A Wee Christmas Homicide

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  At the aggrieved outburst, everyone turned to look at Angie Hogencamp, owner of Angie’s Books and secretary of the Moosetookalook Small Business Association. Seated beside the small telephone table on which her notebook rested, Angie ignored the startled silence in the room. She fished in her tote until she came up with a small pencil sharpener. In her agitation, she’d broken the point of the pencil she’d been using to take minutes of the meeting.

  Joe Ruskin cleared his throat. “You want to explain yourself, Angie?”

  She finished sharpening her pencil before she answered him. “Do you have any idea how annoying it is to have to keep writing the words ‘teddy bears’ when those…those toys are clearly not teddy bears. Teddy bears are a very specific sort of stuffed bear. They have beads for eyes and stitched noses and arms and legs that move…oh, what do any of you care!”

  Angie collected designer teddy bears, Liss remembered. She’d never bothered to ask the bookseller exactly what that meant, but apparently those who engaged in the hobby were particular about nomenclature.

  She got that. No one could nitpick better than a person passionate about an activity pursued for pleasure. She saw the same thing all the time among those who had chosen to celebrate their Scottish heritage. Debates on the proper way to wear the kilt—and who could or could not wear one—had been known to go on for hours!

  “Can we agree to call these bears Tiny Teddies,” she suggested, “and move on?”

  Angie gave a curt nod and returned the pencil sharpener to her tote bag.

  “Whatever you call them,” Thorne said in a loud, belligerent tone of voice, “the idea is to make it easy for shoppers to find them. Spread them out and you create confusion. Nobody wants that.”

  “On the other hand, we do want to keep people moving from store to store,” Liss interjected. “The Twelve Shopping Days of Christmas promotion, with a ceremony every evening, will help with that. Then the pageant will draw everyone to the town square on the final day.”

  She’d spent hours last night—who needed sleep?—working on the logistics. Each evening they’d add a new “day” to the festivities. The twelfth would now fall on the twenty-first of December, the beginning of winter. That seemed appropriate.

  “How does the shopping days thing get them to stop in at every business?” Betsy asked.

  “They probably won’t need my services,” Jim Locke of Locke Insurance commented, “and I hope there won’t be any call for Doug’s.” He and Doug Preston of Preston’s Mortuary sat side by side on two more of Liss’s kitchen chairs.

  Laughter helped ease the tension but Stu wasn’t about to give up. While he continued to lobby for a consignment of bears and others tried to talk him out of his stand, Liss kept mum. Her gaze roamed over the rest of the gathered businesspeople. Her eyes locked momentarily with Patsy’s and the coffee shop owner sent a sympathetic look and a shrug her way, then mouthed, “Some people could find things to argue about till doomsday.”

  At least they were discussing the twelve days proposal, Liss told herself. That was good, right? She resolved to let them have at it for a few more minutes before attempting to restore order and take a vote.

  She jumped when something heavy bumped against the back of her calf. Liss looked down into the malevolent gaze of the big yellow Maine coon cat she’d inherited along with her house. Lumpkin glared back at her, obviously displeased by the presence of all these noisy people in his domain.

  “Go back into hiding,” she advised.

  She couldn’t blame the cat for disapproving of all this noise and confusion. Truthfully, She hadn’t expected to see him again until everyone had left. At the first sight of strangers approaching, he’d taken shelter under the kitchen sink.

  When Lumpkin stayed put beside Liss’s chair, she reached down to scratch behind his ear. A deep, rumbling purr made his entire body vibrate.

  Meanwhile, Stu had progressed to waving his arms in the air as he expostulated. With one particularly emphatic gesture, his hand came within an inch of the end of Marcia’s nose. She sent a withering glance in his direction, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “My toy store should be the only place to sell Tiny Teddies,” Thorne declared in a loud voice.

  “You just want to jack up the price!” Betsy snapped at him.

  “You say that like price gouging is a bad thing.” The wounded look on Thorne’s face was far too theatrical for anyone to take seriously.

