Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Outside, the town square was packed with people bundled in coats and scarves, their breath visible in the cold air.
Main Street had been closed off for the evening, and the crowd spilled across the asphalt, families with children on shoulders, elderly couples holding hands, teenagers clustered in groups pretending not to care while secretly caring very much.
The tree stood in the center of the square—a massive blue spruce, easily twenty feet tall, decorated with hundreds of ornaments donated by local families.
Each one told a story: handmade felt stars from the elementary school, glass baubles passed down through generations, photo ornaments of babies and pets and wedding days.
At the very top, a silver star caught the streetlight, waiting for its moment.
Lexy had set up a table near the hot chocolate station, her bakery logo on a bright red banner.
Trays of cookies and cupcakes covered every inch of the table—gingerbread men with candy button eyes, sugar cookies frosted like snowflakes, chocolate cupcakes topped with peppermint buttercream and crushed candy canes.
She was handing them out with the kind of efficient cheer that came from years of running a bakery during the holidays.
“Cookies!” she called out. “Fresh from The Cup and Cake! Get them while they’re still warm!”
A line of children formed immediately, their parents following with the resigned patience of people who knew their kids would be sugared up until midnight.
Nans, Ruth, Ida, and Helen stood near the edge of the crowd, close enough to see but far enough to avoid being jostled.
The mayor stepped up to a microphone set up near the tree. He tapped it twice, and the feedback squealed across the square.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the mayor said, his voice amplified and echoing slightly. “Thank you all for coming to our annual tree lighting. I know today has been... difficult. We lost someone who was a big part of our community. But Stanley would have wanted us to carry on with this tradition.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd, though a few faces looked skeptical.
“So without further delay,” the mayor continued, “let’s light this tree!”
He gestured dramatically, and someone threw a switch.
The tree lit up.
White lights rippled over the branches in waves, starting from the bottom and cascading upward like water flowing in reverse.
The silver star at the top blazed to life, and the crowd cheered—a sound that started small and built until it filled the square, echoing off the brick buildings and rising into the night sky.
Children squealed and pointed. Camera phones went up. Someone’s dog barked enthusiastically.
The hot chocolate station kicked into full operation—volunteers ladling steaming cocoa into paper cups, topping them with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. The scent of chocolate and cinnamon mixed with the pine smell of the tree and the cold, clean smell of snow.
Someone in the crowd started singing “Silent Night,” slightly off-key but with genuine enthusiasm. Others joined in, voices blending into something that was imperfect but lovely in its imperfection.
Lexy caught sight of the ladies and waved, holding up a tray of cookies. Nans waved back.
“She’s doing well,” Helen observed.
“She always does,” Ida said proudly.
Ruth checked her watch, the light from the tree reflecting off its face. “It’s six forty-two.”
“Wheel of Fortune,” Helen said, understanding immediately.
Ruth looked torn, her eyes darting between the lit tree and the direction of the retirement center.
Nans patted her hand gently. “Go. We’ve already solved the mystery.”
Ida dug in her purse—somehow still containing supplies despite everything they’d eaten throughout the day—and produced the last peppermint pinwheel, slightly squashed but still intact. She held it out like a prize. “Road snack.”
Ruth took it, smiling despite herself. “You know what? Maybe I’ll watch it on DVR.”
Helen blinked. “You can do that?”
Ruth’s smile widened. “Technology, Helen. It’s magical.”
Nans looked at the lit tree, the lights twinkling through the falling snow, then at her friends—Ruth with her iPad and her vintage clothes, Helen in her hand-knitted sweater, Ida with her ever-present purse of emergency supplies.
“All right, ladies. Tomorrow we help Elaine distribute the angel tree gifts properly. With Stanley’s embezzled money returned, every child will get what they need. ”
“And bake,” Ida added.
“And play bingo,” Helen said.
“And maybe take one week off from investigating,” Ruth suggested.
Nans’ eyebrow lifted.
Ruth corrected herself quickly. “One day.”
Nans accepted that with a small nod.
They walked over to Lexy’s table before heading home. The line had thinned, and Lexy was wiping down the trays, her apron dusted with powdered sugar.
“Ladies!” She smiled when she saw them. “How are you?”
“We’re well,” Nans said. “Jack had a productive afternoon.”
Lexy’s smile turned knowing. “I heard. He called me. Said something about you solving another case and also giving him twice as much paperwork.”
“We’re efficient,” Ida said.
“You’re something,” Lexy said, but there was affection in her voice. She picked up a small box from under the table and handed it to Nans. “Here. Extras. For tomorrow’s bingo.”
Nans peeked inside—a dozen assorted cookies, perfectly packed. “You’re a treasure.”
“I know.” Lexy started packing up her trays. “Now go home before Ruth misses her show.”
“I’m not going to miss it,” Ruth protested. “I have DVR.”
As they walked back toward the retirement center, snow beginning to fall again in soft, fat flakes, the Christmas tree blazing behind them, Ida said, “Do you think Lexy will give us a discount for emotional distress?”
Helen laughed softly, the sound warm in the cold air.
Ruth tucked her iPad under her arm, careful to keep it dry.
Nans smiled to herself, her breath fogging in the cold, the box of cookies warm in her hands—already thinking about the next small-town “accident” that wouldn’t feel accidental at all.
Behind them, the crowd sang on, slightly off-key, perfectly imperfect.
And the lights on Main Street twinkled like everything was exactly as it should be.