Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
They were sitting in Jack’s office at the police station—a small, utilitarian room with beige walls, metal filing cabinets, and a desk covered in paperwork.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in harsh white light.
A coffee maker gurgled in the corner, half-full with something that looked like it had been there since morning.
Eddie sat in one of the plastic chairs across from Jack’s desk, the glittery craft tote on the floor beside him like evidence at trial.
His knit cap was off now, revealing hair that stuck up at odd angles.
His hands were clasped between his knees, and he looked like a man who’d been waiting for this moment and dreading it in equal measure.
Nans, Ruth, Ida, and Helen stood near the door—not quite in the room, not quite out of it. Vivian stood with them, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes red from crying.
Jack sat behind his desk, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. He listened with the same expression he wore when Lexy told him she’d “just stopped by” a suspect’s farm—a mixture of resignation, frustration, and grudging respect.
Nans had just finished explaining. She’d laid out the timeline: Stanley arriving at five-ten, climbing the unstable shelf to retrieve his lockbox, the shelf collapsing and killing him.
Vivian arriving at five-eighteen and finding him dead.
Eddie arriving at five-twenty-nine and taking the bag in a panic.
But when Nans pulled out the ledger from the craft tote—the one Eddie had reluctantly handed over—and showed it to Jack, his face shifted from annoyance to grim understanding.
Jack leaned forward, flipping through the pages. His jaw tightened as he read Stanley’s handwriting—the withdrawals, the receipts that didn’t add up, the small amounts taken over months.
“You’re telling me,” Jack said slowly, looking up from the ledger, “that Stanley Hooper embezzled from the toy drive, blamed innocent people, and died in an accident he caused.”
“Exactly,” Nans said, her voice calm and certain.
Jack set the ledger down on his desk with deliberate care, then looked at Eddie. His expression was hard. “And you tampered with evidence.”
Eddie nodded, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “Yes, sir.”
Jack’s jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath the skin. “That’s a crime, Eddie. You took evidence from a scene. You hid it. You lied to me.”
“I know.” Eddie’s shoulders hunched forward. “I know. I was scared. I thought everyone would think I took the money from the fund and killed Stanley.”
Jack exhaled hard, the sound frustrated and weary. He rubbed his face with both hands, then dropped them to the desk. “But given the circumstances... I’ll recommend community service. You’re going to make this right.”
Eddie’s eyes filled with tears, his whole body sagging with relief. “Thank you. Thank you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“You’ll start by writing a full statement,” Jack said firmly. “Everything you saw, everything you did. And then you’re going to help us figure out exactly how much Stanley took so we can make sure every kid on that angel tree gets what they need.”
“Yes, sir.” Eddie wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I will.”
Jack stood, his chair scraping against the linoleum floor. He looked at Vivian, who flinched slightly under his gaze. “Vivian, I’m going to need a statement from you too. You found the body and didn’t report it. That’s a problem.”
Vivian nodded quickly, her voice shaky. “I know. I’m sorry. I was scared.”
“We’ll talk about it,” Jack said, but his voice was less harsh than it had been with Eddie. “Have a seat. This might take a while.”
Vivian glanced at the ladies, then moved to sit in the chair beside Eddie.
Jack turned to Nans and the others. “And you four—“
“Are going to enjoy the tree lighting,” Nans finished sweetly, her expression perfectly innocent.
Jack pointed a finger at her, his expression stern but with a hint of something that might have been amusement. “Stay out of active investigations.”
“We always try,” Nans said.
Jack’s mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “No, you don’t.”
“We try to try,” Ida offered helpfully.
“That’s not better,” Jack muttered.
Helen stepped forward slightly, her voice gentle. “Jack, if it helps, we did solve your case.”
“Our investigation already determined it was an accident and now you’ve given me two more people to process,” Jack countered, gesturing at Eddie and Vivian. “So I’m not sure it’s a net positive.”
“But now you know Stanley was the one who took the money,” Ruth pointed out, her iPad tucked under her arm. “And you can clear Elaine Wilkins and Eddie and everyone else.”
Jack sighed, the kind of sigh that came from deep in the chest. “Fine. Yes. Thank you. Now go before I change my mind about charging you all with obstruction.”
“You wouldn’t,” Nans said confidently.
“Don’t test me, Mona.”
Nans smiled and turned toward the door. “Come along, ladies.”
As they filed out into the hallway—painted the same utilitarian beige as the office—Ida whispered, “Do you think Jack really would have charged us?”
“No,” Ruth said.
“Maybe,” Helen said.
“Definitely not,” Nans said. “Lexy would never forgive him.”
They walked down the hallway toward the front entrance, their footsteps echoing on the tile floor. Through the windows, they could see that the snow had started falling again, soft and steady, covering the town in fresh white.
Behind them, they heard Jack’s voice, professional and patient, beginning to take Vivian’s statement.
“All right, Vivian. Let’s start from the beginning. What time did Stanley call you last night?”
The door to his office closed with a soft click.
“Well,” Ida said, pulling her coat tighter as they stepped outside into the cold. “That went better than expected.”
“Eddie’s lucky Jack is reasonable,” Helen said.
“And that the evidence cleared him,” Ruth added.
Nans paused on the station steps, looking out at Main Street, where the Christmas lights were beginning to twinkle in the gathering dusk. “Stanley spent so much time accusing everyone else that he never considered his own guilt would be the thing that killed him.”
“Tragic,” Helen murmured.
“And ironic,” Ida said.
“And solved,” Ruth said, checking her watch. “And it’s only five-thirty. I might actually make it home in time for Wheel of Fortune.”
Nans smiled. “Miracles do happen at Christmas.”