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 green-eyed 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.