A Wee Christmas Homicide (12 page)

“Thorne didn’t have a new supply of bears until Tuesday afternoon,” Sherri mused aloud. “The storm was already pretty bad by five and he closed up around six. It seems to me that he must have had a few bears left.”

“Did you see the size of the mob that descended on The Toy Box?”

Remembering, Sherri had to admit that Thorne
could
have sold them all. “Dead end?”

“Dead end.”

Sherri hesitated, then blurted out a question. “Why
were
you at the hotel?”

“I went to The Spruces last night to track down Eddie Bruce, the snowplow driver.”

“Did he see anything the night of the murder?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Lots of snow. A few cars and trucks, including Ruskin’s. One idiot was out on a snowmobile before the sun even came up.”

“A snowmobile? Maybe that’s how the killer fled the scene of the crime.”

Gordon cracked a smile. “Don’t think so. It was Doug Preston’s boy, Frank. He snuck out of the house and took off on one of the family machines to go see his girlfriend. He’s fourteen.”

“I don’t suppose
he
saw anything suspicious?”

“A lot of snow, especially after he got hung up in a thicket. Had to use his cell phone to call his father for a rescue. He’s been grounded till after Christmas.”

Sherri heaved a resigned sigh. “Dead end?”

“Dead end.”

Liss first noticed unusual activity at The Toy Box when the crime scene tape came down. Surprised, since it had been only a bit more than forty-eight hours since the discovery of the body, she cast an occasional glance that way as the afternoon wore on.

A truck from a local glass replacement company pulled up in front of the shop at two and in short order the delivery men had installed a new display window. Next to arrive was the crew from a cleaning company that specialized in putting things to rights after blood or other bodily fluids had been spilled. Sherri had mentioned them to Liss once. They did regular cleaning, too, but the police often recommended their services to victims of violent crimes.

By the time Margaret returned from The Spruces at four o’clock, smelling strongly of gardenias, Liss could no longer contain her curiosity. She left her aunt in charge of the Emporium and headed for the scene of the crime.

Inside The Toy Box, Liss found Felicity Thorne supervising the cleaning and repair efforts. Well turned out in a dark green pantsuit, her hair coiled into an elaborate twist at her nape, Felicity looked every inch the business owner. Her temperament, however, showed no improvement over their previous encounter. She scowled at Liss and sounded as irritated at the interruption as she looked. “What do you want?”

“I’m just being neighborly.” Liss surveyed the shop, noting that the cleanup was nearly complete. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do to help?”

“Try minding your own business.”

“Your late husband—”

“Ex husband.”

“Your late ex husband was a member of the Moosetookalook Small Business Association. He was a big part of our Twelve Days of Christmas promotion. I don’t think it’s out of line for me to ask if you plan to reopen the toy store. This is a small, friendly community, Ms. Thorne. We’ve found that pulling together makes the sleigh go faster.”

Felicity’s gimlet-eyed stare lasted a moment longer. Then she blinked twice. When she had Liss in focus again she sent a hard, assessing look her way before a slow smile curved her lips. For just a moment, Liss thought she seemed approachable, but the impression was only an illusion.

“Sleigh, huh? What century do you live in?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a little old-fashioned.” Liss’s muscles had tensed to the point where it was physically painful to hold her ground, but she hadn’t finished with Felicity Thorne. “Is there to be any sort of funeral or memorial service? I assume you’re in charge of that, as well.”

“He didn’t like funerals,” Felicity snapped. “Neither do I.”

Liss couldn’t say she cared much for displays of public mourning either, but she found the other woman’s attitude offensive. Without another word, she turned on her heel and headed back toward the door.

“Wait. There’s something you can do for me, after all.”

One hand on the doorknob, Liss glanced warily over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“Spread the word that I’ll be having a going-out-of-business sale. Then I’m putting this building on the market and getting the hell out of Dodge. If I never set foot in this one-horse town again, it will be too soon.”

“And you have a good day, too,” Liss muttered as made her escape. It took considerable will power not to slam the door behind her.

Late Friday evening, after the ceremony at The Spruces—the ten ladies dancing—Liss and Sherri found a quiet spot in the lobby, shielded by a large pillar, and settled into two deep plush chairs angled toward each other to make private conversation easier.

“What’s happening with the investigation?” Liss asked.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you about the case.” In contrast to the prim-sounding words, Sherri dug into a pocket and handed over several pieces of yellow-lined paper, folded in eighths.

Liss hesitated. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble.”

