“To kill him?” Martha’s laugh was hollow. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. But if you’re asking whether Vivian had a motive, the answer is yes. So did half the town.”
“So... everyone,” Ida said.
Martha’s expression went flat. “Pretty much.”
“Thank you, Martha,” Nans said. “That’s all we needed.”
Martha blinked. “That’s it? You’re not going to ask me where I was this morning?”
Nans smiled. “Where were you this morning?”
“At home. Asleep. My husband can confirm.” Martha crossed her arms. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t kill Stanley. But I’m also not going to cry about it. He made my life miserable for three years.”
“Noted,” Nans said.
Nans turned to leave, and Martha called after them, “If you figure out where Stanley kept the backup extension cords, let me know. We’re going to need them for tonight.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Helen said.
As they walked toward the exit, Ruth whispered, “She’s very forthcoming.”
“She’s very stressed,” Helen said quietly.
“And very relieved,” Ida added.
Nans nodded, her mind already working. “Which makes her either innocent or very clever.”
CHAPTER FOUR
They reconvened at Nans’ apartment at the retirement center—a bright corner unit on the third floor with windows that looked out over the town square. The living room was cozy, decorated with vintage furniture and lace doilies, but it was the dining room where the real work happened.
The dining room table was already set with dainty plates and teacups—fine china with a rose pattern, the kind that had probably been a wedding gift sixty years ago. A teapot sat in the center, steam curling from the spout, next to it, a plate was piled high with christmas cookies.
Nans wheeled out her whiteboard from the corner closet—a relic from her teaching days, the frame slightly rusty but the surface clean and ready. She positioned it near the window where the light was good.
Ruth set down her iPad on the table with a soft click. Ida set down her purse with a soft thunk that suggested it weighed approximately fifteen pounds, mostly in contraband baked goods.
Helen poured tea into each cup with the precision of someone who’d been doing it for decades, then settled into her chair. She looked at each of them seriously. “Before we start, I want to be clear: we are not sneaking into town hall again like we had to do last time.”
Ida blinked innocently, her jingle-bell earrings clinking. “Who said anything about sneaking?”
Helen gave her a look—the one that could stop a rampaging toddler at twenty paces.
Ida picked up a teacup and sipped delicately, suddenly very interested in the rose pattern.
Nans uncapped the dry-erase marker with a flourish that made it feel ceremonial. “Let’s list what we know.”
She wrote in neat block letters:
Victim: Stanley Hooper
Location: Town hall storage room
Cause: Shelving collapse (maybe)
Then she drew a line beneath it and wrote in larger letters: Who Benefits?
Ruth looked up from her iPad, where she’d already been making notes. “Stanley ran the Holiday Lights Committee and controlled the toy drive funds.”
