The Christmas Stranger

The Christmas Stranger
Beth Cornelison

The Christmas Stranger

Beth Cornelison

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents

Cover (#u77744df6-c3b8-5f96-b477-dff923fad58b)

Title Page (#u9064e57a-7b6d-559a-918a-de4b9b8e9e6d)

About the Author (#ulink_7586a388-0073-55e2-93c2-cb0cd6639685)

Dedication (#ue6d67187-24b9-53fb-beed-6f1208dbd416)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#ulink_bf83eb95-8dfa-5059-b579-9def0539fe97)

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 (#ud8cca0fe-afb6-5ed5-a700-34053d763db6)

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.