“A good detective, according to the textbooks, uses any and all resources to help solve a crime. The state police have made me their local expert. I’m soliciting your input for the same reason.”

“Thanks.” Liss glanced around to make certain they weren’t being observed, then quickly read through Sherri’s notes. “Not Marcia or Stu,” she murmured, coming to the part about Gordon’s reason for being at the hotel the night before. “The plow driver.” Sherri’s summary of what the driver had told him was a succinct “nothing relevant” with no details.

Most disappointing to Liss was the lack of detailed inventory records for Thorne’s stock. “Maybe he didn’t have time to list the new acquisitions properly.”

“Gordon thinks he didn’t intend to record them, that he was trying to save paying sales tax. You know—cheat the government while turning a profit.”

“No indication of who supplied the bears?”

“Nope. Just the price. He paid fifty bucks apiece for forty bears.”

“Then I expect he got them from Eric Moss, just as Marcia did. That’s the price Moss quoted to me.”

“No sign of Eric Moss yet,” Sherri volunteered, “but Gordon seems to regard his absence as a minor and unimportant mystery.” She grimaced, apparently remembering she wasn’t supposed to “talk” to Liss about the case. “I can’t tell you where his focus is, but it’s not on Moss and that’s
all
I’m saying.” She mimed zipping her lips.

“There isn’t much mystery in where this new supply of Tiny Teddies came from. The only logical source is the other side of the border. They entered this country illegally from Canada.”

Sherri’s nod encouraged her to go on.

“Moss, or one of his contacts, must be smuggling them in.”

“Let’s say you’re right. Your hypothetical smuggler has no reason to kill Thorne. As long as Thorne was profiting from the arrangement, which he must have been, he wasn’t likely to go to the cops.”

“A falling out among crooks? Whatever happened, there has to be a connection between Thorne’s murder and the Tiny Teddies.”

“Why?”

Liss just looked at her.

“Think about it. Really, the idea is pretty far-fetched, especially when—” She broke off, waving away any questions about what she’d almost said.

Liss didn’t push. Sherri was conflicted enough as it was, forced to choose between her friendship with Liss and her career prospects. But whatever lead Gordon Tandy was pursuing, Liss was convinced it was the wrong one.

“It’s the timing,” she murmured, thinking aloud. “And the fact that the Tiny Teddy, the one in the chef’s outfit, was also shot through the heart.”

“A warning?”

“Maybe.”

Sherri sighed. “I wish we knew for certain if there were Tiny Teddies in The Toy Box when Thorne was killed.”

“I wonder if The Toy Box’s going-out-of-business sale will include any little bears? I spoke with the not-so-grieving widow this afternoon. She’s out for a quick buck.”

Sherri’s sudden stillness and the avid gleam in her eyes caught Liss’s attention as she was about to launch into a recap of her encounter with Felicity Thorne. So that was the way the wind blew, she thought. Gordon was trying to break the former Mrs. Thorne’s alibi. He thought she’d murdered her ex.

“Say Felicity doesn’t pan out,” Liss said carefully. “Will Gordon look for Eric Moss then?”

Sherri shook her head, but was careful not to answer aloud.

“There’s nothing to tie him to the murder, I suppose,” Liss mused. “No known quarrel with Thorne. Drat!”

What other suspects were there? Liss wondered if Stu Burroughs had been checked out. He and Thorne had certainly been at odds, but would Stu kill just because the other man refused to sell him a few bears for resale in the ski shop? And what about Mark Patton, the gray man? And Lovey FitzPatrick, the woman in the blue coat? They’d both exhibited suspicious behavior.

Liss glanced again at Sherri. Her friend’s lips were set in a thin, grim line. She’d said all she was going to. Probably more than she should have. The guilty look on her face and the anxious glance she directed at someone coming up behind Liss were ample proof of that. Liss hastily stuffed the yellow pages Sherri had given her into a pocket. Their tête-à-tête was over.

Expecting to see Gordon Tandy appear in her peripheral vision, Liss was relieved when Pete Campbell came around the side of the chair and bent down to give his fiancée a quick kiss on the forehead.

“Hey, gorgeous. Ready to head out?”

“What are you doing here? I don’t need a ride.” Sherri’s attitude was anything but loverlike.

Pete ignored the rudeness. “No, but I do.”

“You expect me to drive you to your place? It’s a good fifteen miles out of my way.”

Beginning to get the message, Pete shuffled his feet and shot Liss an apologetic glance. “I thought you might enjoy a sleepover. It’s been awhile.”

