“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.
