Free To Hell in a Handbasket by Beth Groundwater

done.
    She stood to get out of the way and swayed. Stars revolved around her head as her knees buckled.
    Roger caught her, and he and Judy sat her on the curb. He pushed Claire’s head between her knees.
    One of the EMTs shouted, “You going to be all right, ma’am?”
    Claire took a deep breath. The world stopped spinning. “I think so.”
    â€œYou may be a little shocky. Pretty common for someone giving first aid in an accident. You don’t feel it until you’re off the hook.” He glanced at Judy. “How ’bout you?”
    â€œI’m okay.”
    Roger picked up his and Claire’s coats that the EMTs had removed from Boyd and replaced with blankets. He draped Claire’s around her shoulders and slid on his own.
    Wondering if any of Boyd’s blood was on her coat, Claire shivered.
    Roger sat next to her and gathered her in his arms. “You did great, dear. I’m proud of you.”
    â€œI hope he lives. His injuries were terrible.”
    Roger rocked her, rubbing her arms in silence.
    Young people had poured out of Sherpa & Yeti’s to stand on the sidewalk, gawk, and point. Claire recognized the group of young women she had talked to, looks of whitened horror on their faces.
    Siren blaring and lights flashing, a Breckenridge police Land Rover pulled up next to the ambulance. A policeman stepped out of the car and approached the ambulance crew, who had transferred Boyd to the stretcher. They pointed to Claire’s family and wheeled the injured young man to the back of the ambulance.
    The policeman approached the Hanovers. “Hello, I’m Officer Koch, Breckenridge police. The ambulance crew said one of you might need some help.”
    Impatiently, Claire waved her hand. “I’m fine. Forget about me. They need to take that poor young man to the hospital.”
    Officer Koch took out a notepad. “They will. Can I get your names?”
    After they had identified themselves and given their contact information, the officer asked, “Did you see what happened?”
    â€œYes,” Roger answered. “A black Range Rover hit him.”
    â€œA Range Rover? You sure?” Claire asked.
    â€œI know my SUVs.”
    The officer looked up from his notepad. “Did you get a license plate number?”
    â€œJust part of it,” Roger answered. “It was definitely a Colorado plate. White mountains against a dark green background. The first two letters were A and Y.”
    The ambulance took off toward the medical center, sirens blaring. They all watched it leave in silence.
    Roger caught the officer’s attention. “The hit was deliberate. The driver waited up there”—he pointed in the direction from which the SUV had come—“and took off once Naylor stepped into the street.”
    The officer’s brows rose. “Deliberate?”
    Roger’s mouth was set in an angry line. “I’m sure of it. Whoever was driving that SUV meant to kill Boyd Naylor.”
    Judy gasped. “No. Boyd can’t die, too!”
    â€œToo?” The officer looked even more confused. “Who else died?”
    Claire sympathized with the poor man. She was still trying to sort out everything in her own mind. Something nagged at her, a detail she was missing. “I’m sure the attack on this young man is connected with the young woman who died at the ski resort yesterday.”
    â€œWhy do you think that?”
    Claire remembered her promise to Boyd. If he lived, she owed it to him to keep that promise. “I would rather talk to Detective Silverstone about that.”
    â€œIs he investigating the skier’s death?” At Claire’s nod, the officer said, “Wait here a minute,” and walked to his patrol car.
    After a few minutes talking on the radio, he returned. “Detective Silverstone’s working an accident on Highway Nine out by Farmer’s Corner. I’ll take your