A Wee Christmas Homicide (10 page)

“This is a disaster,” she muttered.

The creak of the stairwell door opening made her jump.

“It’s just me.”

Margaret stepped into the shop, casting a nervous gaze toward the display window. One obnoxious reporter had his nose pressed to the outside of the plate glass. Liss hoped it froze to the surface.

“I was thinking about getting a breath of fresh air, but maybe not.”

Liss crossed to her aunt, peering anxiously into her face. She had a hollow-eyed look but she’d brushed her hair and put on makeup and doused herself in perfume, a different scent from the last time. This one was muskier, with hints of carnation and maybe heliotrope.

“How are you feeling?” Liss asked. “Should you be out of bed?”

Margaret sniffed. “I’m not some frail old lady who needs cosseting, and don’t you dare offer to make me a nice cup of tea.”

“What happened to having the vapors?”

“Been there. Done that.”

“Bought the T-shirt,” they finished in unison and suddenly Liss felt much better.

“Let’s slip out the back way and go to your place,” Margaret suggested. “If we move fast enough, maybe no one will notice.”

A few minutes later they were settled in Liss’s living room. Margaret had a rum and cola in hand, in spite of the early hour. Liss had poured herself a glass of white wine. “Good thing there’s no pageant tonight,” she murmured as she sipped. “I don’t think I’m up to making a speech.”

“What was scheduled? Milkmaids, right?”

“Yup. Eight maids a-milking.”

“So…cows?”

Liss managed to keep a straight face. “No space to house them in the stockroom.”

“Papier mâché cows?” Margaret suggested with a faint smile.

“Eight girls from the middle school, dressed as milkmaids. They’re going to present a program of winter-themed songs. Their music teacher will start off by explaining that they’re milking the occasion for all it’s worth.”

Margaret groaned loudly and had another sip of her drink. “So, tell me, Liss. What have you got planned next for the Emporium?”

Well here it was—show time! “I was thinking about reducing the Emporium’s hours and relying more on mail orders and online sales for business. That’s where most people go to buy these days. If the shop wasn’t part of the house, if you had to rent retail space, it wouldn’t be profitable at all.”

“What if more folks interested in things Scottish decided to come to Moosetookalook?”

“Like that’s going to happen! Besides,” Liss waved a hand, almost overturning her glass, “look how badly this Tiny Teddies thing turned out.”

“First of all, the Tiny Teddies haven’t turned out badly at all.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

Aunt Margaret sent her a quelling glance. “I never sugarcoat the truth. You had a brilliant idea and it is not your fault that man got himself killed. But I’m getting off track. What I really wanted to tell you is that I won’t be working at the Emporium any longer.”

There was a note of defiance in her voice. She flung her announcement at Liss as if she expected to be challenged. Very deliberately, Liss set aside her glass. “What
do
you have planned?”

“I want to sell you my share of the shop.”

Stunned, Liss couldn’t think of a single thing to say. With a sense of surprise, she realized that her mouth was literally hanging open. She closed it with an audible snap.

“I intend to get out of the retail business,” Aunt Margaret continued. “Even before…everything that happened…I was growing tired of being tied down to a store, and I have no interest in all this online stuff.”

“But…but…I thought you came back to—”

“I returned to Moosetookalook because it’s my home. I am moving back into my apartment. But I don’t want to do the same old thing for the rest of my life. I was in a rut, Liss. Now that I’ve climbed out of it, I don’t intend to tumble back in.”

“But what will you do? I can come up with the money to buy you out. That’s not a problem. But that won’t give you much to retire on.”

“Who said anything about retiring? I have a new job lined up.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to be pumping gas for Ernie Willett.”

Her aunt burst out laughing. “Ernie is part of the personal side of my life. He’s not involved in the business end.”

Somehow, Liss did not find that information as comforting as Margaret intended. “What are you planning to do, then?”

“I’ll be working at The Spruces as events coordinator. I’ll be in charge of bringing in conferences, conventions, and social gatherings like weddings.”

“That’s…great.”

“That’s good for us both.” Margaret’s eyes sparkled. Gray hair or not, she suddenly looked years younger. “Do you have any idea how many groups revolve around the Scottish heritage of their members? If even a fraction of them come to The Spruces, you’ll have a built-in customer base.”

Liss picked up her wineglass. “A toast, then. To our future.”

