The Scottie Barked At Midnight (4 page)

Still on the phone, Deidre sent an absentminded wave in her direction. Desdemona, taking her cue like a pro, restored Liss's outerwear to her and hustled her out the door. Although Desdemona thanked her for bringing Dandy back safe and sound, Liss got the distinct impression that she was glad to see her go.

Shaking her head and smiling to herself, Liss got into her car. She tossed the set of DVDs into the backseat. She doubted she'd ever watch them. Although she wished Deidre and her Dancing Doggies well, she had no interest in the champion of champions competition.

 

Over a dozen new orders had come in online during the two days Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium had been closed. That counted as excellent news for a hardworking retailer. Liss got busy filling them first thing Wednesday morning. Packaging and shipping occupied her for several hours. During all that time, not a single live customer interrupted her work.

That was
not
good news.

Heating the shop in winter cost money. So did keeping the lights on. Liss reminded herself that this time of year was always slow, and that all the other businesses in Moosetookalook were hurting, too, but she couldn't help but feel discouraged. At The Spruces, business was booming. Surely some of those guests ought to feel an urge to shop for souvenirs of their vacation in Maine.

“Why should they?” she muttered as she ran a feather duster over a display of figurines in Scottish dress. “They're all on the ski slopes. In between runs, they spend their money on overpriced snack-bar sandwiches or buy new helmets, or goggles, or hand warmers.”

She put a little too much force into flicking the feathers and nearly sent a bisque bagpiper tumbling to the floor. She caught the delicate knickknack in the nick of time and returned it to its proper place on the shelf. Maybe dusting wasn't such a good idea just now. It wasn't as if anyone was going to come into the shop and run a white glove over the merchandise.

Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium had been founded by Liss's grandfather and carried on by her father and his sister, Margaret MacCrimmon Boyd. When Margaret had decided she'd rather work at the hotel instead, as events coordinator at The Spruces, Liss had bought her out and taken over the business.

She was making a profit, she reminded herself, albeit a small one. So was Dan, with his shop, Carrabassett County Wood Crafts, situated right next door. And at certain times of year the entire village was a tourist mecca. “Summer complaints” came by the busload to shop in the quaint little stores around the town square. They did well in leaf-peeper season, too, but the end-of-winter doldrums still got Liss down. March was such a dismal month.

“And that,” she said aloud in a firm voice, “is exactly why the March Madness Mud-Season Sale was invented.”

Returning to the sales counter, she pulled out the clipboard that held her to-do lists for the upcoming event. In previous springs, the sale had given her a nice bump in business. With any luck, it would boost the Emporium's profits once again this year. If it didn't, she'd have only herself to blame. She and Audrey Greenwood were the ones in charge. It fell to them to make the March Madness Mud-Season Sale a huge success.

Liss read through her itemized lists, pleased to note that most of the tasks were already checked off. The printer had delivered the flyers in good time, and they had already been distributed all over the county. Posters were up everywhere, too. She'd caught a glimpse of one on the information kiosk as she'd driven past the lodge at Five Mountains Ski Resort. Still, with only a few weeks to go, she didn't dare leave anything to chance. She reached for the phone.

Her first call was to her aunt. On the fifth ring, Margaret picked up. She sounded distracted.

“Is this a bad time?” Liss asked. “I just wanted to go over a few details for March Madness.”

There was a long hesitation before her aunt answered. “I'll be home early this afternoon. Why don't we talk then?” Margaret might have sold her share in Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium to her niece, but she continued to live in the apartment above the store.

“Sure,” Liss agreed. “That's fine. I—”

She held the phone away from her ear. She was talking to dead air.

Margaret's job at the hotel kept her busy. Not only did she handle arrangements for large groups, she also acted as troubleshooter once a conference or reunion or sales meeting was under way. She was a remarkable woman in every way—cheerful, energetic, and well organized. It was rare that anything left her frazzled. Liss hoped nothing was seriously wrong. She supposed she'd find out in good time.

Meanwhile, she had work to do. Shaking her head, she dialed the next number on her list and was sent straight to voice mail. When the beep to leave a message sounded in Liss's ear, she rattled off the question she had for the owner of the little jewelry store on the other side of the town square. The lucky duck was probably waiting on a customer. Or else she was taking a bathroom break. That was the downside of running a one-person operation. When nature called, Liss had to take the chance no one would come in while she was occupied, or else lock up and put the
BACK IN FIFTEEN MINUTES
sign in the window.

