A Wee Christmas Homicide (18 page)

“It was a hunch. You’ve heard my theory about smuggling Tiny Teddies.”

“All too often.” He removed his helmet and ran his hand over his short-cropped hair. “You know I don’t have jurisdiction over smuggling cases, right? There are channels I have to go through, rules to follow. Officers from the border patrol and customs are the ones who—”

Liss put her gloved fingers to his lips to stop the lecture. “We’re here now, Gordon. You can see for yourself that someone’s been using this route to get into Canada. Shouldn’t we at least look around?”

“Stay here.” He headed for the cabin.

“No way.” She caught up with him as he started to circle it.

There were no footprints showing in the snow except their own. Liss took that as a good sign. Scanning the ground, she almost ran into Gordon when he stopped abruptly right in front of her.

“Well, well,” he said.

A shed was attached to the back of the cabin, little more than a lean-to to keep the weather off what was stored there.

“An ATV,” Liss breathed, delighted at their discovery. She punched Gordon in the shoulder. “Maybe my theory wasn’t so far-fetched, after all.”

“Who owns this land?”

“Someone from out of state now, but he bought it from Jason Graye, and Gray got it from Felicity and Gavin—”

“Thorne!”

She winced at the sharp edge to his voice. Gordon was not happy.

“How do you know that?” he demanded.

“I asked.”

“Why?”

“Oh, well, that’s kind of a long story.”

“I have time.”

She stared at her boots. “I, uh, went to check on Eric Moss. I mean, no one had seen him for days. He might have been lying there in his house, injured, right?”

“Go on.” Stone-faced, he waited.

Wrapping her arms about herself, Liss stamped her feet, glad she’d taken Stu’s advice and worn mukluks. “Well, like most folks around here, Moss left his spare key over the door, so I went in,” she ignored the sound of teeth grinding together, “and I checked around for him. He wasn’t there, but he’d left behind a road atlas with this property circled in red. That made me curious.”

Deciding he didn’t need to know about the other visitor to Moss’s house that night, Liss sent Gordon a sunny smile and shut up.

“So much for you staying out of police business.”

“But Moss wasn’t police business. You weren’t interested in him. In fact, it’s all your fault, really, that I went to his place. I never would have if you hadn’t dismissed my suggestion out of hand.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Damn it, Liss! You withheld information germane to a murder investigation.”

“I did not! You’ve been telling me for days there’s no connection between Thorne’s death and Moss’s disappearance.”

Gordon looked as if he wanted to throttle her. “Give me a minute,” he growled. “Don’t move a muscle.”

While he stalked off around the cabin, Liss stared at the wooded landscape that surrounded it. It was quiet in the clearing. Too quiet. Liss was a small town girl, but that didn’t mean she liked total solitude. She’d be terrified if she was stranded out here alone.

Nervously, she glanced in the direction Gordon had gone. He wouldn’t go off and leave her here. He couldn’t be that ticked off.

Just to be on the safe side, she retraced her steps to the snowmobile, casting wary glances at the line of trees as she went. Bears hibernated. She didn’t have to worry about running into one of them. And moose were big and stupid but usually not a threat unless they were protecting their young.

The only danger she was in came from the man walking toward her. She knew at once that he was no longer Gordon. This was Detective Tandy. She expected him to produce his little spiral-bound notebook at any moment.

“All right, Liss. Let’s hear your theory.”

“There’s a link between the Tiny Teddies and Thorne’s death.” She’d thought so all along but he hadn’t wanted to listen. Well, he’d have to listen now. “Look at that!” She gestured toward the snowmobile trail. “That proves it. Someone has been crossing the border illegally.”

“That doesn’t mean they were smuggling, let alone bringing in contraband toys.”

“It doesn’t mean they
weren’t,
either!” She pointed to the trail beneath her feet. “Can’t you tell anything from looking at this?”

“Such as?”

“Whether or not the snowmobile was dragging a sled. How many times this trail has been used and in which direction. I don’t know! Something.”

