A Wee Christmas Homicide (7 page)

“Aunt Margaret!” Liss felt her jaw drop. “You’re not supposed to be here until Friday!”

That wasn’t the only surprise, but it was the only one Liss dared voice. Where was the comfortably plump Margaret MacCrimmon Boyd she’d last seen at her parent’s house in Arizona a year ago? Where was the brightly colored hair, a different shade every time, but always red?

“I came early when I heard about the Tiny Teddies.” Margaret sounded a trifle defensive. “It was all over the Internet and last night you made the national news on NBC.”

“So someone told me.” The local report had run the day after the five golden rings ceremony and then been picked up by the network. Liss hadn’t seen either clip. For the last few days, with hordes of tourists descending upon Moosetookalook, watching television had been the last thing on her mind.

“I thought the shop would be busier.”

“We’re out of Tiny Teddies, but we’re still attracting some customers.”

Now it was Liss’s turn to feel defensive. Her aunt was still half owner of the Emporium. What if she didn’t approve of what her niece had done with the place? Maybe Aunt Margaret would have raised the price on their supply of Tiny Teddies.

“The profits for the month will be way up,” Liss blurted. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I wasn’t.” Aunt Margaret had turned her attention to the shop, her gaze taking in the many small changes Liss had made since she’d been in charge. In all the years Aunt Margaret had run the place, she’d kept the arrangement of stock exactly the same—“a place for everything and everything in its place,” as she’d been in the habit of saying.

Racks of kilts and tartan skirts had run along one side of the big sales room. Now kilts were on one side, women’s wear on the other. The wall display of bagpipes, practice chanters, and pennywhistles hadn’t been moved, but there were subtle changes everywhere else. All the cabinets, shelves, and tables gleamed, redolent of lemon-scented furniture polish, just the way they had when Aunt Margaret was in charge. They still held an assortment of Scottish-themed gifts. But they weren’t in the same places anymore. Liss had gradually moved every single one of them. She bit back the urge to apologize.

Aunt Margaret wandered over to the display window to peer out into the early evening gloom, no doubt watching customers exit The Toy Box. The streetlights around the town square kept total darkness at bay, but from Liss’s perch on the stool behind the sales counter she couldn’t see much beyond the pale glowing circles at the top of each pole.

“I do hope all those folks have hotel rooms for the night,” Aunt Margaret said in a worried voice. “The roads are terrible. I wasn’t sure we’d make it here from the airport, what with the storm and all.”

“Storm?” Liss echoed the word, feeling a frown crease her forehead. She scrambled off the stool to join her aunt at the window. Big, wet flakes drifted past the glass at an angle, falling fast.

Aunt Margaret chuckled. “You
have
been out of touch with the rest of the world. It’s been snowing for hours.”

Liss stared in astonishment at the street and the town square beyond. No longer could a single blade of brown grass be seen. At least two inches of the white stuff had already accumulated on the ground and the storm showed no sign of letting up any time soon.

Standing there, side by side with her aunt, looking out at the snow, Liss felt the tension between them dissolve. Impulsively, she embraced the older woman. “Welcome home, Aunt Margaret.”

“It’s good to be back. Time to close up?”

“May as well.” Liss turned the dead bolt and lowered the shade on the front door. “What did you do with your luggage?”

“It’s already in the apartment. I had the shuttle driver help me carry it up the outside stairs. Then I came back down the same way and walked around to the front. I didn’t want to scare you to death by popping out of the inside stairwell behind you. Come up with me? You can help me unpack.”

“Sure. Why not?”

“The shuttle driver thinks we’re in for a good old-fashioned northeaster. He was some tickled by the prospect. According to him, business taking folks from the jetport to ski resorts has been slow all month, even to the places that make their own snow.”

“Driving conditions may be poor until the storm winds down and the plows can do their thing, but the skiers will be on the road to the slopes the minute they have a prayer of getting through.” She followed her aunt up the stairs and into the apartment.

“Isn’t that the truth, and the snowmobilers won’t even wait that long. They may not go out
during
a blizzard, but the moment they can see well enough to blaze a trail, they’ll be on it. You couldn’t pay me enough to ride on one of those things.” Aunt Margaret led the way toward the master bedroom.

“They’re kind of fun. I had a friend in high school who had a two-up. You know—a two-person machine. He took me for a couple of rides. It’s an expensive hobby, though. Not one I’d ever want to take up.”

