Scone Cold Dead

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  She’d made that very clear to her coworkers when she’d started her last job and there had never been any trouble. Until recently, she’d been a corrections officer, dispatcher, and deputy—the three jobs were all one in rural Carrabassett County. She’d worked at the county jail, appointed by and responsible to the sheriff.

  Sometimes she regretted leaving the sheriff’s office for the police department, but not when she opened her pay envelope. The town fathers of Moosetookalook might be frugal, but they were nowhere near as miserly as the county commissioners.

  While a fresh pot of coffee brewed, Sherri resumed rambling. She stopped on the brink of entering the tiny holding cell in the P.D.’s closet-size third room. It probably had been a closet at one time, since it could only be reached through the office.

  “What were you planning to do?” she muttered to herself. “Dust?”

  Reversing course, she flung herself into the oversize chair behind one of the two desks in the larger room. The seat, which bore the permanent imprint of Jeff Thibodeau’s posterior, seemed to swallow her whole.

  This was not what she’d expected. Oh, sure, she’d always known police work was 99 percent boredom and 1 percent sheer panic, but—

  The shrill ring of the phone at her elbow startled her so badly that she let out a small squeak of alarm. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat as she reached for the receiver and put all the authority she could muster into her voice.

  “Moosetookalook Police Department. Officer Willett speaking.”

  Ten minutes later, Sherri strolled into Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. Although Liss hadn’t made a lick of sense on the phone, Sherri was relatively certain there was no crime in progress at the shop. Curiosity, rather than concern for her friend’s safety, had convinced her to forward all incoming calls to the P.D. to her cell phone and venture out on “foot patrol.”

  It took another ten minutes for Liss to bring Sherri up to speed. She recounted Gavin Thorne’s visit and its outcome, stopping now and again to answer Sherri’s questions.

  “So you do have more of these Tiny Teddies?”

  “Almost a hundred of them. And Marcia bought some too.”

  “Why?”

  “I liked the little kilts. I figured I’d corner the market on kilted teddy bears. I never expected—”

  “No, I mean why does Marcia have Tiny Teddies? She runs a consignment shop. Second Time Around stocks mostly clothing.”

  “She bought hers for decoration. They’re dressed like Santa’s elves. From what I can gather—I did some checking on the Internet—the company that makes Tiny Teddies only manufactures a limited number wearing any particular costume. That makes all the varieties more collectible.”

  Sherri nodded. Now that she thought about it, she’d noticed that the Tiny Teddies in the display window of The Toy Box, Gavin Thorne’s store, all wore different outfits. “So Tiny Teddies come in many varieties, in all sorts of get-ups. They’re considered collectibles by adults as well as being toys for kids. And if you really have cornered the market on teddies in kilts, you can name your own price. But if this is such a hot item, why haven’t buyers already found your supply? You put the bears in the online catalog at the Emporium’s Web site, right?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t call them Tiny Teddies.”

  “So update the description.”

  “I’ve had a better idea.” Liss’s changeable blue-green eyes gleamed with barely suppressed excitement. “We make the buyers come here. This could be just what Moosetookalook needs. There isn’t much time, but we do still have more than two weeks until Christmas. I’ve been making lists.”

  “Of course you have.” Liss always made lists.

  “First I have to talk to Marcia. Then to Gavin Thorne. And then we need to bring the whole town in on this.” Liss turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED, grabbed her bright green coat off the rack by the door and led the way back outside.

  A blast of cold air hit Sherri as soon as they left the Emporium. She looked hopefully at the sky, but there wasn’t a cloud in sight.

  They hurried past Stu’s Ski Shop with its life-size skier on the roof of the porch and dashed across the intersection of Pine and Birch Streets. Marcia and her husband had bought the corner house a few years back. In common with most of the old Victorians that surrounded the town square, the downstairs portion had been converted for use as a business while the upstairs rooms had been turned into an apartment. Marcia lived there alone now. Almost a year ago, apparently in the throes of a midlife crisis, Cabot Katz had decamped. Sherri had no idea where he’d gone, but several months later, Marcia had dropped the name Katz and gone back to being Marcia Milliken.

  A small bell above the door tinkled merrily and more melodiously than the one at the Emporium. Once inside the consignment shop, Liss waited a moment, then called out a greeting: “Anybody home?”

  “Hang on a sec!” The sound of a disembodied voice was followed by a flush. Sherri and Liss exchanged a rueful grin. When you owned a small shop there was rarely anyone available to cover for you when you needed to use the facilities.

  Marcia emerged through a door behind the small desk she used as a sales counter. She was a tall, angular woman in her forties with a pale complexion and wheat-colored hair. Unlike Liss, she did not wear her store’s stock. She was comfortably dressed in well-worn jeans and a cable-knit sweater. She needed the latter. Marcia kept the temperature in her building at a frugal sixty-two degrees.