Margaret drank, draining her tumbler. “Now, then, on to another important matter.” She ran an assessing gaze over her surroundings before she fixed her niece with a gimlet stare. “Amaryllis Rosalie MacCrimmon, this house of yours is a disgrace!”

“What?” Affronted, Liss surreptitiously searched for dust bunnies, dirty socks, or discarded cutlery. She saw nothing to warrant criticism in her neatly organized and more-or-less recently dusted and vacuumed living room. “What do you mean?”

Margaret laughed at the expression on her niece’s face. “I mean, Liss, that here it is almost Christmas and you haven’t put up a single holiday decoration!”

“T
his was a good idea.” Dan’s approving gaze scanned the revelers in Liss’s living room and came back to rest on Liss herself. She was looking especially fine in a bright red sweater and snug jeans. She’d tied back her hair with a length of green and red striped ribbon. A tiny wreath pin decorated the right side.

A helpless shrug accompanied a slightly embarrassed smile. “I have no idea how this turned into a party. It was just going to be Margaret and me, putting up a tree and a few other do-dads. Then Ernie Willett showed up—I think Margaret phoned him and invited him over—and you dropped by, and before I knew it I had a house full of people.”

“So you didn’t invite Tandy?” Dan hoped that sounded casual.

Liss’s speaking glance told him the attempt at subtlety had failed. “I didn’t invite
anyone.
They just turned up. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but this isn’t the quiet evening at home I envisioned.”

In addition to Ernie Willett, Gordon Tandy, Sherri and Pete, and Dan himself, the entire Hogencamp family had joined the party. Pete had brought pizza and Patsy had sent over a box of cookies in the shape of snowmen from the coffee shop.

“Heard you took the whole day off from work,” Dan said. “Hope you weren’t bored.”

“Hardly. And I actually managed to spend a few quiet hours with a good book.”

“Have you read everything in the house yet?”

Liss laughed. In the adjoining room was the sizeable library she’d inherited along with the house and Lumpkin. “Not quite, but that hasn’t stopped me from adding to the collection.” She took a sip of the eggnog Margaret had made. “I hate to say it, but I may have to weed out some titles. I’m rapidly running out of shelf space.”

“Have you got a star for the top of the tree?” Aunt Margaret called from the other side of the room.

“I’ve no idea.” Liss bent to look through the large cardboard box she’d just opened. “I don’t have any decorations of my own,” she explained to Dan as she burrowed through an odd collection of Christmassy bits and bobs. “I didn’t bother to buy any last year because I spent the holidays with Mom and Dad and Aunt Margaret in Arizona.”

“A pitiful excuse,” Margaret said with a sniff as she joined them in exploring the contents.

“So where did these ornaments and the lights and all come from?” Dan pulled a moth-eaten Christmas stocking out of the mix.

“There were five boxes of them up in the attic, clearly labeled
XMAS DECS.
”

Margaret stood back, hands on hips to survey the room. “There’s something missing. Where’s the choir?”

Liss gave her aunt a blank look, but Dan knew what she meant. “Those little candles shaped like choirboys and choirgirls, right? I remember them. They go on the mantel. There should be one big one—the choirmaster—in blue.” The little ones, representing children, were dressed in choir robes with red skirts and white tops. Last time he’d seen the display, there had been at least a dozen pieces.

“I didn’t see any more boxes in the attic,” Liss said.

“They wouldn’t be stored there. It gets too hot in the summer. How about the root cellar.”

“What root cellar?” Liss asked.

He gave her an incredulous look. “How long have you lived here?”

She glared back. “You know exactly when I inherited this house and all its contents. I admit I don’t spend a lot of time in the cellar, but I don’t remember seeing any separate rooms down there.”

“Come with me.” Grabbing her hand, he towed her out into the foyer and down the hall to the combination dining room and kitchen. Off the dining area were two doors, one that led to a closet and the other to the stairs to the cellar. Before they started down, he pointed to the window opposite. “What do you see when you look out there?”

“Snow.” She made a face at him.

“Under the snow?”

“Grass? Come on, Dan. I’m no good at guessing games.”

“Your cellar has an outside entrance through a set of bulkhead doors.”

“Oh. That’s right. It does.”

“I’m betting you’ve never even had them open.”

“No bet.” She followed him down the steep steps and across the cement floor of the basement to the door that clearly led to the other way out. “We can’t use this exit now. There’s too much snow on top of it.”

