Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Elaine Wilkins lived in the white farmhouse near the church, the kind with a porch swing and a wreath so perfectly fluffed it looked professionally styled.
The house sat on a small hill, its windows glowing warm against the gray afternoon.
Smoke curled from the chimney, and the scent of cinnamon and sugar hung in the cold air.
Christmas lights outlined the porch railings—white and tasteful, nothing flashing or garish. A hand-painted sign near the front door read “Bless This Home.”
Nans climbed the porch steps and knocked.
Elaine answered the door wearing an apron dusted with flour, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and there was a smudge of powdered sugar on her cheek.
Behind her, the house smelled like vanilla, butter, and something spiced—gingerbread, maybe, or snickerdoodles.
She looked at the four women on her porch and her expression went carefully neutral. “Oh.”
“Nice to see you too, Elaine,” Ida said cheerfully.
Elaine’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m just in the middle of baking for the church cookie walk. We’re doing six dozen varieties this year.”
Helen smiled gently. “That’s ambitious.”
“It’s necessary.” Elaine didn’t step aside to let them in, but she didn’t close the door either. She stood in the doorway like a sentry. “What can I do for you?”
Nans folded her hands. “Elaine, we’re sorry about Stanley.”
Elaine’s eyes flicked away, focusing somewhere over Nans’ shoulder. “It’s tragic.”
“We heard you and Stanley argued recently,” Ruth said, her iPad tucked under her arm but ready.
Elaine’s chin lifted, and her gaze snapped back to meet Ruth’s. “We disagreed. There’s a difference.”
“He wouldn’t approve funds to buy coats for kids,” Helen said softly.
Elaine’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, the careful composure cracked. “He said he needed receipts. As if children come with barcodes.” Her voice was sharp, bitter. “As if a six-year-old should have to prove they’re cold before we help them.”
Ruth’s iPad pinged with a notification. She ignored it, keeping her focus on Elaine.
Nans stepped closer. “Where were you this morning?”
Elaine hesitated, her hand tightening on the edge of the door. “At the church. I was in the kitchen at six, prepping dough. Pastor Wilkins can confirm. So can half the volunteer committee—we had a team working on the cookie walk setup.”
“And did you have access to town hall?” Ida asked, tilting her head.
Elaine snorted, a sound that was half laugh, half scoff. “Stanley would never give me a key. He acted like the storage room was Fort Knox. Like I’d steal the Christmas lights if he turned his back.”
Ida leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Do you think anyone would want to stage an accident?”
Elaine’s gaze sharpened, her eyes narrowing as she looked at each of them in turn. “I think Stanley made enough enemies to fill the pews. Twice over.”
Nans let the silence settle for a moment, then asked quietly, “Did Stanley ever mention missing money from the toy drive?”
Elaine’s face went still. She looked down at her flour-dusted hands, then back up. “He mentioned lots of things.”
“Elaine,” Nans said, her voice firm but not unkind.
Elaine exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging. “He said the numbers didn’t match last year. He implied I was sloppy. That I’d lost track of donations or miscounted cash.”
“Were you?” Ruth asked, her pen poised over her iPad.
Elaine’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “No. I am not sloppy. I kept records. Everything was logged—every dollar, every donation, every receipt. I’ve been doing this for ten years, and I’ve never once come up short.”
Helen’s voice was gentle. “But Stanley didn’t believe you?”
“Stanley didn’t believe anyone,” Elaine said bitterly. “He kept all the financial records in a lockbox in the storage room. Said he didn’t trust anyone else to handle them. Said I didn’t know how to manage money properly.”
Nans nodded slowly. “If you find those records, keep them handy.”
Elaine frowned. “Why?”
“Because if money is missing, somebody took it,” Nans said. “And if somebody took it, Stanley might have figured out who.”
Elaine swallowed hard, her hand moving to her throat. From inside the house, a timer went off—a shrill beeping that made her flinch.
“I need to check my ovens,” she said quickly.
“Of course,” Helen said.
Elaine stepped back and closed the door firmly, the lock clicking into place.
As they walked back to the car, the church bells chimed in the distance—a slow, mournful sound that echoed across the snowy hills.