Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The back parking lot was half-full despite the early hour. Two police cruisers were parked near the storage room entrance, their lights off but their presence unmistakable.
The storage room door was propped open, yellow crime scene tape fluttering across it in the cold wind. A uniformed officer stood guard—young, maybe twenty-five, with the rigid posture of someone determined to follow protocol. His breath came out in white puffs.
Near the entrance, a young woman sat on a folding chair that someone had carried out for her.
She was crying into a wadded tissue, her mascara streaked down her cheeks in dark lines.
Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold the tissue.
She wore a volunteer badge that read “Holly - Event Coordinator.”
Nans approached with the confidence of someone who believed rules were mostly suggestions. Ruth, Ida, and Helen followed close behind, their coats buttoned tight against the December cold.
“Good morning,” Nans said pleasantly to the officer.
The officer straightened. “Ma’am.” His eyes immediately drifted to Ida’s purse, which was bulging suspiciously.
Helen nodded gently toward the crying woman. “Is she all right?”
The officer’s expression softened slightly. “That’s Holly. Volunteer coordinator. She’s the one who found him.”
“Oh, the poor dear,” Helen murmured.
Nans changed direction and walked straight to Holly, ignoring the officer’s half-hearted attempt to redirect her. She crouched down beside the folding chair, her voice warm and gentle. “Sweetheart, I’m Mona. Are you hurt?”
Holly looked up, eyes red and swollen. “No. I’m fine. I just—“ Her voice cracked. “I just found him there. Under all those boxes and shelves.”
Helen pulled a clean handkerchief from her purse—linen, embroidered with tiny flowers—and pressed it into Holly’s hand. “Here, dear. Take your time.”
“I came in early to grab supplies for the craft booth,” Holly said, her voice trembling. “The door was unlocked, which was weird, but I figured Stanley was already here. He’s always early. Was always early.” She pressed the handkerchief to her eyes.
“Did you see anyone else?” Ruth asked gently, her iPad held low and unobtrusive.
Holly shook her head. “No. Just Stanley. Under the shelf. I screamed and called 911.”
Ida reached into her purse and produced a peppermint, wrapped in red and white cellophane. “Emergency sugar helps.”
Holly took it automatically, unwrapping it with trembling fingers. “Thank you.”
“Holly,” Nans said softly, “did you notice anything unusual? Anything out of place besides the collapsed shelf?”
Before Holly could answer, a voice rang out. “Mona, I hope that’s not you I hear back there.”
Jack’s voice carried from around the corner, resigned and weary. Nans knew Jack well, he was married to Lexy and the town’s lead detective. To say that Nans and the ladies had had a few run ins with him over investigations was to put it mildly.
Jack stepped into view. He was tall, solid, wearing a dark coat over his suit. He had the weary look of a man who’d already had a long morning and suspected it was about to get longer.
“Good morning, Jack,” Nans said, standing and brushing off her coat.
“What are you doing here?” Jack asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
Nans tilted her head, her expression innocent. “I could ask you the same thing. I thought this was just an accident.”
The ladies exchanged knowing glances—Ruth’s eyebrow lifted slightly, Ida’s mouth quirked, Helen’s gaze sharpened.
Jack’s mouth twitched. “We’re doing our due diligence.”
“Ah. Due diligence,” Nans said, nodding slowly. “That’s what we call it when something isn’t quite adding up.”
“Nans—“
“We’re not interfering,” Nans said reasonably. “We’re simply offering community support during a difficult time.”
Jack’s gaze flicked to each of them in turn—Nans with her serene expression, Ruth with her ever-present iPad, Helen looking gentle and grandmotherly, and Ida clutching her purse like it contained state secrets.
His eyes landed on the purse. “What’s in there, Ida?”
Ida hugged it to her chest. “Personal property.”
“Snacks,” Ruth clarified.
“Emergency provisions,” Helen added.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. “You can’t be back here. This is a crime scene.”
“Aha! So it is a crime!” Nans said.
“Like I said, we are investigating.” Jack closed his eyes briefly, the expression of a man counting to ten. “Fine. But you stay here. Do not cross that tape.”
“Of course not,” Nans agreed.
“Was anyone else in the building?” Ruth asked, her pen hovering over her iPad.
Jack hesitated, glancing back toward the storage room. “There was a volunteer sign-in sheet for the Holiday Lights Committee. But people come and go. The building’s open to volunteers most mornings.”
“Was the shelf bolted to the wall?” Nans asked.
Jack’s mouth twitched—the tell that meant he didn’t want to answer but couldn’t think of a good reason not to. “It was anchored. Or it was supposed to be. We’ll know more when we finish our examination.”
“Was there anything odd about the scene when you arrived?” Helen asked.
“Everything about this scene is odd,” Jack muttered. “Which is why I’m treating it carefully.”
“Good,” Nans said. “You should.”
Jack blinked. “That’s it? No arguing? No demanding to see the evidence?”
Ida grinned. “Oh, we can argue if you want.”
Jack raised a finger. “Don’t. Please. Just... stay out of trouble.”
“We wouldn’t dream of causing trouble,” Nans said sweetly.
Jack gave her a look that said he absolutely did not believe her, then turned to Holly. “All right, Holly. Let’s get your statement.”
Holly stood shakily, still clutching Helen’s handkerchief. “Can I keep this?”
“Of course, dear,” Helen said gently.
“Thank you,” Holly whispered.
As Jack led Holly toward a patrol car, Nans glanced back at the storage room entrance. The officer had moved a few steps away, speaking into his radio.
Nans took three quick steps to the doorway and peered inside.
The storage room was larger than she’d expected—concrete floor, metal shelving units lining the walls, boxes stacked everywhere. Christmas decorations spilled out of torn cardboard boxes: tangled strings of lights, plastic ornaments, wreaths wrapped in plastic.
The collapsed shelf dominated the back corner. A massive metal unit, tilted at an angle, its contents scattered across the floor. Plastic storage totes had burst open on impact. Tinsel glittered on the concrete. A broken wreath lay crushed on the floor.
There was no body—the paramedics had already taken Stanley—but Nans could see exactly where he’d been. A dark stain on the concrete. Disturbed dust patterns. An outline of sorts.
But what caught her attention were the papers.
They were everywhere—fluttering slightly in the draft from the open door, scattered in a wide radius around the collapsed shelf. White pages, some with handwriting, some printed. A few looked like receipts.
Nans’ eyes narrowed. The pattern was wrong.
If Stanley had been holding papers when the shelf fell, they would have been under him, pinned beneath the debris. But these were scattered outward, like someone had grabbed a pile and dropped them while running.
And there were gaps. Spaces in the scattered papers where something should have been but wasn’t.
“Nans!” Ruth hissed from behind her.
Nans took one more look—at the empty spot near the base of the shelf where something rectangular had clearly sat, judging by the dust pattern. A box? A container?
“Ma’am, you need to step back,” the officer said, suddenly at her elbow.
Nans stepped back immediately, her expression innocent. “Of course. I was just checking to see if anyone needed assistance.”
The officer gave her a flat look that said he knew exactly what she’d been doing.
Nans smiled sweetly and rejoined the ladies.
“Well?” Ida whispered.
“The papers are wrong,” Nans said quietly as they walked toward the front entrance. “They’re scattered like someone grabbed them and ran. And something’s missing—there’s a dust outline on the floor where something used to be.”
“The lockbox Elaine mentioned?” Helen asked.
“Or something else Stanley was keeping,” Ruth murmured.
“Either way,” Nans said, “someone took something from that storage room. The question is: is that the person that killed Stanley?”