Liss whistled softly at the size of the stack of luggage piled in the corner and wondered how her aunt had managed to bring so many suitcases with her on the plane. “Did you buy an entirely new wardrobe while you were away?”

“Just about,” was the cheery answer. “Oh, I almost forgot. Your folks send their love.” She had been staying with Liss’s parents in Arizona, on and off, for most of the last year and a half.

“I wish Mom and Dad had been able to come back to Moosetookalook for Christmas, too.”

“They’ve wanted to go on this holiday cruise for years.”

“Really?”

“You don’t think you know everything about them, do you? Take my word for it—even your next of kin can have a side you just don’t see.”

Liss hesitated, hearing the bitterness in her aunt’s tone. She knew full well how devastated Aunt Margaret had been by what had happened when Liss first came back to Moosetookalook, but the subject had to be broached sometime.

“Aunt Margaret, about—”

The thin, gray-haired woman who had replaced Liss’s plump, flamboyant, red-haired aunt turned an icy glare on her niece. “I do not want to talk about those terrible days. Not
ever!”

Liss gave in without an argument. “Whatever you say, Aunt Margaret.”

“Well, then…good!” She busied herself transferring clothing from a suitcase to a dresser drawer. “There’s another thing I’ve decided, and this isn’t open to discussion, either. We’re business partners now. Have been for some time. I want you to drop the ‘aunt’ and just call me by my first name.”

“That will take a little getting used to…Margaret.” Liss reached for a small padded bag and started to unload the bottles of perfume she found carefully packed inside, lining up Emeraude, White Shoulders, Wind Song, and My Sin on top of the dressing table.

“You’ll manage, I’m sure.”

What next?
Liss wondered.
Shorten Margaret to Maggie? Or Meg? Or Mags?

“Are you okay, Aunt—I mean, Margaret? I mean…well, you’ve lost some weight—”

“I could stand to, don’t you think?” Wry amusement tinged the question.

“And the hair?” Liss tugged on one of her own light brown locks.

“I got tired of fussing with it. Let it grow out. Who was I trying to kid with that all that red, anyway? I’m almost sixty years old and I’ve earned every one of my gray hairs. People should be proud of their age, not try to hide it.”

Finishing the unpacking and putting away Margaret’s things took up the best part of the next hour. Liss’s aunt chatted nonstop, telling anecdotes about her travels and giving Liss an update on what her parents—Margaret’s brother and sister-in-law—had been up to.

“I’m starving, and you must be, too,” Margaret said as she folded the last sweater and tucked it away in a drawer.

“I was going to go to the market for you before Friday but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I doubt there’s anything but peanut butter and stale cereal in your cupboards.”

“Then I say we go to your house to eat. Besides, I want to see what you’ve done with the place.”

“I updated the kitchen, but everything else is pretty much the same as it always was.” Liss had inherited the house under difficult circumstances, but she’d always been comfortable there as a visitor and she liked the way the previous owner had decorated and furnished the rooms, especially the small combination library and office.

“Still got Lumpkin?” her aunt asked as they started back down the inside staircase.

Liss stopped short on the landing, horrified. “Oh, no! I forgot about the kitten. And I’ve got to check on the birds.”

Aunt Margaret looked startled. “Are you keeping a menagerie on the premises?”

“Damned near.”

She told her aunt about the kitten first, then launched into an explanation of the Twelve Shopping Days of Christmas. Margaret took the announcement that her stockroom was currently serving as a chicken coop calmly enough, only murmuring, “No one mentioned
poultry
on the evening news.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m stuck housing them until the pageant on the last day. That’s when we trot out all the gifts mentioned in the song.”

“Wasn’t it turtle doves and French hens?”

“The closest we could get were carrier pigeons and Rhode Island Reds, and I’m afraid there’s a bit of a smell in here.” She flung open the door.

Aunt Margaret wrinkled her nose. “I don’t expect you’ll be able to have your ceremony tonight, not in this storm.”

“The swans will be devastated.” She indicated that morning’s delivery. Swans being in short supply in Maine, especially in winter, she’d turned her problem over to the same high school art teacher who’d offered to make the pear tree. Seven papier mâché swans sat atop the large crate containing the six geese.

With Margaret’s help, it didn’t take long to see to the needs of her livestock.

“Now for the tough part,” Liss said, collecting her coat and the kitten. “Introducing Lumpkin to his new housemate.”