  Marcia cut short that incipient debate by rising abruptly to her feet. “If you idiots can’t agree, then I’ll just go ahead and sell my Tiny Teddies in an online auction.” She reached behind her for the coat she’d been sitting on.

  Stu bounced up, ready to square off with her. “I thought you were in favor of this one-for-all and all-for-one deal?” Since Stu Burroughs was only an inch or two over five feet tall, going nose-to-nose with Marcia was a physical impossibility. He only succeeded in making himself look foolish.

  Liss took a deep breath. This was going nowhere. Someone had to step in before the meeting dissolved into total chaos. “Enough!”

  Startled by the volume she’d managed—all those years onstage had included more than dancing—everyone shut up. Lumpkin streaked back into the kitchen.

  “I’m calling for a vote,” Liss said. “Yea or nay—will the Moosetookalook Small Business Association support this project or not?”

  Dan Ruskin had taken pains to stay out of the fray, but as soon as Liss made her demand, he put it into the form demanded by Robert’s Rules of Order and asked for a show of hands. Liss had already told everyone how much money she needed. No one questioned her math, and the vote to authorize funding a group ad and a pageant was unanimous. In spite of their differences, Moosetookalook’s businesses were all desperate for customers.

  A second vote, much closer than the first, left the matter of displaying and pricing Tiny Teddies entirely in the hands of the three individuals who actually had supplies of the toy.

  That settled, everyone was in a hurry to leave. They all had businesses to run or jobs to go to. Even Dan did a rapid disappearing act, escaping before Liss had the opportunity to thank him for his help.

  “Marcia, wait,” Liss called as the other woman made a beeline for the front door. She caught the sleeve of Marcia’s coat, drawing her back inside until everyone else had gone. “Are you still set on online auctions?”

  “Why not? Good money there.”

  “Also a lot of hassle. You’ve got to make sure the buyers’ credit is solid. Then you have to ship and insure the merchandise. There’s always a chance of something getting lost in transit.”

  Marcia’s frown told Liss that her arguments were getting through. Who hadn’t heard at least one horror story about an online auction gone wrong?

  “You can always auction off your Tiny Teddies at the last minute if they don’t sell here.”

  “True.”

  “And you’re free to price them as you see fit.”

  “Also true. Okay. I’ll wait.” That said, she took off at a fast clip.

  Liss wondered what her hurry was. Second Time Around was open only “by chance or appointment,” although Marcia usually hung out the OPEN sign around ten.

  Lumpkin sauntered into the living room as soon as he was sure Liss was alone. “Why do I have the feeling,” she asked him, “that Marcia’s bears are not going to be sold for $9.99?”

  Liss spent a few minutes clearing away coffee mugs and paper plates. She stuck the two remaining doughnuts into a ziplock bag and put it in the refrigerator so that Lumpkin wouldn’t eat them. He was an expert at opening cabinets, louvered doors, even the old-fashioned bread box on the counter.

  Instead of leaving by the back door and crossing the driveway and a narrow strip of lawn to enter the Emporium through the stockroom as she usually did, Liss left her house by the front entrance so that she could dash across the intersection of Pine and Ash and pick up the mail before she opened the shop for the day. Moosetook
alook was too small to have a postman who went door-to-door. Both Liss’s home address and the Emporium’s mailing address were P.O. box numbers.

  She was just leaving the post office with a handful of bills and advertisements and a letter from a friend in her old dance troupe, Strathspey, when she heard raised voices coming from the house next door. Since the combatants were standing on the porch of The Toy Box, it was impossible not to overhear.

  “We’re not married anymore, Felicity!” Gavin Thorne shouted. “You can’t just barge in here like you own the place.”

  “You bastard!” shrieked the woman squared off against him. “You greedy son of a bitch! I’m the one who ordered those bears. You thought they were stupid.”

  Thorne didn’t have to say a word. His attitude alone was apparently enough to infuriate his ex wife. Felicity Thorne stood facing the post office, giving Liss a clear view of her expression. Rage was not a good look for her.