“We’re not going out.” He opened the door and ushered her through, pulling the cord for the lightbulb hanging in the tiny space at the foot of the stairs. “There.” He gestured to the right. “That’s the root cellar.”

What looked like a solid wooden surface turned out to have a latch. When Dan lifted it, the metal screamed. It had been awhile since anyone had been inside.

Dan ducked and passed through the low door into a small, chilly room lined with shelves. Liss followed, gaping at the number of homemade preserves stored there. On the top shelf were assorted boxes, all carefully labeled.

“I had no idea this room was here.”

He shouldn’t be surprised, Dan thought. His house—the one Liss knew best from living there while she was growing up—didn’t have one. Some of the other places around the square did, others didn’t. “You could use it to store produce like apples and potatoes,” he suggested. “Stock up for the entire winter.”

“Or, as some of my favorite mystery authors might say, this would make a great place to hide a body!”

Chuckling, Dan rummaged through the boxes until he located the one marked
CANDLES.
Opening it, he burrowed in the tissue paper packing and pulled out three of the little wax figurines.

“They’re adorable!” Liss exclaimed in delight. “And they’re in great shape. How old to you think they are?”

“Older than either of us, that’s for sure.”

“Probably collectible,” Liss murmured, turning one of the small figures over in her hand to look at the manufacturer’s name. Carefully, she placed all three back in their tissue paper nest.

“Could be,” Dan agreed. If they were, he hoped they weren’t one of the more popular items with collectors. One Christmas craze per year was more than enough for him.

Carrying the box, he headed back across the cellar. He stepped aside to let Liss go up the stairs first, then almost ran into her when she stopped abruptly on the landing. The low murmur of voices reached him from the other side of the door. Recognizing Gordon Tandy’s voice, he kept silent.

“Give her my apologies,” Tandy said, “but no details. I’m counting on your discretion, Sherri.”

Dan stood too close to Liss to miss her reaction. At Tandy’s words she went rigid. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“No problem, boss.” Sherri said.

Dan pictured her wearing a cheeky grin. He heard the back door open and close as the state police detective left. A light patter of footsteps marked Sherri’s return to the living room.

When Liss remained frozen in place, Dan wondered if she was counting to ten. Was she upset that Tandy had taken off? Or was it the fact that the state trooper had warned Sherri not to confide in her that ticked her off? By the time Liss cautiously opened the cellar door, Tandy was long gone. The kitchen’s only occupants were feline. Lumpkin perched on top of the refrigerator while the kitten was crouched below, trying to figure out how to climb up there with him.

“Something’s going on,” Liss muttered.

“Police business,” he reminded her.

“Maybe I can worm it out of Sherri.” But she made no move toward the living room. “No, maybe not.”

Dan set the box on the kitchen counter. Taking Liss by the shoulders, he gently turned her toward him until he could see her troubled expression.

“What we just overheard…I hadn’t realized till then how much Sherri risks every time she confides in me. I don’t want to put her on the spot.”

“So you won’t ask her any questions about the case. Why is that a problem? You were going to stay out of the investigation anyway, remember?”

“How could I forget with you and Gordon reminding me every five minutes!”

“Whoa! Don’t bite my head off.” He dropped his arms and stepped back.

“Sorry.” One hand went to her forehead, rubbing it as if to ward off a headache. “I just…I like tossing ideas around with Sherri. That’s all. I’m not getting involved!”

Dan thought the lady protested a bit too much, but there was no point in saying so. Let her be mad at Gordon Tandy, not him. Retrieving the carton, he carried the candles into the living room, entering just in time to hear Pete suggest that everyone sing Christmas carols while they finished decorating.

Liss waved her hand in the air in the manner of a pupil trying to get a teacher’s attention. “No musical talent whatsoever, remember?”

“I thought you learned to play the bagpipes when you were a kid,” Dan teased her.

“I
tried
to learn. It was not a success. My best effort sounded like cats strangling. And I’m definitely no singer.”

Dan tried to think if he’d ever heard her vocalize. Nothing came to mind. He found himself intrigued. Something Liss couldn’t do well? This he had to hear.

She remained stubbornly silent while the others belted out “Good King Wenceslas.”

Dan poked her in the ribs. “Come on,” he whispered. “You can’t be
that
bad.”

“I can’t carry a tune.”

“No one cares.”

“So you say
now.”

