The Christmas Stranger Page 15

  Gripping the steering wheel, he searched for some way to comfort her and restore her hope. When they passed a house where a young boy played on a tire swing in the front yard, inspiration struck. “Hey, I almost forgot to tell you…I saw Missy Cramer and her daughter at the Center last night.”

  Holly turned a blank expression toward him. “Who?”

  “The woman whose little girl had pneumonia. You bought her prescription for her?”

  Her face brightened with recognition. “Oh, right.”

  “Her daughter’s doing much better…thanks to you. Her mother asked me to tell you how grateful she was for your help.”

  Holly pulled her mouth into a half grin. “That’s good to hear.”

  Matt drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “In fact, I’ve been thinking…”

  He cast an expectant glance toward Holly. “I want to write up a grant request to start a free medical clinic at the Community Aid Center.”

  Holly blinked, and her gaze drifted away as she processed his idea. When her eyes found his again, the passion he’d hoped to tap lit her face.

  “How would it work?” she asked, an excited energy underlying the question.

  Matt’s pulse kicked up. Maybe he couldn’t change his past mistakes, but he could try to do some good to balance the scales. The thought of practicing medicine again invigorated him. For the first time since Jill’s death, he wanted to return to pediatrics. Though he’d kept his medical license current and could have gone to another state, where his bad press didn’t haunt him, to set up a new practice, he hadn’t wanted to move that far away from his kids.

  And, thanks to the depression he’d been in, he’d lost all interest in medicine—until recently. Helping Missy Cramer’s daughter had prodded his dormant need to heal, to help.

  He spent the rest of the drive to the farmhouse elaborating on his idea and logistics he’d hammered out as he’d painted her bathroom. Holly’s enthusiasm for the project grew, evidenced by the vibrance of her expression and her voice as they made plans, and she offered a few viable options he hadn’t considered.

  She sat sideways on the truck seat, facing him when he parked in front of her house. “Have you ever written a grant request before? How long do you think it will take to put it together?”

  “No, and I don’t know. Guess it depends on how much time I can get on the computer at the library. I’ll have to research funding, work up the action plan and put it all in a report.”

  She shook her head. “Use my computer. It’s just sitting there all day. My Internet connection is slow, but it works.”

  He handed the keys back to her and narrowed a skeptical gaze. “Are you sure? You were pretty steamed Monday when you found me at your house working on renovations. Writing a grant request could take months.”

  Her face fell, and her shoulders slumped. “Oh, right.” She rubbed her temple with her fingers and sent him a churlish frown. “Dammit, Matt! Why do you have to be so confusing!”

  “Confusing?”

  “I want to hate you for hurting me, for breaking my trust.” Anger blazed in her eyes. “But then you go and have a brilliantly selfless idea to help homeless families, and have me believing you’re kindhearted and generous and wonderful again.”

  He fought the grin that twitched on his lips. “Oh…sorry about that.”

  His attempt at levity fell flat, and when tears puddled in her eyes, his heart twisted. Matt scooted across the front seat and captured her face between his hands. He swiped the moisture from her cheeks with his thumbs and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Holly, I will never forgive myself for hurting you. If you want me out of your life, I’ll go. Say the word, and I’m gone. I just want to do what’s best for you. I want to honor my commitment to finish the renovations, but if having me around is too painful, I’ll leave and never bother you again.”

  Her eyes slid closed, releasing another fat tear from her lashes. “I want to trust you, but I can’t. I want to forgive you, but I’m still hurt. I want to make love to you, but I’m scared.”

  “Scared?”

  She nodded and opened her eyes. “Scared of falling in love with you. Scared of losing someone else I care about.”

  “Holly, I won’t—” Matt caught himself and swallowed the words on his tongue. She’d left a wide opening for him to pledge his love and devotion.

  And he’d almost promised her that he wouldn’t leave her, that she had nothing to fear by loving him.

  But how could he promise her anything? He had nothing to offer her. No home, no job, no family. When he’d had a wife, a home, a family, he’d made costly mistakes that had lost him everything. How did he know he wouldn’t screw up again and let Holly down the way he’d failed Jill? He’d already broken her trust, shattered the fragile faith she’d put in him. Knowing his future was still murky and uncertain, he refused to give her any false expectations and risk doing further damage. The best gift he could give her was the ability to move on without regret.

  She searched his gaze, waiting…

  He sighed, his heart breaking. “I won’t make promises I can’t keep. I don’t know what’s down the road for me. But I cherish the time we’ve spent together. You will always hold a special place in my heart.”

  Her crestfallen expression spoke for her disappointment, and the pain that dimmed her eyes sliced him to the core.

  “Well, then…” She wrenched free of his grasp and opened the passenger door. “It’s good to know where we stand. You may use my truck to drive yourself home.” She snatched her purse from the seat, clearly struggling to appear unscathed by his underwhelming response.

  “Good night, Matt,” she said.

  But her tight tone, her wounded expression said goodbye.

  The next morning, Holly carpooled to and from school with another teacher who lived on the outskirts of Morgan Hollow. By the time her colleague dropped her at home that afternoon, her Tacoma was parked in her driveway, and Matt was unloading a toolbox from the truck bed.