Lumpkin, as usual, was waiting for her just inside the kitchen door. It was time for his supper and he accepted no excuses for tardiness.

He did not notice the kitten at first. He was too busy expressing his disapproval of the snow on Liss’s shoes. It rapidly turned into small puddles on the floor and Lumpkin did not like getting his feet wet.

In retaliation, he attempted to bite Margaret’s ankle.

She smacked him with her hat. The soft wool didn’t hurt the big cat one bit, but it did spook him. He tore out of the room at the speed of light.

Liss set the kitten down on the floor and watched as it began to explore. After a moment, it headed straight for Lumpkin’s food dish, which still contained the dried up remains of the last can of cat food.

“This could be an interesting evening,” Margaret mused.

F
ollowing the snowplow wasn’t the fastest way to travel in a stormy, predawn hour, but it was the smartest. Dan had spent most of the night at the hotel, even though he had only a few miles to drive to reach home. Once the weather became really bad, white-out conditions and the steep road from The Spruces down to the rest of the village were enough to convince him to stay put. He’d been needed at the hotel until midnight to work in the bar. After that, he’d caught a few hours sleep in one of the unoccupied rooms. Now all he wanted was to get safely home and use the snowblower to clean out his own driveway. He’d shower, change his clothes, and then head for his real job at Ruskin Construction.

Tired as he was, he couldn’t help but appreciate how peaceful Moosetookalook appeared with a fresh blanket of white to cover the rough edges. The precipitation falling now was the light, fluffy stuff. Once the roads were cleared and the sun came up, it was guaranteed to be a glorious day. Already the first faint pink and gold hint of sunrise crept above the horizon.

As the plow made the turn by Willett’s Store and headed down the twisting road that led to the center of town, Dan caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Squinting, he could just make out the shape of a snowmobile cutting across a field.

Dan shook his head, grateful for the blast of warmth from the heat vents that kept the windshield from fogging and his fingers toasty as they gripped the steering wheel. Give him a nice enclosed truck and a paved road anytime!

A few minutes later the plow driver, one of Dan’s lifelong acquaintances, turned down Birch Street. He cleared a short distance up Dan’s driveway, making a space to pull in off the street.

Dan hopped out of his truck, waved his thanks, and paused to take in the scene. The snow had all but stopped. The town square was quiet and pretty, all that pristine white reflecting the glow of the streetlamps.

He saw that there were lights on in Margaret Boyd’s apartment. She always had been an early riser. She’d called his father the night before to say she was home. The two of them were planning to get together later today. Margaret, after all, had been one of the earliest investors in the hotel project.

There were no lights at Liss’s house. She wasn’t a morning person. Dan expected she was still asleep. He hoped she wasn’t upset about having to cancel last evening’s ceremony because of the storm. She could always combine the swans with the maids a-milking. He supposed he should have called her to suggest that, but he’d been right out straight at the hotel.

As he headed into the house to make coffee, he reviewed his plans for the day: make coffee; blow snow; shower; put on clean clothes; get to work. There was no room for Liss MacCrimmon in that schedule.

Better
find
room, he warned himself as he climbed the stairs two at a time. He’d let things drift far too long as it was.

Liss had to drag herself out of bed when her alarm clock went off. She wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t slept well. First Lumpkin had wanted to keep her company. She’d shoved him off the bed at least a half dozen times before he’d given up. She’d just managed to doze off, or so it seemed to her, when the passing snowplow woke her again. The darn thing was noisy enough to wake the dead! She’d finally resorted to the same desperate measures she’d used the night before, jerking the pillow over her head to drown out the noise. She’d caught another thirty winks that way, but it wasn’t enough.

Halfway through the short version of her morning exercises, Liss remembered the kitten. She’d had to leave it in the downstairs bath overnight. Every time Lumpkin had caught sight of the poor little thing, he’d hissed or growled. Liss hadn’t trusted him not to hurt the smaller feline.

In the shower, all her other concerns rushed down on her head, pounding at her with greater force than the spray as she soaped up and rinsed off. After they’d eaten supper the previous evening, Aunt Margaret had unearthed one of the yellow-lined pads Liss kept handy for list making. Since Liss had picked up the habit from her aunt, she had not been surprised when Margaret took felt-tip pen in hand and started itemizing. The resulting list had been a simple one with only four items:

bank

lawyer

hotel

Ernie

Reading the last item upside down, Liss had choked on the sip of the white wine she’d just swallowed. “Ernie Willett?”

