“I’d be more worried about yours in three days. Don’t want something happening to your display now,” Kit added.
“No, I know. Trust me, I’ve tried to figure out who’s behind it. I still think it’s someone local. Someone who knows these displays mean something, how important they are,” Cassidy said.
“You know what I think?” Mrs. Bishop said, leaning back in her chair and adjusting her holiday brooch with purpose. “I think it’s up to us to solve the case!”
“What? Now why would you say that?” Edith asked.
“Well, if the mayor’s too busy to figure out who’s behind all the vandalism,” Mrs. C. said, “then we’re going to do it. What do you ladies say?”
“I say I want to build a snowman,” Edith replied, carefully dabbing glue on a tiny pom-pom hat. Then she added with a sly grin, “But I’d like to solve this mystery too.”
“How about we do both?” Madison suggested.
The women got to work decorating their snowmen while tossing out ideas and theories.
“I’ve said from the beginning that something with Mr. Alders felt off,” Cassidy offered. “He came into my shop on the first day I opened, complaining that Maple Falls was too over-the-top about Christmas and that things were changing. He didn’t sound happy.”
Mrs. C. snorted. “Sounds like Gary. The man can’t handle change.”
“I’ll second that,” Mrs. Bishop said. “He’s retired, and yet he still shows up at the hardware store every day. Maybe he’s finally lost his marbles.”
“Alright, I’ll add him to the suspect list,” Edith said, taking a pen and piece of paper out of her kitchen drawer. “But have you all seen Hank’s niece lately?”
Mrs. Bishop turned to Edith. “NowthatI didn’t think of, but you might be onto something…”
“Elsie?” Kit asked. “Why Elsie?”
“She and Hank have been fighting nonstop. She’s mad he won’t adopt her ideas to modernize Christmas in Maple Falls. She wants everything livestreamed and ‘on-brand’ for Instagram,” Edith explained. “Thinks our traditions are outdated. She’s even trying to convince him this should be the last year for the festive light-ups. She wanted a drone parade and less emphasis on Christmas or something equally awful.”
“That would be horrible,” Mrs. C. said, scandalized.
“She does seem stressed out lately,” Madison added. “She came into the inn last week looking like she hadn’t slept in days. Muttered something about branding synergy and walked into a door.”
“If that’s true,” Cassidy said slowly, “I could actually see her sabotaging things to get her own way. She’s so driven. Maybe hoping we’ll give up and just go with her plan.”
The group of ladies nodded.
“Okay, so we’ve got two suspects. Anyone else?” Edith asked, clicking the end of her pen and looking around the table.
Everyone paused, frowning thoughtfully over their glitter-strewn snowmen.
Then Edith straightened. “I think it’s time we do a stakeout.”
Cassidy raised both brows. “A stakeout?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Bishop said brightly, as if it were the most obvious next step in a crafting night. “We’ve got the mulled wine, lawn chairs. All we need is a thermos and a set of binoculars.”
Mrs. C. leaned back and patted her knee. “I’ve got a heated blanket and a husband who snores. Count me in.”
Kit grinned. “Do we get walkie-talkies?”
Mrs. C. tapped her pen to her chin. “We should. I’ll check the garage. George used to have some for hunting.”
Cassidy cracked a smile for the first time all day. “Let’s do it tonight.”
THIRTY-NINE
LIAM
