroyed her interest in revelry. After making sure Tommy would be all right, Holly had sneaked away from the Halloween party and headed to her truck.

She’d already been giving a few hours each month to the Community Aid Center when Ryan was killed. Knowing one of the people she helped at the center could be responsible for the attack on her husband disturbed Holly deeply. She’d almost quit.

But the evil actions of one person didn’t negate the good she was doing or the needs of the children she met at the center. Besides, what if she heard something through her volunteer work that could help the police catch Ryan’s killer?

Over the past several months, she’d learned more about the homeless than she’d ever imagined. And many of her conceptions of who the homeless were and why they were on the streets had been blown out of the water. Many of the people she had helped had high school diplomas or professional skills, but medical bills to treat an illness had depleted their bank account. Or they’d been laid off a job and couldn’t pay their rent. Or they’d fled an abusive situation and had nowhere to go.

A heartbreaking number of the center’s clients were single mothers, struggling to survive and feed their kids. As an elementary school teacher, Holly loved kids, and the needs of the homeless children touched her heart the most. Every child deserved a safe home and a roof over his or her head.

Once she’d reached her Tacoma, she’d decided a brief walk to enjoy the October afternoon and clear her head was in order. She’d left the veil and detachable long skirt from her wedding dress on the front seat and put on a long cardigan over the travel suit portion of the gown.

Now she stood in front of the old abandoned church where Ryan had been killed and realized the church had always been her destination. Before his death, Ryan had driven her by the structure and joked that they should buy it and restore it, as they were doing with the rambling old farmhouse they’d bought outside of town. Holly had only scowled at him. “One neverending, money-pit renovation project at a time, please!”

But Holly had been fascinated by the old church, the beautiful architecture and broken stained glass. The church had been a true treasure, lost to neglect and the elements. Since it was so close to the Community Aid Center, she had walked past the old church many times after she volunteered. She’d made the trip a sort of pilgrimage, a time to remember Ryan and renew her oath to find some truths and give herself closure.

Today, the familiar questions seemed all the more relentless. Why had Ryan been in the old church to begin with? Who had he come across in the abandoned building, and why did that someone bash him on the head, killing him?

Holly noticed white paper tacked to the front door and climbed over the yellow caution tape to read what had been posted on the church door.

Warning! Building Condemned—No trespassing! This building scheduled to be demolished November 1, 8:00 a.m.

Holly’s heart squeezed in disappointment. Demolished? The church might be old and unused, but the architecture was beautiful, and the history attached to the old church was priceless. Why hadn’t the Historical Society stepped in years ago to preserve the church? She hated to think of the loss to the community.

And what about the investigation into Ryan’s murder? If they tore down the building, any remaining clues would be lost forever.

Not that any clues remained. Robert had told her that he and the other officers with Morgan Hollow’s tiny police force had been through the crime scene multiple times and found precious little evidence to explain Ryan’s death.

Holly bit her lip, grieved that tomorrow the church would be gone. An overwhelming need seized Holly to go inside the church one last time, see the room where Ryan had died, look once more for something, anything that could explain his death.

Some enterprising hooligan had smashed the padlock fastening the chain through the door handles. So much for security. Clearly she wasn’t the only person interested in the old church. Drawing a deep breath and ignoring the warning not to trespass, she pulled the front door open and crept inside.

She’d only been inside the church once before, the week after Ryan died, while she’d still been lost in a blinding blizzard of emotions. Though she had visited the property regularly, she knew venturing inside the condemned building was dangerous. Today, that risk didn’t matter to her. The compelling need to feel close to Ryan, search the premises for herself and say a last goodbye urged her forward. This exploration of the old church might be the closest thing she’d ever have to the closure she craved so desperately.

Cobwebs and dust decorated the walls and broken furnishings with an eerie ambience which any host of a Halloween party would envy. Taking baby steps into the shadowed foyer, Holly headed for the staircase. She grasped the wobbly banister, and the steps creaked as she slowly climbed toward the second floor.