“You have a problem with that?”

Liss had held up both hands, palms toward her aunt. “Not at all. It just caught me off guard.”

Margaret’s smile had surprised her even more. It had softened her whole face. “We’ve been writing to each other since last year.”

Ernie Willett?

As if she’d sensed Liss’s dismay, Aunt Margaret had said nothing more on the subject. She’d gone back to her list and added two more items, but this time she’d covered the writing with her hand so that Liss couldn’t see what they were.

Liss turned off the water in the shower and reached for a towel. Ernie Willett, she thought again. Sherri’s divorced father. The implications of Ernie Willett being on her widowed aunt’s to-do list weren’t any easier to accept this morning than they had been the previous evening. True Ernie and Aunt Margaret had dated when they were young, before each of them married someone else, but the Ernie Willett Liss knew was an irritating old curmudgeon. He owned a combination convenience store and service station—the only gas pump in the village—and in her recollection had never numbered courtesy among the services he provided to his customers.

But Ernie Willett was the least of Liss’s worries this morning. Just before Aunt Margaret had left Liss to go back to her own place, she’d said she wanted to have a long serious talk with her niece about the future of the Emporium.

If not for the tired look on her aunt’s face, Liss would have insisted they hash things out then and there. Instead, she’d resigned herself to spending a restless night before she found out what Margaret really thought of the changes Liss had made since she’d been in charge.

When Liss had dried her hair and dressed for the day, she ventured downstairs to look for Lumpkin. She found him standing in front of the closed door that shielded the kitten, his tail enlarged to twice its normal size. The expression on his furry face was one of affronted dignity.

“Give it a rest,” she told him. “You have a visitor. He…or she…has had a rough time of it. You are to be polite.” Mentally crossing her fingers, Liss reached for the knob.

The black kitten bounded out into the hall. Not at all put off by Lumpkin’s hiss or his stiff-legged stance, it stopped only long enough to give the larger cat an inquisitive look before gamboling straight toward him. Apparently too astonished to move, Lumpkin just stood there while the kitten stropped itself against his side, then ducked under his belly.

Liss stifled a snicker. It was trying to nurse.

“No joy there, little one,” she told it, scooping it up just as Lumpkin recovered enough to growl.

Two mugs of coffee later, Liss entered Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium with the black kitten cradled in her arms. It was only 7:30, but Margaret had already opened for the day. She was standing in the shop doorway, breathing deeply and smiling as she looked out across the snow-covered town square.

“It’s good to be home.”

“I’m glad you’re back.” Liss meant it, but she was still uneasy about what Margaret might plan to say to her.

“So, any new gossip I should know about? Did Marcia’s husband ever come back?”

“Nope.” Liss shared Moosetookalook news as it happened in her regular letters and e-mails to her aunt and to her parents.

“Poor Marcia.”

“She seems to be coping. To tell you the truth, she seems happier without Cabot Katz. Did I tell you she took back her maiden name? She’s Marcia Milliken again.”

“When does The Toy Box usually open?” Margaret had already lost interest in Marcia. “I’m curious to meet this Gavin Thorne and to get a look at a Tiny Teddy. I’ve never seen one except in pictures.”

“He’s been opening at eight since the madness started.” His usual hours, and hers, had been ten to five, Tuesday through Saturday, until the advent of the Tiny Teddies had changed all that.

“He’s got a customer waiting,” Margaret observed.

Having put the kitten in the shop’s bathroom, already furnished with a litter box and water dish, Liss poured herself yet another mug of coffee from the pot her aunt had brewed. She came out from behind the counter so that she could see past Margaret. It
was
a glorious day. A scene right off a Christmas card. Anyone who came to Moosetookalook to Christmas shop should be delighted with what they found.

Except for the guy pounding furiously on the front door of The Toy Box.

Margaret came inside and moved to the Emporium’s display window so she could continue to watch the stranger without getting chilled. Sipping her coffee, Liss ambled over to stand beside her, then took a step back when she got a whiff of her aunt’s perfume. It wasn’t unpleasant—jasmine, Liss thought, and citrus, and a hint of sandalwood—but it was strong.

The man on Thorne’s porch alternated between knocking at the door and banging on the plywood that covered the cracked glass. He tried to peer into the shop, but Thorne had done a thorough job. The panels were flush and contained no convenient knotholes to look through.