  “Liss. Sherri. Hi. What brings you out on this nippy morning?”

  “Have you seen this?” Liss thrust the newspaper at her.

  Marcia’s eyes widened as she read. “Those dumb little bears? Get out of here!”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Two dozen. I didn’t buy them to sell. I’m using them for Christmas decorations.”

  Liss started to explain her plan but Marcia didn’t let her get very far.

  “eBay.”

  “What?”

  “Online auction. That’s the best way to sell them. Put the bears up one at a time. Set a nice high minimum bid for each one.”

  If this were a cartoon, Sherri thought, the artist would draw dollar signs in place of Marcia’s eyes.

  Liss looked horrified. “You can’t do that!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we have a chance to do something good for this whole town. Gavin Thorne has some of these Tiny Teddies, too. We need to go talk to him. If we work together, I know we can pull this off.”

  Marcia looked doubtful. “Are you sure you want to deal with Thorne? I can’t say as I like him much. I stopped by to welcome him to town when he first opened The Toy Box and he gave me such a chilly reception that I haven’t been back since.”

  “He’s recently divorced,” Sherri put in. “That tends to make folks sour.” She gave herself a mental kick when she realized Marcia might take that comment personally, but the consignment shop owner simply nodded in agreement.

  “He and his wife had a toy store in Fallstown,” Marcia said. “The wife got the building. Thorne got the contents.”

  Sherri tried to think if she’d heard anything else about Gavin Thorne, but the local grapevine had been remarkably quiet on the subject.

  “He did join the Moosetookalook Small Business Association,” Liss said, “but he hasn’t been to any meetings.” Quickly and concisely, she filled Marcia in on Thorne’s visit to the Emporium.

  “He tried to con you and you still want to work with him?” Marcia’s outrage showed plainly on her long, thin face.

  The show of temper surprised Sherri. Until now, Marcia had never struck her as one of those people with a short fuse. Then again, she didn’t know the woman well. Marcia was a relative newcomer to Moosetookalook. She hadn’t grown up in the village, as Sherri and Liss had.

  “It couldn’t hurt to talk to Thorne,” Liss insisted. “For one thing , he’s the closest thing we have to a local expert on toys.”

  A short time later, Ma
rcia in tow, Sherri and Liss retraced their steps past Stu’s Ski shop and the Emporium. They passed Liss’s house—one of only two surrounding the square that was still used exclusively as a residence—and turned onto Ash Street. The Toy Box was located in the center of that short block, between the post office and Preston’s Mortuary.

  Thorne’s shop had no bell over the entrance. The door closed, however, with a resounding thunk that echoed in every corner of the small store.

  “With you in a minute,” Thorne bellowed from behind a sales counter built so high that a child would have to reach above his head to pay for a purchase. It was also an awkward height for Sherri, whose friends universally described her as a petite blonde. It hit the taller Liss squarely at bosom-level.

  The minute stretched into several. Sherri and Marcia wandered off to inspect the shop’s offerings, leaving Liss to inch closer to its surly proprietor.

  Keeping her six-year-old son’s belief in Santa Claus in mind, Sherri browsed. Thorne had a great selection of action figures and shelves filled with board games and jigsaw puzzles, but the store seemed a trifle thin on miniature trucks and cars. Video games took up another significant section of shelving. So did toys for very young children. In a far corner she came upon two Tiny Teddies, one dressed as a ballerina, the other as a clown.

  Marcia joined her there. “There are ten more on a table on the other side of the shop. All different.”

  As one, they headed for the front of the store, arriving just in time to see Liss go up on her toes to prop her elbows on the polished wooden surface of the sales counter in order to thrust her face into Thorne’s peripheral vision. He gave a start and looked up from his computer screen with a glower.

  “We need to talk,” Liss said. When he stood, she stepped back and held out the newspaper.

  Thorne leaned over the sales counter, his expression still thunderous. The floor on his side was a good foot higher than the area where Liss stood, so that he loomed over her. Nobody, not Liss or Marcia and Sherri, who had formed ranks behind Liss, was impressed.

  Thorne did a double take at the sight of Sherri’s uniform. “You planning to arrest me?”

  His sneer faded when she just stared at him, her gaze level and no hint of a smile on her face. Holding her head at that awkward angle was giving her a kink in her neck—another black mark against the surly toy seller.

  “Come out of there!” Liss snapped the command in a no-nonsense voice.

  Thorne blinked hard behind his Harry Potter glasses and obeyed, descending the two little steps from the office area. He led them to a small seating area at the back corner of the store. Small was the operative word, since the chairs were designed for children. While Thorne leaned against the wall, Marcia dropped into a beanbag chair, joking that she’d probably need a forklift to get her up again. Sherri was small enough to ease into one of the child-size rockers but she still had to stretch her legs out in front of her to avoid a collision between knees and chest. Following Thorne’s example, Liss opted to remain on her feet.

  “How many Tiny Teddies you have?” she asked him.