  Judging by the crow’s-feet around her eyes and mouth, Felicity Thorne was about the same age as her ex husband. She was carrying thirty or forty extra pounds but looked healthy as a horse. She had an air of energy and athleticism about her that made Liss think she could probably lift crates full of toys without breaking a sweat. An inch or so shorter than Thorne, Felicity had a wild mane of black hair just starting to go gray and dark eyes that were slightly tilted at the corners. Catching sight of Liss, those eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “What do you think you’re looking at?” she snarled.

  Before Liss could reply—not that she intended to—Thorne’s ex turned away. She gave him a shove that propelled him back into the toy store and strode through the door after him. It slammed behind them with such a resounding crash that Liss was surprised the glass didn’t break.

  Shaking her head, she retreated to the sanctuary of Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. She had too much work of her own to spend time worrying about domestic discord at the toy shop.

  Liss awoke on Saturday morning to find herself nose to nose with Lumpkin. His was cold and wet. “We’ve had this discussion before,” she told the big cat. “You’re not supposed to sleep on the bed.”

  He stretched out an oversized paw and patted her cheek with it.

  “Think you’re cute, don’t you?” But she ran her palm over his furry head and back in a long, loving stroke before she swung her legs off the side of the bed and got up.

  The movement was fluid, causing only the faintest twinge and accompanied by a little early morning stiffness—both reminders that she’d had major knee surgery less than two years earlier. Liss did a few stretches to limber up, but nothing close to the routine she’d once gone through to start every day.

  Her career as a professional Scottish dancer had ended abruptly with an injury that, while it did not prevent her from leading a normal life, had put an end to doing high-impact jigs and reels as a way of making a living. Liss still missed being part of Strathspey, a touring company intended to be to Scottish-Americans what Riverdance was to those of Irish descent. Gradually, however, she had come to appreciate what she was doing now. These days, the occasional ache in her knee and the stiffness that sometimes set in when she went too long without moving were petty annoyances rather than emotionally painful reminders of what she had lost.

  A quick glance through the corner window as she dressed was enough to tell Liss there was still no snow on the ground. In fact, it looked to be another clear, cloudless day. There were, however, two strange cars parked on the street in front of Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. A pickup truck she didn’t recognize sat idling outside The Toy Box.

  The number of vehicles had increased to seven by the time Liss slipped across the back way to the shop in preparation for opening at eight. A hopeful sign, she thought, and pretty much right on schedule.

  Word of a cache of Tiny Teddies in Maine had hit the Internet even before the first newspaper and television ads appeared on Thursday, along with a brief news item on the partridge-in-the-pear-tree ceremony. That was how Felicity Thorne had discovered what her ex was up to.

  By Friday morning, Liss had received several dozen e-mail inquiries. She’d sent the same reply to everyone: “Come to Moosetookalook, Maine, to shop. No mail orders will be filled.”

  As she’d expected, there had not been an immediate upsurge in business. Friday had been almost as slow as it usually was. Liss had been prepared for that. After all, most people had jobs. If they were going to drive to central Maine, a solid four hours northwest of Boston, they had to have the time to do it. That meant the weekend…and here were the first of them.

  She loaded the change from the safe into the cash register, turned on the lights, made one last check of the displays, pasted a smile on her face, and opened the door. That was the last moment she had to take a deep breath for the rest of the day.

  Within an hour, at least in terms of what was usual for a small, rural Maine town, hordes of shoppers had descended upon Moosetookalook. Liss was down to sixty Tiny Teddies in kilts by the end of the day. She’d done pretty well selling other items, too, and been kept so busy by the steady stream of customers that she’d barely had time to scarf down a couple of power bars and a soda for lunch and take a bathroom break. She had no idea what might be happening beyond the Emporium’s front door.

  She had seen the last customer out and was about to lock up when a bright red Lexus with Massachusetts plates screeched to a halt at the curb in front of The Toy Box. The woman who barreled out of the driver’s side, barely taking time to slam the door behind her, was swathed in layers of vivid electric blue. The garment appeared to be a cross between a Victorian greatcoat and a cloak—lots of capes attached.