  He smiled the warm greeting she’d come to miss since he’d moved out, and she shoved down the wistful longing his absence stirred. He’d been clear enough last night that he had no desire for a long-term relationship. She’d misread everything about their relationship from the start and made a fool of herself in the process.

  She strolled over to the tailgate and indulged Matt in a stilted exchange about how her day had been.

  “So…where do the renovations stand?” she asked, trying to sound casual and knowing she’d failed miserably. She might as well have asked, “How much longer will you be hanging around my house making me wish for something that will never happen, making me regret ever opening my heart to you?”

  Matt gave her a knowing look, the kind of insightful gaze that had fooled her into believing they had some sort of spiritual connection, an unspoken understanding of each other’s hopes and dreams.

  “Maybe another week. I have a few little jobs to putter with until Jon gets here to install the shower.” He lifted a bag from the truck bed. “After that I just have to lay the carpet in the hall upstairs and finish installing the light fixtures you picked out in the master bath and study.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “Done by Christmas, like you wanted.”

  She tried to muster some pleasure at the thought of the work on the house finally being finished. But the end of renovations meant the end of her association with Matt, and the thought of never seeing him again hurt more than she cared to admit.

  Holly huffed, frustrated with herself. Matt had deceived her and, last night, all but told her that he had no interest in working on a relationship with her. Even if she could move past her hurt over his withholding the truth from her about Ryan’s connection to his case, the past few weeks had merely been a pleasant diversion for Matt until he moved on. A convenient affair with a lonely widow. An unexpected bonus to his renovation work.

  The worst part was, she’d told herself all along to take it slow. She’d realized Ma
tt had never made any promises of a lasting relationship, yet she’d dived in, anyway. She’d followed her heart rather than listening to her head, and now she was paying the price. She should be glad to be able to make a clean break from him and put her life back on track, but she couldn’t deny that he’d left a mark on her heart. Putting him behind her and moving on would be difficult.

  She headed inside and checked her answering machine, hoping to have a message from Detective Parker that he’d located the missing portions of the file from Ryan’s murder investigation. But her only call had been from Ryan’s sister.

  “I want to have a family birthday party for you on Christmas Eve,” Jana chirped cheerfully. “We’ll have dinner about 6:00 p.m., but if you want to come earlier, we can wrap Christmas presents together in the afternoon. Call me and let me know if that works for you.”

  Holly returned Jana’s call and accepted the invitation. She thought about telling her sister-in-law what she’d learned concerning the evidence missing from the police file, but decided to give Detective Parker a few more days to track down the lost information before breaking the news to Jana.

  When you care about someone, sometimes it’s hard to tell them news you know will cause them pain. Matt’s comment filtered through her mind, and her pulse stumbled. Was she guilty of the same crime she’d blamed Matt for? She shook her head. This was different. Wasn’t it?

  I think you should read Ryan’s case brief. I want you to see that everything I told you is the truth.

  The trip to the police station had sidetracked her yesterday from digging into the questions she had regarding Ryan’s take on Matt’s murder trial. But she had nothing planned for today and had nagging questions that needed to be addressed. She’d stored Ryan’s files in the basement several months ago and not thought about them since. Now she couldn’t stop thinking about them.

  Jon hustled through the front door, yanking her from her thoughts. “Anybody home?”

  She stepped around the corner from the kitchen and greeted Jon. “I’m here. And Matt’s waiting upstairs. I hear y’all are going to install my shower today?”

  Jon shucked off his blue jean jacket and hung it on the coat tree by the door. “Gonna try. I know you’ll be glad to get back in your own bathroom.”

  “Amen to that.”

  He started for the stairs then paused. “Robert tells me that you and Randall were down at police headquarters yesterday, asking about Ryan’s case.”

  Holly leaned against the door frame, crossing her arms over her chest. “We were.”

  “And? You learn anything new?”

  She studied Jon’s face for a moment, looking for what she couldn’t say. “Not really. Turns out a good portion of the documentation of the crime scene is missing from the lead detective’s file.”

  Jon turned, his expression shocked. “Say that again?”

  “You heard me. You mean you didn’t know?”

  “Why would I know? Last time I talked to Parker about the case everything was there, sparse as it was.”

  “When was that?”

  He frowned as he thought back. “Maybe September. He promised to call if they learned anything new, so I’d not bothered to check in recently.” He pressed his mouth in a firm line. “Damn. How’d this happen? What did he say about recovering the lost information?”

  “Just that he was determined to find it and he’d keep me posted.”

  “Do Jana and Robert know about this?”

  “I haven’t told them, but word could have gotten to Robert via the grapevine at the station.”

  Jon stared into near space scowling for a moment then, muttering a curse word, slapped the newel of the staircase handrail. As he started up the steps, Holly called to him. “If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”

  “What’s downstairs?”

  “Ryan’s files. I’m taking your advice about learning his side of Matt’s case. I’m done with living in ignorance. If I’d kept better tabs on what was happening with the investigation of Ryan’s murder, maybe part of the file wouldn’t be missing.”

  Jon shot her a frown of disagreement. “You have no control over what happens with police files.”