“I’m a state trooper, not a Maine guide. When we get back to town, I’ll inform the game wardens and the border patrol and customs and anyone else this might concern and they’ll take over.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to do?”

He gestured at the pristine…and empty…landscape. “Do you see anyone I can arrest?”

“This was Thorne’s land.”

“And if Gavin Thorne was the one who was smuggling, I can hardly arrest him, can I?”

She took a deep breath. “My theory, since you
did
ask, is that Thorne was in cahoots with Eric Moss. Moss knew about this property. That proves he was involved somehow. And he’s the one who sold those bears to Marcia after Thorne’s murder.”

“Why are you so fixated on Eric Moss?”

“Because he
disappeared!”
Gordon could be so thick sometimes.

“Does Moss own a snowmobile?”

“I…don’t know.” Best to keep Sherri out of trouble. “He
could
. And it wouldn’t necessarily have to be registered, either.”

Gordon wasn’t buying it.

Gritting her teeth, she shifted tactics. If he thought Felicity Thorne had murdered her husband, so be it. The important thing was that smuggling had to have played a role in Thorne’s death. This clue—that trail leading into Canada—was important!

“Say it wasn’t Moss. Felicity could be the smuggler, and the murderer. She owns two snowmobiles and Cabot Katz has another.”

“And how is it that you know that?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

Liss was still groping for an answer when she heard the distant hum of an engine. She froze. Gordon frowned.

There was no doubt about it. The sound was that of another snowmobile and it was approaching at a good clip from the opposite side of the border.

There was no time to mount up and ride off. It was too late to go hide in the trees or inside the cabin.

“Stay behind me,” Gordon ordered.

“No problem.” For once, Liss had no objection to being protected. She couldn’t be certain they were about to come fact to face with a killer, but it was a distinct possibility.

The other machine appeared in the distance. At any moment, the driver would spot them standing beside Stu’s snowmobile. Out in the open. Exposed. Sitting ducks. Nervously, Liss edged a little closer to Gordon.

“I don’t suppose you brought your gun with you.”

“I was expecting a pleasant afternoon outing with a lady friend, remember?”

Gordon’s sarcasm stung, but Liss could hardly blame him for being a little peeved at her. She’d brought him here under false pretenses. It was all her fault if she’d put them both in the path of danger.

Liss shaded her eyes and squinted at the approaching vehicle. As it crossed into Carrabassett County from Canada she saw that there were two people aboard. She couldn’t tell much about either one of them, except that they were both heavily bundled up in snowmobile suits, one dark green and one navy blue. Helmets with full face masks further hid their identities, but it was easy to tell when the driver spotted them. Slushy snow slewed up in an arc as the approaching snowmobile skidded to a stop. The engine sputtered and died.

Since Stu’s machine was blocking the newcomer’s way to the groomed trail, Liss tried to convince herself that they’d had to stop. They’d have run right into it otherwise. Surely there was no reason to think there was anything sinister in the fact that the two riders were just sitting there, staring at them.

Gordon lifted a hand in a friendly wave. He ambled toward the other sled, a smile on his face. “Hey, there. Can you help us? We seem to be lost.”

Neither the driver nor the passenger answered.

Gordon had told Liss to stay behind him, but she wasn’t sure if that meant she should follow him or remain with the snowmobile. Keeping a wary eye on the two snowmobilers, Liss stuck close to Gordon.

If one of the riders was Felicity Thorne, she’d already have recognized both of them. Liss had removed her helmet, just as Gordon had, freeing her hair and exposing her face. If it was Eric Moss, he might not know Gordon on sight, but he’d surely have heard that Liss was keeping company with a state trooper. Residents of small towns like Moosetookalook thrived on gossip about the love lives of their neighbors. Odds were good that no one was buying the “we seem to be lost” ploy.

Gordon stopped a few feet away from the other sled. Liss still couldn’t identify either the driver or the passenger, but she saw Gordon tense as the driver reached into one of those many convenient outside zipper pockets.

“Get down!” he shouted, throwing himself to one side and taking Liss with him.

They dodged just as an explosion of sound shattered the December stillness. The last thing Liss saw before she landed facedown in a snowbank was the barrel of a gun pointed right at her.