“I have a kid, remember?” Sherri’s voice grew increasingly testy with every word she spoke. “I can’t just run off any time I feel like it.”

What was wrong with the two of them? Liss wondered. They were getting married next year. They shouldn’t be sniping at each other like this.

“You
can
take a little time for yourself once in a while,” Pete said. “I’ve already talked to your mother. She thinks it’s a great idea. She’s not expecting you home tonight.”

Sherri exploded out of the chair.
“I’m
expecting me home. I’ve got things to do. And I’ve got to go to work at midnight.”

“I thought you might like to spend the time between now and then with me.”

“I’ve got things to do!” From the stiff set of her shoulders and the stubborn tilt to her chin, Liss could tell Sherri had no intention of relenting.

“Fine!” The backs of Pete’s ears had gone red and he could no longer keep the frustration from creeping into his voice. “Can you at least give me a lift home?”

Unspoken was the plea that they finish this discussion in private. They were drawing unwanted attention from patrons in the lobby of the hotel.

It was touch and go for a minute, but Sherri finally managed to unclench her teeth long enough to spit out an answer. “Fine. Let’s go. See you later, Liss.”

She stomped away, leaving Pete to follow. He had to sprint to catch up.

Shaking her head, Liss watched them exit the hotel together. Dan had been right. There was trouble in paradise.

T
he next day there was trouble at the Emporium, too. Liss slammed the phone receiver into the cradle, wishing she knew more creative swear words. It landed off center, bounced, and slid off the sales counter to dangle over the side by the cord, revolving slowly. She ignored it until it started to beep at her. Then, very carefully, she hung up.

One of the eleven bagpipe players she’d so laboriously rounded up for the Saturday evening ceremony at The Spruces had just canceled on her. She had less than twelve hours to find a replacement.

One man was the obvious person to ask, but Liss needed a few minutes to convince herself that she had the right to put him on the spot. The only other alternative she could think of was to fill in for the missing piper herself. The world wasn’t ready for that! Bad enough some of her closest friends had listened to her attempt to sing. First taking a few deep, calming breaths, she punched in Gordon Tandy’s cell phone number.

An hour later he showed up in person.

“I got your message, Liss. What’s so urgent?”

Belatedly, Liss realized he must think her request to see him had something to do with the murder case. Hastily she explained. His expression grew more thunderous with every word.

“Gordon, please. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.” She put one hand on his arm and sent him her most beseeching look.

His features softened but he still hesitated. “Liss, I haven’t had time for hobbies since I joined the state police. First, I gave up skiing. Then, I sold my snowmobile. Finally, I stopped entering piping competitions. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I played?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He gave a snort of laughter. “Oh, yeah, it does. And you know it.”

She did. To perform well, a piper had to practice. “How about this—you stand there with the other ten pipers and
pretend
to play. The important thing is that there be eleven of you.”

That she could have done that same thing herself belatedly occurred to Liss, but she knew in her heart that she wanted Gordon to agree. If she meant anything at all to him, he’d
want
to help out.

“It’s only for one evening. The piper I originally had lined up can be here for the pageant on Sunday. Please?” She stopped short of adding “pretty please with sugar on top.” That sounded too much like begging.

“I don’t have time to go home for my pipes.”

“You can use those.” She gestured toward the wall.

If he wasn’t really going to play, it didn’t matter that “those” had been hanging in the Emporium for as long as Liss could remember. They were decoration, not inventory. Once upon a time they might have been for sale, but that had been way back when her father, the only serious piper in the family, had still lived in Moosetookalook. For years, that set of pipes had been kept on display solely to enhance the Scottish decor. People who expressed an interest in learning to play the bagpipes had been referred to Gordon’s brother, Russ, who owned a music store in Waycross Springs.

Gordon inspected the instrument, looking doubtful.

Liss slanted him a sunny smile. “Really, it will be enough if you just show up and pretend to play. You don’t need to drive all the way back to Waycross Springs.” She caught his hand and dragged him toward the rack that held the kilts. “You can borrow piping regalia from the Emporium, too.”

“I’ve got my own kilt.”

She took that as a “yes,” but didn’t dare breathe a sigh of relief quiet yet. The kilt, presumably, was in Waycross Springs with the pipes.

“My brother is one of the eleven, right?”

Liss nodded, barely able to contain her elation.

“He’s been after me to start playing again. I’m sure he’d be glad to pick up my pipes and regalia on his way here. If he can come over a little early, I might even be able to work in a short practice session.”

“Thank you!” Liss went up on her toes to give him a quick kiss on the lips. “I really appreciate this.”