Halfway to the top, a step gave way beneath her weight. Her foot disappeared through the rotted wood. She toppled off balance.

Gasping, Holly clutched the shaky railing to right herself. She paused long enough to suck in a calming breath and eye the last few steps warily. She considered her options, but the need to see the upstairs room where Ryan had died compelled her to continue.

Inching closer to the wall, where she hoped the steps had more support, she crept up the last few stairs. Her heart stuck in her throat. The hallway on the upper floor loomed in the shadows, the darkness broken only where watery daylight seeped through open doors. Dust motes swam in those pools of gray light, and Holly focused on the bright spots instead of the darkness. She paused at the first door on the left. The room where Ryan’s body had been found.

Standing in the doorway, Holly gazed into the empty room. Paint peeled from the molding. A gaping hole, where a window had once resided, marred the outside wall. That window, a round piece of stained glass, rested on the floor, propped in a corner.

The room was so still, so quiet—except for her own labored breathing, the pounding pulse in her ears and the occasional coo of a mourning dove from the evergreen tree outside. As a cloud moved away from the afternoon sun, a golden beam poured in through the open hole in the wall and spilled across the floor. The sun lit the stained glass, bringing life to the arrangement of colors.

In the center of the window, a white dove took flight, while all around the bird a dazzling jumble of colors created a brilliant backdrop.

“Wow,” she murmured, stunned by the gorgeous find in the otherwise lonely and dreary old church. Holly stepped farther into the room and squatted in front of the stained glass for a better look. Upon closer examination she discovered the glass piece, unlike the many other windows in the church, was intact. The small window was in almost perfect condition. A bit of cleaning and a new setting would salvage it, and a tiny piece of history would survive.

Holly’s pulse picked up as she formed her plan. If she could somehow get the stained glass to her truck, she could incorporate the window in the ongoing renovations at the farmhouse.

She tried to lift the glass. Her muscles strained, and she got it off the floor…but getting the heavy, fragile window down the steps and to her truck would be a challenge. Especially since she still wore her wedding travel suit. She casually put it back.

If she didn’t save the window, it would be destroyed in the morning when the wrecking crew arrived. She stood and chewed her lip, considering her options.

She paced toward the door, out to the hall, glancing about for something she could put the glass on to slide it across the floor. Or use as leverage. Or…

As she mulled her options, her thoughts darted in a different direction.

Ryan.

He’d have loved this stained glass. What if—

“Is this what you were doing here, Ry—?” Something brushed against Holly’s leg, and she froze.

A dark streak moved in the edge of her vision. Her breath hung in her lungs. She turned slowly, her gaze searching the dim room.

And spotted a scruffy, thin cat staring back at her uneasily. With a low warning meow, the cat scampered from the shadows into the next room. Holly followed the cat, which made its way to a pile of rags heaped in the corner. The cat’s arrival started a chorus of high, thin mewls.

Holly released a sigh, while the stray mother cat tended her kittens. Pulling her lips in a half smile, she edged closer. “Hey, little mama, I won’t hurt you or your babies.”

The cat protested with an unhappy meow and crouched low beside her nest of five kittens. The babies were tiny, their eyes barely open.

Holly’s heart fisted. They’d be killed when the wrecking ball came to raze the old church tomorrow. She had to do something, but the mother cat looked none too pleased to have someone poking around near her brood.

“Easy there, mama. I won’t hurt—”

The scuff of feet cut Holly off.

A long, wide shadow fell over her, and a chill settled in her bones. Gasping, she whirled around.

A tall man with shoulders that filled the doorway blocked her only exit. His face was hidden in shadow. When he spoke, his voice was deep and dark. “What are you doing?”

Staring at the disheveled man who had her cornered in the dark room, Holly immediately conjured Robert’s theory.

Ryan’s killer was most likely a vagrant.

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The Christmas Stranger

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The Christmas StrangerBeth Cornelison

Table of Contents

About the Author

Chapter One

The Christmas Stranger
Beth Cornelison