C
lose to two hundred pounds of solid male crushed Liss deeper into the cold, wet ground just as a second bullet whizzed by. It came so close to hitting her that she felt a breeze as it passed.

Stunned and terrified, she made no attempt to move even though jagged shards of icy snow bit into her arm, her stomach, and her thigh. This was not the soft, fluffy variety. In spite of the layers of insulated padding she wore, she could feel every irregularity in the hard, uneven crust beneath her.

Her right hand had landed in a puddle. A trickle of frigid, half-melted sludge crept slowly under the cuff of her glove. In the catalogue of discomfort Liss was mentally compiling, that scarcely made the list. At the top was the fact that the entire left side of her face stung like the devil. It had struck a patch of snow that had refrozen solid as rock.

An engine roared to life. Stu’s machine? The killer’s? The sled sounded as if it were coming straight at them. Liss threw both arms over her head and squeezed her eyes shut, but at the last moment the oncoming vehicle veered aside.

Gordon’s weight pinned Liss’s legs, preventing her from rolling over. Her ears rang from the close-range gunshots. Her heart raced so fast she was convinced it was about to leap out of her chest. Still, she managed to lift her face out of the snow an inch or two, far enough to see that the other machine was breaking a new trail to circle around Stu’s sled.

Safely past that blockade, the snowmobile stopped again. The driver twisted around on the seat and once more lifted the gun. Unable to look away, Liss braced herself for the impact of a bullet. It never came. At the last second, the passenger knocked the weapon out of the driver’s hand. It sailed high into the air, landed hard enough to penetrate the icy surface of the snow, and disappeared into a deep patch.

The two on the snowmobile began to argue. Liss cocked her head, straining to catch a word or two. It was hopeless. Her ears were still ringing. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she had a feeling that the shooter wanted to go after the gun, or maybe turn the snowmobile around and try to run right over Liss and Gordon.

Gordon. Was he okay? He hadn’t moved since he’d fallen on top of her. She tried to tell herself he was playing possum, but a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach warned her that something was wrong with him. Had he been hit?

She’d just managed to prop herself up on her elbows when the engine revved again. As she watched, the snowmobile left the clearing, speeding off along the trail she and Gordon had come in on.

Once again Liss tried to roll over. “Gordon! Get up!” She shoved at his big, immovable body. “Gordon?”

Twisting at her waist, she finally managed to get a good look at him. His upper body was partially hidden from view by the angle of his fall, but she could hardly miss seeing that a spray of bright red drops had spattered across the white snow. He’d been hit by that first bullet and been bleeding as he fell.

Liss felt her face drain of color. Her breath caught and for a moment her heart seemed to stop beating. Her cry of distress seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness of the clearing.

Squirming, trying to free herself so that she could help him, she was once again horribly aware that he hadn’t moved since he’d landed on top of her. Unconsciousness was not a good sign.

“You can’t be dead,” she whispered. “Oh, God! Oh, God. Don’t be dead, Gordon. Please tell me I didn’t get you killed!”

One of her legs came free, then the other. On hands and knees Liss crawled along Gordon’s ominously still form until she reached his head.

He lay on his side in the snow, facing away from her. There was more blood on the whiteness pillowing his head. Afraid to touch him, afraid not to, Liss carefully rolled him over. The last thing she wanted was to do more damage, but she had to see where that blood was coming from.

A shallow graze, still oozing, scored Gordon’s forehead. Liss let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. This was good. At least according to the mystery novels she’d read, dead bodies didn’t bleed. If he was bleeding, that meant his heart was still pumping.

Belatedly, she gathered her wits sufficiently to bend down and place her ear on his chest. At first her own heart kept her from hearing his, but then she felt it beating strong and steady. Lifting her head, she touched his fingers to the pulse at his neck. That was even easier to find, and if anything was a little fast.

But he was still unconscious. Concussion? Shock? Brain damage? The wound didn’t
look
very deep, but what did she know?

The low groaning sound he made was the sweetest music she’d ever heard.