“Yeah, yeah.” But he was smiling as he headed out the door.

Shortly after noon, Marcia closed Second Time Around for the day. She stopped in at Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium soon after. For once she did not look particularly thin. Her beanpole figure was covered head-to-toe in a one-piece snowmobile suit. The material, the same as that used in ski parkas, bulked up her entire body, but the dark green color made her milk-white complexion look even paler than it really was.

“Have you seen Sherri?” she asked.

“Not recently. What’s up?”

“I wanted to ask her to keep a close eye on my place. When I stepped out for a minute earlier, I returned to find Lovey FitzPatrick creeping around my back door, trying to see in through the windows. I’m afraid she, or one of the other nutcases, may try to break in and steal the bears I set aside for the auction tomorrow.”

Liss couldn’t quite imagine Lovey as a sneak thief, but she understood Marcia’s concern. “If you’re that worried, maybe you should stick around and guard your stock.”

“Are you kidding? The day’s too perfect to be cooped up inside.”

Looking where Marcia pointed, at the bright blue sky and pristine snow visible through the display window, Liss experienced a sudden longing of her own to breathe fresh air. She understood the frustration of being stuck at work. That was one reason she wanted to convert the store into an online business. It would be heaven to pick and choose her own hours.

“Going out on the snowmobile?” she asked.

“Every chance I get.”

“Then wouldn’t it be easier just to put the Tiny Teddies in a safe place when you’re not open?”

The other woman smirked. “I’ve got that covered.”

“Bank vault?”

“As good as.” She leaned closer, her snowmobile suit making swishing sounds as the fabric brushed the counter. “You’ve got a root cellar in your house, right?”

Had everyone known but her? Liss nodded.

“Well, so do I, but Cabot did some work on ours during his survivalist phase. Made it into a panic room.”

“You’re kidding!” Liss had heard of such things, even seen one in that Jodie Foster movie, but she had never imagined someone installing something like that in a house in Moosetookalook, Maine.

“Climate controlled,” Marcia boasted. “The perfect hiding place for all sorts of things.”

“Well, then, if the bears are secure, why do you need to have Sherri keep an eye on the place?”

“I don’t want to come home to a jimmied lock or broken glass. I don’t need the hassle.”

Remembering the bullet that had gone through The Toy Box’s display window, Liss saw Marcia’s point. “How about I get hold of Sherri for you? She can’t have gone far.”

Most likely she’d simply walked into one of the many “dead zones” where her cell phone wouldn’t work. There were several in the low spots on Moosetookalook’s hilly streets.

“That’ll work.” With a cheery wave, Marcia headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“It’ll be dark by then,” Liss protested.

“That’s okay. My machine has lights.”

“Marcia! Wait a minute.” Liss crossed the sales floor toward her.

The other woman paused with one hand on the doorknob, clearly impatient to be gone.

“Just one quick question,” Liss promised. “You know Eric Moss better than I do.”

“Not all
that
well.”

“Do you know if he still lives in that ramshackle old farmhouse out on the Ridge Road?”

“Last I heard, he did. Why?”

“Because I think he smuggled those Tiny Teddies in from Canada. Have you read the newspapers lately? Customs keeps catching people crossing the border with hundreds of them in the trunks of their cars like miniature illegal aliens.”

A pained expression flickered across Marcia’s face as she let go of the knob and turned toward Liss. Her voice changed, too, sounding reproachful. “Don’t be flip, Liss. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Illegal aliens are not something to joke about.”

“Well, no. I get that.” Liss hadn’t meant to offend. “Terrorists—”

“No.” Marcia stood with her back propped against the door, as if to prevent anyone from entering. The shop was presently empty of customers, but she lowered her voice all the same. “I have a good friend, a Canadian married to an American. She lived in this country for years but she kept her Canadian citizenship because she wanted her kids to have a choice when they grew up. Then along came all the new antiterrorism rules and one fine day, after my friend visited Canada to spend some time with her elderly parents, she was stopped at the border and told she couldn’t return to the U.S. and her husband and kids. Stupid government red tape kept them separated for months.”

“That’s appalling, but they finally let her go home, right?” Liss tried to imagine what being forcibly separated from loved ones would be like and found herself sympathizing with Marcia’s obvious disgust with a system that allowed such things to happen.

“Not exactly. She got fed up with waiting and slipped back into the U.S. at a spot well away from any official border crossing. Now she really is an illegal alien.”