  “Two crates. Mixed.”

  “Two hundred?”

  Sherri felt a slow grin spread across her face.

  “It looks as though the three of us may have the only supply of Tiny Teddies in New England. There are people everywhere who want them. If we work together, we all increase our profits.” Liss rubbed her fingers together in the universal gesture for money.

  “What do you have in mind?” Thorne’s aggression had vanished. He looked harmless again, even amiable, a short, middle-aged man with a sagging midsection and weak eyesight.

  “We make the customers come to us. That way the whole town benefits.”

  Thorne looked skeptical, but he kept listening.

  Liss took out the lists she’d tucked into her coat pocket and ticked off each point in turn. “One: get hold of the rest of the members of the Moosetookalook Small Business Association and tell them what’s going on. Two: attend the board of selectmen’s next meeting, which just happens to be scheduled for tonight. Both groups are a potential source of seed money. The selectmen know business has been slow, even with the boost Moosetookalook got when the hotel reopened last summer. So, when we ask for assistance to get the word out about our supply of Tiny Teddies—the financial wherewithal to run ads—I think they’ll go along with our request.”

  “Newspaper, television, or radio?” Thorne asked.

  “All three if we can swing it. The thing is, we want to do more than just attract customers to our own stores. We want to encourage shoppers to stick around long enough to spend money at all the local businesses. It’s short notice, but I think I can pull together a Christmas pageant—I’ve been thinking of it as The Twelve Shopping Days of Christmas.” She gave a self-conscious little laugh. “Maybe we could be a tad more subtle than that, so any suggestions for alternate names are welcome.”

  Sherri repressed a snort of laughter. Subtlety was not Liss’s strong suit, but Sherri had to give her friend credit for ingenuity. As Liss expanded on her idea—twelve days of special ceremonies, one for each stanza in the Christmas carol, culminating in a pageant on the last day that included them all—she could see how the events might encourage tourists to come to town.

  “I can find the ten ladies to dance and the eleven pipers,” Liss said, “but I may need some help recruiting leaping lords and milkmaids. And drummers. We’ll need twelve of them.”

  “Try the high school,” Sherri suggested. “Convince one of the teachers to offer extra credit to those who participate.”

  “When will you hold the final pageant?” Thorne asked. Whatever his earlier reservations, he sounded as if he’d now come around to Liss’s way of thinking. Although he still propped up the back wall of his shop, his stance had changed from studied indifference to rapt attention.

  “If we call Saturday the first day of Christmas, then the twelfth day will fall on Christmas Eve.” Liss frowned. “That’s wrong, of course. Twelfth Night is actually after Christmas, but since celebrations in the U. S. center on the twenty-fifth of December, we’ll just have to take a little poetic license. I—”

  “Christmas Eve is too late,” Thorne cut in. “You need to schedule things so that the final pageant falls on the weekend before Christmas.”

  Liss’s face fell as she mentally subtracted days. “That would mean we’d have to have to hold the first day’s ceremony tomorrow!”

  “Partridge in a pear tree, right?” Marcia asked.

  At Liss’s nod, Marcia gave a dismissive shrug.

  “No big deal if people miss that one. Or the next six, either.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Two doves, three hens, four calling birds, five gold rings, six swans, and seven geese. All poultry except for the rings, Liss—and boring! Until you start counting people, there won’t be anything interesting to see.”

  “Okay. Okay, you’re right. But on the twelfth day we can make a terrific spectacle out of all of them.” Her enthusiasm only momentarily dimmed, she rummaged in another pocket for a pencil and started making notes on the back of one of her lists. “We’ll put a pear tree up in the town square next to the municipal Christmas tree. I know a taxidermist who can supply a stuffed partridge. Jump ahead to—”

  “Jump ahead to customers arriving in droves to spend money,” Thorne interrupted, “and to the prices we’re going to charge. People will pay a heck of a lot more than ten bucks for these babies now.”

  Liss looked as if she wanted to object, but held her tongue when she saw Marcia’s eyes light up.

  After Thorne and Marcia had agreed to attend the selectmen’s meeting that evening with her, Liss and Sherri left the two of them engrossed in a discussion of the best wording for their ads.

  “Time to get back to the P.D.,” Sherri said. “You won’t need my help dealing with the MSBA. You’ve already got an in with the top man.” Dan Ruskin, newly elected as president by the other small businesspeopl
e in town, was one of the two men Liss had been dating since she’d returned to Moosetookalook seventeen months earlier.

  Sherri started to cross the square, then paused to look back over her shoulder. “By the way—thanks, Liss.”

  “For?”

  “Salvaging my morning. I was bored to tears.” She grinned. “And if this plan of yours actually works, it will also be thanks for all the overtime I’m going to earn working crowd control.”

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

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  Copyright © 2008 by Kathy Lynn Emerson

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  ISBN: 978-0-7582-1646-5