“Gordon! Wake up! They’re gone. We’re safe.”

Slowly, he opened his eyes. He blinked, as if he couldn’t quite bring the anxious face bending over him into focus.

“Gordon, are you okay?”

Stupid question! Liss could have kicked herself. She continued to kneel beside him, reluctant to encourage him to move in case there was more to his injury than she could see. There seemed to be quite a bit of blood, but head wounds always bled a lot. She’d read that somewhere, too.

“I’ll live.” The shaky note in Gordon’s voice was not reassuring. He sounded weak as a kitten. Weaker.

“You’ve been shot.”

“I got that.” He lifted one trembling hand to his forehead. Using his fingertips, he gently probed the groove. “You okay?”

“We got lucky. The passenger hit the driver’s hand and knocked the gun into the snow.” She shuddered, remembering. “It was aimed at me. We’d be dead right now if—”

“Think you can find it?”

It took Liss a minute to understand what he meant. The gun. He wanted her to look for the fallen gun. “I…I think so.”

“Get it.”

“Shouldn’t I dig out the first-aid kit first?” Berating herself for not remembering sooner that they carried one as standard equipment, Liss started to go after it. It might have been Gordon who’d been clipped on the head, but she was the one acting like she’d had her brain rattled.

Gordon caught her arm in a surprisingly firm grip. “Gun first. They might come back.”

That possibility was enough to send Liss crunching her way across the surface of the snow. It was icy on top but gave under her weight, sending a foot plunging downward with every step she took.

She expected to have to dig for the gun, but it proved easy to locate. It had fallen with the barrel pointing straight down. The handle stuck out at a right angle, as if waiting for Liss to reach down and wrap her hand around it.

Once she’d collected the weapon, Liss carried it carefully pointed away from herself. By the time she made her way back to Gordon, he was sitting up and had retrieved his helmet, which had landed a few feet away from him when he fell.

He took charge of the gun, tucking it carefully inside one of his zippered pockets. “Which way did they go?”

“Back toward the main trail.”

“How long was I out?”

“It seemed like eons. Where do you think you’re going?” In spite of her squawk of protest, Gordon levered himself to his feet.

“After them.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not planning on the gunfight at the OK Corral. I just want to see if we can get close enough to identify them.”

“We’ll never catch up. They’ve got too much of a head start.”

Doggedly, Gordon made his way toward the snowmobile. He staggered the first couple of steps and his progress remained noticeably unsteady.

“Dizzy?” she inquired, catching up to him.

“A little. Good thing you’re driving.”

“Yes, isn’t it.” She was not about to go chasing after that other snowmobile, no matter what Gordon wanted. She’d take him back to his truck and drive him to the hospital. He could like it or lump it.

While he fished in a pocket and produced a cell phone, Liss retrieved the first-aid kit.

“No signal.”

“And you’re surprised?” They were nowhere near a tower and deep in a valley, besides.

Liss cleaned the wound as best she could and applied a bandage. Gordon still looked dazed, but she felt more confident. His injury didn’t seem to be serious. Still, she intended to get him back home as quickly as possible.

She climbed onto the snowmobile. When they both had their helmets securely fastened and he’d wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, she started the engine.

She wouldn’t bother loading the snowmobile onto the trailer, Liss decided. They could pick it up later, once she was sure Gordon was really all right.

Proceeding slowly, they reached the groomed trail. They hadn’t gone far along it when Liss caught sight of the back end of another snowmobile. Gordon saw it, too. He let go of her waist with his right hand and reached for the throttle. She slapped his fingers away. Speed up when the driver of that sled had tried to kill them? No way!

“Get closer,” he shouted in her ear.

Maybe it wasn’t the same snowmobile, Liss thought. That one should be much farther ahead by this time.

But it was. The markings on the machine, the colors of the snowmobile suits the two passengers wore—everything matched. For whatever reason, they had delayed their getaway. Liss wondered if they’d stopped to argue over going back to the clearing to finish off inconvenient witnesses.

The driver glanced around and spotted Liss and Gordon. The sled sped up.