“I’m very sorry about your friend’s troubles,” Liss said, “and I didn’t mean to make light of folks in her situation, but my point was that Eric Moss may be smuggling in Tiny Teddies and—”

“I bought those bears in good faith and no one can prove otherwise!” Sudden temper flashed in Marcia’s narrowed eyes.

Liss had to fight an urge to back up a step or two. “I’m not trying to interfere with your business, Marcia. I just want to talk to Eric Moss.”

“I have no idea where he is!” Marcia gave Liss one last fulminating glare and then stormed out of the Emporium. A few minutes later, Liss saw her drive by with her snowmobile on its trailer.

After Marcia’s abrupt departure, Liss tried to keep busy making lists—items she wanted to order for her spring catalog; names for the kitten—but her thoughts kept drifting back to Eric Moss and his bears. Marcia’s bears.

“Stay out of it,” she muttered to herself. “Smuggling is police business, just like murder.”

But the police were not pursuing this angle.

What had Sherri said? That she, Liss MacCrimmon, had special knowledge that might be useful?

Not at the moment, she didn’t, but she would if she could just find a connection between Moss and Thorne. She had only to match the description of a single Tiny Teddy in Thorne’s shop with one Marcia now had. Then she’d pass the information on to Gordon. Let him track down the elusive Mr. Moss.

Liss doodled on a blank sheet of paper as she contemplated what she did know. At least two people—individuals who were still in town—had probably seen all of Thorne’s bears and most of Marcia’s too. One of them might even have gotten a glimpse of the ones Marcia was keeping back.

Without allowing herself time to think better of the idea, Liss called the hotel switchboard. Within fifteen minutes she had talked both Lovey FitzPatrick and Mark Patton into stopping by at Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium to talk with her.

Just under an hour later, as it was starting to get dark on this day before the shortest day of the year, Ms. FitzPatrick sailed into the shop. Liss invited her to make herself comfortable in the cozy corner. She had coffee and a plate of sticky buns from Patsy’s ready and waiting.

“Thank you so much for coming in, Ms. FitzPatrick.”

“You made it sound urgent.” Lovey removed her coat, sat, and placed her heavy shoulder bag on the floor beside her.

“It is. You see, the reason I want to talk to you, and the reason I was asking questions at the hotel the other night, is that I am afraid whoever killed Gavin Thorne may still be right here in Moosetookalook.”

“Felicity Thorne isn’t,” Lovey said. “She’s in Fallstown.”

Liss blinked at her, startled. “You think Mrs. Thorne murdered her ex?”

“Stands to reason, doesn’t it? She hated the bastard.”

“I’m surprised to hear you sound so certain. I was under the impression that you barely knew the woman.”

Lovey FitzPatrick grimaced. “You’ll find out anyway, I guess. The police certainly did. I met both Gavin and Felicity Thorne years ago. I’m a collector. They were dealers. She still is, but that doesn’t make me a
friend
of hers.”

“I see.”

Liss took a sip of coffee to keep herself from making a rude remark. If they’d had no more than a long-term business relationship, why had Lovey ducked out on Liss at The Spruces rather than just say so? There had been no reason for her to panic.

“Well, then, I’m sure you’ll be delighted to hear that Mrs. Thorne is here in Moosetookalook supervising repairs on The Toy Box. She plans to reopen before Christmas for a close-out sale.”

“How interesting.” The cup rattled slightly as Lovey returned it to the saucer.

“Have you seen her since Mr. Thorne’s unfortunate death?”

Lovey glanced around, as if she expected someone to pop out from behind the nearest display of Scottish imports. Like Marcia earlier in the day, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “This is just between you and me, right?”

“Of course,” Liss lied.

The proverbial lightbulb had come on. Liss remembered Gordon Tandy walking into the hotel ballroom just after she’d tried to question Lovey. The woman’s vanishing act hadn’t been about avoiding Liss’s questions. She’d been trying to stay out of the sights of the state police detective in charge of the murder investigation.

“That woman is a real piece of work,” Lovey said. “A troublemaker from the get-go. When I ran into her the other day,
before
the murder, she yammered on and on about what a raw deal she got in the divorce and how she had nothing but their old store—empty—in Fallstown and no money to buy new stock. It was ages before she shut up long enough to listen to
my
complaints.”

“I wonder if she knew she stood to inherit her ex husband’s estate?” Liss murmured.

“I doubt it.”

Liss gave Lovey a sharp look. She sounded very sure. “Does Ms. Thorne live above the store in Fallstown?”

Lovey sampled a sticky bun. “Oh, this is good! I, uh, believe the Thornes had a house on the outskirts of town.”