  Holly dismissed his reassurance with a shrug and detoured to the kitchen to start cooking dinner. She pulled a casserole she’d made several weeks ago from the freezer and slid it into the oven on low heat to bake.

  Jon had only been upstairs a couple of minutes before she heard his footsteps on the stairs, and he poked his head around the corner from the front hall. “We’ve got the wrong size pipe fittings, so I’m going to make a quick run into town. Need anything?”

  “No, thanks,” she called as she finished washing the breakfast dishes, and he tromped out the front door. After starting a load of laundry, she decided she’d stalled long enough. The job ahead of her wouldn’t get any easier because she’d procrastinated.

  Opening the door to the basement, she peered down the stairs into the dank darkness. She’d not been in the storage space more than a couple of times since Ryan’s death. The windowless rooms felt claustrophobic, and the boxes of Ryan’s possessions were a heartbreaking reminder of her loss. Tugging the pull chain to click on the bare bulb that lit the steps, she started downstairs, shivering as a cold draft from the unheated basement whispered over her skin. At the bottom of the stairs, she shuffled into the large storage room to the left of the steps and jolted when the squeaky door slammed shut, sucked closed by the shifting air current as the furnace kicked on. After groping for the light switch, she found the large plastic storage boxes with the duplicate copies of Ryan’s files but hesitated before opening the first snap-on lid.

  Ryan’s work had always been taboo, confidential and of no interest to Holly.

  Now, she stared at the boxes of papers he’d meticulously kept as a backup to his office records and conjured an image of Pandora opening the box of evils and releasing chaos on the world. If Jon and Robert were right, if Matt was withholding ugly or incriminating truths about the case Ryan had against him, this box of Ryan’s files could destroy the illusions she’d had about Matt. While she was angry about his deception, she still held to her belief that Matt was, at heart, a good man. A caring man. A man of integrity.

  Yet Ryan had believed him guilty of murder. How could she reconcile that with what she knew about Matt?

  Taking a deep breath for courage, she pried open the lid and lifted the first file, dated only a couple weeks before Ryan’s death. Too recent to have been Matt’s case. She set that file aside and moved on, digging deeper. She took out file after file, finding them chronologically stacked in reverse order, making it easy for her to sort through them and find the cases from the summer of Matt’s trial. Finally she located a thick file marked “Randall murder.”

  Hands shaking, she lifted the file out and sat on the cold floor, cross-legged, perching the folder on her lap. After steeling her nerves, she cracked open the file. She scanned a few dry legal documents at the front, then paged forward, searching for Ryan’s personal notes, documents regarding evidence or sworn testimony. When she flipped to graphic photographs from Jill’s autopsy, Holly’s lunch surged to her throat.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she shuffled blindly past the series of photos and swallowed the bile clogging her throat. Since Ryan’s death, she’d had to face a lot of unpleasantness and grim realities from which her husband and parents had previously sheltered her. She drew on the core of strength she’d had to develop in recent months, knowing that she’d need all of her inner fortitude and conviction before everything settled, one way or another, with Matt. Glancing down at the file, heart trembling, she braved the next several pages, documents detailing Matt’s arrest, the charges against him and transcripts of his answers when interrogated by the police.

  A scuffing sound caught her attention, and she paused from her reading and glanced toward the storage-room door. “Hello? Matt, is that you?”

  No answer.

  “Hello? W
ho’s there?” She listened carefully and heard nothing. Maybe she’d imagined the noise. The basement, with all its shadows and spiderwebs, made her jumpy. That was all.

  Impatient with her needless jitters, she took a moment to relax her tense muscles before delving into the file again.

  Holly read, absorbed by the materials in the file, until her back ached from sitting on the floor. Until a deep, weary breath called her attention to an odd odor.

  She raised her head and sniffed the air again.

  Smoke.

  Her heart skipped nervously. What was burning? Had she left something on the stove?

  Shoving to her feet, her muscles stiff from sitting so long on the concrete floor, Holly crossed the storage room. When she touched the doorknob, the metal burned her hand, and Holly gasped in shock.

  The burning scent was far more pronounced by the door, and glancing down, she found black wisps of smoke curling through the crack at the base of it.

  Her heart racing, Holly ran the back of her hand over the wooden door. Warm. Too warm. Evidence a fire burned just on the other side. Safety rules dictated she leave the door closed, keeping the fire and smoke at bay as long as possible.

  But this was the only exit from the room. She had no choice but to open the door if she wanted to escape before the fire grew too large.

  Adrenaline pounded through her, and she heard the blood swishing past her ears.

  Pounding on the door, she shouted as loud as she could, “Help! Fire! Matt! Someone help me! Fire!”

  The first fingers of hysteria closed around her throat.

  No! Don’t panic. Stay calm. Think.

  Sucking in a calming breath, Holly stepped back from the door and wrapped her arms around her chest. She needed to call for help. 9–1-1. Of course.

  She fumbled her cell phone out of her pocket and punched in the emergency number. As calmly as she could, she told the operator her address, about the fire and that she was trapped in the basement. But she knew, because of her remote location, it would take the fire trucks several minutes to reach her house.