  Shaking her head, Liss watched the woman race up the steps to the porch of the toy store and into Gavin Thorne’s shop. She didn’t look particularly young, which meant it was probably collecting fervor that put wings on her feet. Either that or she was an extremely dedicated grandma.

  Liss turned the dead bolt on her own door, lowered the shade over the glass, and headed for the half bath next to the stockroom. By the time she came out, someone was knocking with enough force to make the panes in the door rattle. Liss sighed. She had a pretty good idea who was on the other side. One glimpse of the woman in blue had been enough to tell her that she wasn’t the type who went away before she got what she wanted.

  “Just a minute!” Resigned to another delay before she could fix supper and put her feet up, Liss trudged through the shop to unlock the door.

  “Well, finally,” said the caped customer on the other side.

  She pushed past Liss into the shop, craning her neck and swinging her head from side to side, her beaklike nose all but sniffing the air. She was older than Liss had thought, with wattle showing above the neckline of her incredible coat. Liss couldn’t help but imagine her as a giant bird turning beady-eyed curiosity onto new territory.

  Just lately, birds had been much on Liss’s mind. This was the third day in a row she’d had poultry on the premises. The “first day of Christmas” had featured a partridge provided by the local taxidermist, but on Thursday she’d taken custody of two turtle doves—actually carrier pigeons—and yesterday she’d added a crate containing the chickens who had played the roles of “three French hens” in last night’s festivities. After a while she’d gotten used to the continual scratching sounds, but the truly incredible smell was something else entirely. Today, this evening’s “calling birds” had been delivered, one by one, during the height of the shopping frenzy. All four now resided in the stockroom with the rest of the livestock.

  “This is it?” The woman in blue was holding up one of Liss’s wee teddy bears. “You don’t have any other costumes?”

  “Sorry. We didn’t know they were going to become so collectible.”

  “No, I suppose you didn’t.” But the woman’s look said she should have. “Is this price right? $9.99?” She carried her prize to the sales counter where Liss was waiting.

 
“That’s right, and you also receive a free Yule candle.” She opened the box next to the cash register. “The Yule candle is a symbol of good will, given to you along with our wish for a fire to warm you by and a light to guide you.”

  The woman looked suspicious of this largesse, but dug a credit card out of an oversized shoulder bag and handed it over. The name embossed on it was Lovey FitzPatrick.

  “Here you go, Ms. FitzPatrick,” Liss said a few minutes later, handing over one of the bright red bags with Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium emblazoned on the side. “I hope you’ll be staying for the festivities this evening. We’ll have carolers out singing. Santa Claus will visit the gazebo in the town square. And since this is the fourth day of Christmas, according to the old song, we will be introducing our four calling birds.”

  “Unless you have more of these bears, I’ve got what I came for.”

  “You’ve already been to The Toy Box, I take it?”

  She snorted. “Oh, yes. Talk about overpriced!”

  “But he does have a dozen different bears, and—”

  Lovey FitzPatrick’s face turned bright red. “A dozen! That rotten liar!” Clutching the bag with the kilted bear and the candle, she stormed out of the Emporium.

  Through the plate glass of the display window, Liss watched her sail back across the street and into Gavin Thorne’s store. “Good luck to you both,” she murmured.

  This time when Liss locked up, she also turned out the lights. She wasn’t done for the day. Not by a long shot. She still had the next stage of the pageant to run. But she was through dealing with crazed customers until tomorrow.

  A raucous shout of “Bring me my tea!” from the stockroom made her jump. Her hand to her heart, she fought the urge to reply. Yelling “Get your own damn tea!” would have no effect, not when the one demanding service was a parrot.

  Liss entered the stockroom, her nose wrinkling at the smell of chicken manure. If she’d realized before she started this that she’d have to clean crates and cages, she’d have…done the same thing. With a sigh, she set to work cleaning, feeding, and watering. Chicken mash, she’d discovered, also had its own distinctive odor. It wasn’t unpleasant exactly, but she wouldn’t forget what it smelled like anytime soon.