“Yes,” all three of them said in unison.
Nans sipped her tea and said nothing, which was answer enough.
CHAPTER FIVE
Vivian Bell ran the Holiday Market with the seriousness of someone who believed Christmas cheer should be scheduled in fifteen-minute increments.
They found her in the town hall function room—a large space with high ceilings and tall windows that looked out onto the snowy town square. The room was in controlled chaos. Folding tables lined the walls, half of them draped with red tablecloths. Boxes of vendor signs were stacked near the stage. A young volunteer was attempting to untangle a strand of white lights while another was arguing about the placement of a “Hot Cocoa Station” sign.
Vivian stood in the center of it all, wearing a headset and holding a clipboard like it was a weapon. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she had the slightly manic look of someone running on coffee and pure determination.
“Vivian,” Nans called.
Vivian turned sharply, her headset cord swinging. “If you’re here to tell me Stanley’s death is going to delay my vendor setup, I will scream.”
Ida blinked. “That seems reasonable.”
Helen stepped forward, her voice gentle. “We’re sorry about Stanley.”
Vivian’s face flickered—something between annoyance and genuine distress. “Am I supposed to pretend I’m devastated? Stanley was difficult.”
“That’s a polite word,” Ruth said, her iPad already in hand.
Vivian exhaled and set the clipboard down on a nearby table. “I didn’t want him dead. I wanted him to stop charging my vendors a ‘floor protection fee’ for a floor that’s been protected since nineteen-seventy-two.”
Nans folded her hands. “Did you have access to the storage room?”
Vivian’s grip tightened on the edge of the table. “I have a key. Martha gave it to me. I needed tables and risers for the vendor booths.”
“Were you in there recently?” Ruth asked.
Vivian hesitated, her eyes darting toward the hallway.
“Vivian,” Nans said firmly.
“Yes! I was in there yesterday.” Vivian threw up her hands. “I grabbed six folding tables and a box of risers.”
Helen leaned in slightly. “Did you notice anything strange while you were in there?”
Vivian frowned, crossing her arms. “The shelf was wobbly. The big metal one in the back corner. I had to reach around it to get to the risers.”
“Did you tell anyone?” Nans asked.
“I told Stanley. He was in the hallway when I came out. I said, ‘That shelf is dangerous, someone should fix it.’ And you know what he said?” Vivian’s voice turned sharp. “He said, ‘It’s fine.’ He always said things were fine right before they weren’t.”
Ida pulled a cookie from her purse and took a thoughtful bite. “Where were you early this morning?”
“At home. Then I came here around six.”
Ruth looked up from her iPad. “Six? That’s early.”
Vivian’s face tightened, her jaw set. “Stanley called me last night. He said he’d ‘found something.’ At first I was hoping it was my tote bag—the glitter one? I thought someone stole it. But then he said if I didn’t show up early, he’d ‘make an announcement’ at the tree lighting.”
“An announcement about what?” Nans asked, her voice calm but intent.
“About booth fees. About the floor protection fee. About how I ‘mismanaged funds.’” Vivian’s voice cracked slightly. “Which I didn’t. Every penny is accounted for. But Stanley didn’t care about facts. He cared about control.”
“What did he say when you talked to him this morning?” Nans asked.