“Maybe I should go over there and check on your Mr. Thorne,” Margaret murmured. “It’s odd he’s not opening up when he’s obviously got a customer.”

“Maybe that guy is a bill collector.” The suit and topcoat were very formal attire for rural Maine.

“Don’t be facetious.” Her eyes twinkled. “Bill collectors are
much
more aggressive.”

They watched for a few more minutes, but there was still no sign of life from inside The Toy Box.

“Unless Thorne has changed the locks, I can get inside with Warren’s spare key,” Aunt Margaret said.

Warren Alden’s small appliance repair shop had occupied the building for years, and Alden himself had been a nice old guy who’d have been grateful for Margaret’s concern. The current proprietor was something else again.

“He might just be sleeping in,” Liss warned.

“Or he might be ill. Good neighbors have an obligation to look out for each other.” Margaret rummaged in the junk drawer beneath the sales counter until she produced a key ring. “Warren gave me this four or five years ago, after he accidentally locked himself out.”

Margaret grabbed the coat Liss had just hooked over the coatrack, slung it around her own shoulders, and sailed out the door. Moments later, before Liss’s aunt had even reached the corner, Sherri Willett appeared on the Emporium’s porch, coming from the other direction.

“Was that Margaret?” she asked.

“It was. She got home yesterday afternoon during the storm.”

“Where’s she headed?”

“Straight for trouble if Gavin Thorne is in a bad mood. Her curiosity seems to have gotten the better of her common sense. She
says
she’s worried that Thorne is sick and needs help. He looked perfectly healthy the last time I saw him. He was gloating about all the money he’s raking in. He’s probably just taking his own good time about opening up this morning. Either that or he’s recognized that man pounding on the door and doesn’t want to talk to him.”

“Maybe that’s his wife’s lawyer,” Sherri speculated.

“The possibilities are endless. Quiet night?”

“Yes, thank goodness. Not even any traffic accidents, in spite of the storm. There were a few fender benders down Fallstown way, though. I heard Pete a couple of times on the radio.” Her voice faded as she ducked behind the counter to help herself to coffee.

“Any reports of a missing black kitten?” Liss continued to watch her aunt through the display window. Margaret trotted up the porch steps to the front door of The Toy Box and said a few words to the stranger. Whatever she told him sent him scurrying back to his car to wait until The Toy Box opened. He started the engine to keep warm but didn’t drive away.

“Missing kitten?” Sherri repeated. “No one called the P.D. about one.”

“Take a look in the bath.”

Behind her she heard the door open and Sherri’s delighted chuckle. “Well, aren’t you the little sweetie.”

Back on Thorne’s porch, Margaret fiddled with the lock. After considerable jiggling, her key finally worked and she slipped inside the shop, closing the door behind her. Liss glanced over her shoulder, unsurprised to see that Sherri had a squirming ball of black fur tucked under her arm.

“Where did Sweetie come from?”

“Wandered into the shop yesterday. I put a sign in the window.” Liss gestured toward the notice, glanced that way, and froze.

“What on earth…?” Sherri took a step forward, staring through the glass, as Liss was, at The Toy Box.

The door left standing wide open behind her, Margaret stumbled down the porch steps and into the street. Oblivious to the fact that Dan Ruskin, headed for work in his pickup truck, was bearing down on her, she ran right out in front of him. Tires squealed as he stopped inches from a collision.

Margaret kept going. Her face ashen, she burst into the Emporium. “Call 9–1-1,” she gasped, her voice barely audible above the jangle of the sleigh bells attached to the door.

“Sherri’s right here.” Liss had never seen her aunt so upset. She was literally shaking.

“What’s wrong?” Sherri asked.

The sleigh bells over the threshold erupted once more as Dan rushed inside. His face was almost as pale as Margaret’s.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted. “I almost hit you!”

Margaret didn’t seem to hear him, nor did she respond to Sherri’s blue uniform. Her eyes locked with Liss’s. “There’s a dead man in the toy store!”

“What?” Liss didn’t think she could have heard correctly.

“Are you certain?” Sherri was already moving toward the door.

A horrible grimace distorted Margaret’s features. “I’m sure. Hearts tend to stop beating when someone fires a bullet through them.”

Ohmigod,
Liss thought.
Just like the Tiny Teddy!