Gordon reached forward a second time.

Liss swiveled far enough to see his face. His eyes looked clear and they were fixed on the machine ahead. His determined expression convinced Liss that if she didn’t cooperate and let him get to the throttle, he’d probably hit the kill switch, dump her off, and continue the pursuit on his own. Once again she slapped his hand away, but this time she followed orders and increased her speed.

“Hold on,” she yelled over the noise of the engine.

They had nothing to worry about, she told herself. The bad guys no longer had a gun. But a wave of relief washed over her when they didn’t open fire.

Stu’s snowmobile hit a rough patch and slewed sideways. Her heart in her throat, Liss righted it and kept going. Nope. No danger of being shot at. Falling off the sled, however, was still a possibility.

Once again, Gordon shouted something into her ear, but she lost whatever he said to the roar of the engine.

The ride to the clearing had given Liss enough practice to feel comfortable on the snowmobile, even now when they were going faster than she liked. Figuratively, she shrugged her shoulders. She could do this, get close enough to the other sled to see the faces of the two riders.

Liss didn’t allow herself think beyond that goal. The coordination she’d acquired from her years as a professional dancer stood her in good stead as she leaned way, way out on a turn. Gordon’s grip on her waist tightened. He stopped trying to talk to her.

On the flat, she increased her speed yet again, in tandem with the snowmobile ahead of them. Concentration fixed on the spot of navy blue that was the passenger’s back, her vision narrowed to the width of a tunnel. She saw nothing but her quarry, heard nothing but the rush of the wind past her helmet.

Coming in, Liss had reduced her speed when she went over icy patches, but this time around there was no slowing down. When the killer threw caution aside and veered off the trail onto virgin snow, Liss did the same without a moment’s hesitation. Grimly determined not to lose sight of the other sled, she pushed Stu’s snowmobile to its limits, following every zig and zag of the hair-raising cross-country course the other driver set.

There was potential for disaster here. Liss knew it, but she shoved the possibility ruthlessly aside. She didn’t allow herself to think about the rugged terrain or the wretched condition of the snow or her own inexperience. She couldn’t afford doubts. She had to believe she could control and maneuver the sled. With absolute faith in her ability to respond to the constantly changing demands of their situation, she trusted her instincts and kept going.

Liss barely felt the jolts when they went airborne and landed hard. The cold meant nothing to her, nor the snow flying in every direction as she barreled along. A certain curious detachment had descended, making her feel as if she were outside the action, watching herself chase across the countryside.

At the same time, exhilaration filled her. She let her body flow with the movement of the powerful machine beneath her. Following the other sled’s lead was like improvising a dance with a partner.

On another level, she was aware that what she was doing was dangerous. Dangerous? It was just plain crazy. But she was on an adrenaline high and loving every moment of it. She couldn’t stop now, especially since, at long last, she was gaining on the other sled!

A fine mist struck Liss full in the face mask. Momentarily blinded, she felt her stomach clench in panic but even that didn’t slow her down. She swiped at the visor with one gloved hand and kept going.

Behind her, Gordon was molded to her back. His body shadowed hers as she leaned out on turns or bent low over the handlebars. His grip on her waist remained firm and he made no move toward the kill switch.

As Liss drew closer to the other machine, the driver looked back. Liss stared hard at the face mask. She couldn’t make out a single feature, but there was something….

Abruptly, the sled swerved into a heavily wooded area. Liss followed, automatically decreasing her speed. She had no interest in colliding with a pine tree at fifty miles an hour.

Thirty was still fast enough to feel the pull of gravity on turns. The ground came frighteningly close when she leaned a little too far into one of them. It was Gordon who pulled them upright again before they both tumbled off.

Liss almost lost her seat a second time when she followed the other sled off snow-covered ground onto a dirt road. The impact of dropping a foot from snow bank to hard-packed ground rattled every bone in her body.

Their quarry was getting desperate, taking wild risks. Snowmobiles had not been designed to do more than cross the occasional street or railroad track. Liss felt as if her teeth were being jarred loose as they raced along the rutted surface.