“I may not have much tolerance for bagpipes, but I can put up with a little off-key singing.” He winked. “Besides, if it’s really awful, I’ll just stick my fingers in my ears.”

In a cheerful mood and well rested, Liss stepped out onto her front porch to check on progress at the crime scene before going to work the next morning. The yellow tape was still up, flapping in the breeze, but there didn’t seem to be anyone inside The Toy Box. There were, however, a great many cars parked along Liss’s end of Pine Street and onto Ash, where Thorne’s shop stood. Puzzled, she turned the other way, toward the Emporium…and froze.

More vehicles of every shape and size, including a Winnebago, lined all four sides of the town square. At the corner where Pine met Birch Street, they were double parked and creating a traffic jam in front of Second Time Around, Marcia’s consignment shop. Liss narrowed her eyes against the glare of the winter sun on snow. A half dozen people were crowded onto Marcia’s front porch and two of them looked as if they were about to pummel each other. Wondering if someone was going to have to call in the riot squad, Liss hastily did up the buttons on her coat and headed that way. Opening the Emporium could wait a few more minutes.

All the “regulars” were there. Lovey Fitzpatrick—wearing bright crimson this time—and the man in the gray coat, and two or three others Liss recognized as people who had bought one of her kilted bears and gone on to shop at The Toy Box. Just as Liss started up the porch steps, Marcia unlocked the door and the crowd surged inside.

Liss followed more slowly, taking time to read the sign Marcia had posted. Second Time Around did not have a display window, or even a bow or bay window in the front room. Two normal-sized windows flanked the door. A notice had been taped to the inside of one of them:
NEW SUPPLY OF TINY TEDDIES AVAILABLE NOW. FIRST COME, FIRST SERVED.

Lovey Fitzpatrick’s shrill voice rose above the hubbub inside the shop. “What do you mean you’re holding some back?”

“Just what I said.” Marcia glanced Liss’s way and grinned at her. “I intend to auction off the last of the lot to the highest bidder on the final afternoon of the pageant.”

“How many?” the gray man demanded.

“Which design?” someone else wanted to know.

Marcia whipped out a stack of fliers, complete with pictures. Hands grabbed them away from her. She laughed and reached under the sales counter for more. Eventually, one made its way to Liss.

She waged a brief battle with herself over whether or not to stay and find out where the bears had come from, but Marcia’s plan to auction off some of them at the pageant made that information Liss’s concern. She waited for a break in the buying frenzy—a near riot by Moosetookalook standards—and slipped close enough to speak privately with a flushed and excited Marcia.

“Where did you get the bears?” she asked in a low voice.

“They’re not counterfeit, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Marcia whispered back.

“I wasn’t.” Liss hastily made the “cross my heart” gesture. She truly didn’t suspect Marcia of anything underhanded.

Marcia took money from a customer and rang up the sale. She was charging $150 a bear. Reasonable, Liss supposed, at least compared to Thorne’s prices.

Things got busy again after that, but Liss stubbornly stuck around.

“You still here?” Marcia asked a half hour later. The rush had subsided to a trickle.

“I’m still here.”

Marcia sighed. “Okay. Okay.” She peered around the store, as if to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. “I suppose you’ve got a right to know, since you’re the one in charge of the pageant and the auction.”

“Yes. The auction I didn’t know we were holding.”

Marcia just grinned at her. “But it’s a brilliant idea, isn’t it? It will keep people here through the weekend.”

“The bears, Marcia—where did they come from?”

“Spoilsport. Well, I kept a couple of the elves back. I said I was sold out but I really wasn’t.” She shrugged. “I saw what Thorne was doing to the prices, so I thought, why not? See how high they go, then reveal my own ‘last bear in New England’ to the world.”

“You’ve got more than a couple of elf bears now,” Liss persisted. “Did you buy them from Eric Moss?”

“Second thoughts? Too late, Liss. He may have offered them to you first, but you turned him down. Your loss. My gain.”

“No problem. I thought his price was too steep. You know that. I left you a phone message to tell you so.” Marcia looked smug. “So you bought them? The entire batch?”

“Yup.”

“I thought you only took things on consignment.” And she’d
thought
Moss had sold his bears to Gavin Thorne.

“That’s the way it usually works, but this deal was too good to pass up.” She chuckled. “You know what they say about something that sounds too good to be true, but as far as I could see there wasn’t any downside to this deal.”