Nans smiled sweetly and rejoined the ladies.
“Well?” Ida whispered.
“The papers are wrong,” Nans said quietly as they walked toward the front entrance. “They’re scattered like someone grabbed them and ran. And something’s missing—there’s a dust outline on the floor where something used to be.”
“The lockbox Elaine mentioned?” Helen asked.
“Or something else Stanley was keeping,” Ruth murmured.
“Either way,” Nans said, “someone took something from that storage room. The question is: is that the person that killed Stanley?”
CHAPTER THREE
They walked around to the front entrance and into the lobby, where the atmosphere shifted immediately. The space was buzzing with frantic energy—volunteers hauling boxes, stringing lights, debating loudly about the placement of the Christmas tree. The lobby was large and echoing, with marble floors, high ceilings, and tall windows that let in watery winter light.
At the far end, near a table piled high with clipboards and tangled extension cords, a woman in a red blazer and reindeer antler headband was barking orders at two teenagers holding garland. She had a whistle around her neck and the manic energy of someone running on pure caffeine and Christmas spirit.
Martha Mayfield—event coordinator extraordinaire.
She spun when she saw Nans, her expression shifting to something carefully pleasant. Her smile looked glued on. “Ladies! What brings you to town hall this morning?”
“Stanley Hooper,” Nans said simply.
The smile faltered, cracks showing in the cheerful facade. “It’s horrible. Just horrible. We’re all devastated.”
Ida squinted at her. “You seem less upset than you should be.”
Martha’s eyes flashed, irritation breaking through. “I’m very upset. Stanley was a big part of the committee. A very big part.”
“Was he?” Ruth asked mildly. “Or was he the part that made everybody miserable?”
Martha’s cheeks colored. “Stanley was... unique.”
“So, yes,” Ida said.
Martha set down her clipboard and rubbed her temples, and for a moment the cheerful facade dropped entirely. “Look, I’m not going to pretend Stanley was easy to work with. He wasn’t. He was controlling, demanding, and he treated this committee like his personal kingdom.”
“But?” Helen prompted gently.
“But he was organized. He got things done. And now he’s gone, and the tree lighting is tonight, and I have no idea where half the supplies are because Stanley kept everything locked up like they were nuclear codes.”
Nans stepped closer. “Who was scheduled to be in that storage room today?”
Martha’s gaze flicked down the hall, then back. “Only a few people had keys. Me. Stanley. And Vivian Bell.”
“Craft fair Vivian?” Ruth asked.
Martha nodded. “She’s in charge of the Holiday Market booths. Stanley insisted on moving the market setup into town hall this year because he didn’t trust the weather. Vivian needed access to the storage room for tables and risers.”
“And did Stanley like her?” Nans asked.
Martha laughed once, sharp and bitter. “Stanley didn’t like anyone who didn’t do things exactly his way. Vivian wanted to set up the market her way, Stanley wanted it his way, and they’d been fighting about it for weeks.”
“Fighting how?” Ida asked.
“Emails. Meetings. Loud discussions in this very lobby,” Martha said. “Stanley accused her of being careless with vendor fees. Vivian accused him of being a control freak. It got... heated.”
“Heated enough to—“ Ruth began.
