“Stanley Hooper?” Ruth said slowly, setting down her iPad. “Hooper Hardware? Holiday Lights Committee Stanley?”
Harriet nodded so hard her scarf bounced against her shoulders. “Found behind town hall. In the storage room where they keep all the lights and ornaments. This morning.”
“Oh, dear,” Helen murmured, her hand going to her throat.
Nans didn’t gasp. Nans never wasted oxygen on gasping. She set down the peppermint pinwheel with deliberate care and leaned forward slightly. “How?”
Harriet leaned in, lowering her voice even though everyone in the bakery was already listening. “They’re saying a shelf fell on him. Boxes of ornaments. Big plastic totes. The whole thing collapsed right on top of him.”
“A tragic accident,” Ruth said, but her voice had that careful quality it got when she didn’t quite believe what she was saying.
“Or a convenient one,” Ida added quietly, reaching for another cookie.
Lexy let out a slow breath from behind the counter. “Jack is going to have a long day.”
At the mention of her husband—the town’s lead detective—her expression shifted from fond exasperation to genuine concern.
Nans slid her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. “Ladies, coats on.”
“Nans, Jack just said—“ Helen began.
“I know what it looks like,” Nans interrupted, reaching for her coat from the back of her chair. “An accident. But Harriet came in here like she had doubts written all over her face.” She pulled on her coat with brisk efficiency. “And when people have doubts, they start talking. That’s when we learn things.”
Ruth closed her iPad with a soft click. “I’m still planning to be home by seven.”
“Of course you are,” Nans said, but she didn’t sound like she believed it.
Ida grabbed two cookies from the plate and stuffed them in her purse with the peppermints, creating a small avalanche of contraband baked goods.
Helen sighed and stood, pulling on her coat. “We’re not going to do anything reckless, are we?”
“Define reckless,” Ida said cheerfully.
Lexy called from behind the counter, “Stay out of Jack’s way!”
Nans waved a hand in acknowledgment but didn’t make any promises.
And then the Ladies Detective Agency marched out into the snow, leaving their half-finished coffee and a trail of cookie crumbs behind them.
CHAPTER TWO
Town hall sat at the edge of Main Street, a three-story brick building that had watched over Brooke Ridge Falls since 1887. Today it was trimmed in lights that blinked a little unevenly—some white, some warm gold, a few that flickered like they were debating whether to give up entirely. Wreaths hung on every window, and a wooden nativity scene stood on the front lawn, dusted with fresh snow.
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.”