By the time Margaret walked into the Emporium at three that afternoon, Liss had delegated a half dozen minor tasks and arranged for an ad on the news page of the
Daily Scoop.
She glanced up as the bell over the door jangled, shopkeeper smile in place.

“It's only me,” Margaret called out.

“Well, at least now I know the bell still works.”

“That bad?”

Liss came out from behind the counter. “Typical March doldrums.”

“How well I remember, and back before you created the website and set up online ordering, all we had to fall back on were mail-order sales. Things are better now.”

“If you say so.”

Liss's brow furrowed as she watched her aunt. Margaret lacked her usual energetic manner. And when had she lost all that weight? Her clothes hung loosely on her frame, as if she'd bought them a size too large. There was something else that was different about her, too, but it took Liss a minute to figure out what it was.

“You're wearing glasses!”

Taken aback by her niece's vehemence, Margaret snatched them off. “What of it?”

“Since when have you needed glasses?”

Although Liss saw her aunt nearly every day, she realized now that she didn't always
see
her. Margaret was nearly sixty-six, and today she looked her age. The lines around her eyes and mouth were deeper than Liss remembered. Laugh lines, Margaret would call them, but to her niece, their presence was worrying.

“For Heaven's sake, Liss. I've worn contact lenses for ages.” Jamming the glasses back into place on the bridge of her nose, she headed for the stockroom, where she knew she'd find a pot of coffee that was more-or-less fresh.

“I never knew that.” Liss followed her.

“I've had them since before you were born, so I suppose it isn't surprising that you never noticed.”

In the distant past, when this building had been a single-family dwelling, the stockroom had been a kitchen. Standing in the doorway, Liss studied her aunt. She'd noticed when Margaret had stopped dying her hair bright red several years earlier. She'd let it go to a natural grayish brown. But when had it turned such a light gray that it was nearly white?

“Why switch to glasses at this late date?” Liss kept her voice level, but it wasn't easy. The fear that something was seriously wrong with her aunt grew stronger by the minute.

Margaret turned, a mug of coffee in one hand. “You should see your expression. It's no big deal. My left eye has been bothering me and the contacts irritate it. Nothing to worry about.” Holding a mug full of coffee in both hands—she had a touch of arthritis and tended to be extra careful about avoiding spills—she retraced her steps. “Shall we sit down? I believe you wanted my help with March Madness.”

“After you.”

Liss watched Margaret with a critical eye as the older woman made her way to the “cozy corner” of the shop. Was she making too much of her aunt's slower pace and the excessive care she took to maneuver around various display cases, clothing racks, tables, and shelving? She wasn't imagining the lack of chatter. Ordinarily, Margaret talked a mile a minute, to match the brisk pace that was her usual walking speed.

“How long have you had that pair of glasses?” Liss asked when the outdated style belatedly suggested a more benign explanation for Margaret's cautious behavior.

“About ten years, and yes, I do need a new pair, but I can manage well enough until my next appointment with the optometrist. Don't fuss over me, Liss. It's a minor inconvenience.” She claimed one of the two comfortable armchairs in the cozy corner and set her mug down on the coffee table situated between them. “Now, tell me how I can help with the sale.”

Being out of focus explained the stumbling and fumbling, but not the weight loss. Was she just working too hard? Or was something more ominous behind the dropped pounds?

“I appreciate this,” Liss said, trying to be subtle, “especially when you're probably right out straight at the hotel.”

“Just the usual.” Margaret sipped coffee and avoided meeting Liss's eyes.

So much for subtlety. “Ever think about retiring?”

“Retirement is for old people,” said her aunt. “March Madness?”

For the moment, Liss gave up trying to get more information out of her and concentrated on the matter at hand. As always, Margaret had good suggestions to offer. She gave Liss's optimism a boost at the same time, despite the fact that their entire conversation took place without interruption by walk-in customers.

“Don't be such a worrywart,” Margaret advised as Liss gathered up the lists she'd spread out on the coffee table and reattached them to her clipboard. “You're good at organizing this sort of thing. March Madness will turn out beautifully. You'll see.”

“I hope you're right.” Liss glanced at her watch. “The ad in the
Daily Scoop
should be up and running by now. Want to see it?”

Liss had brought her iPad to the cozy corner along with her lists, although she hadn't used it. There was something about putting felt-tip pen to paper, and being able to see what she'd scratched out, that gave her a clearer picture of what she was doing. She turned the device on and clicked on the shortcut to the online newspaper. Ignoring the lead news story, she fixed her gaze on the right-hand column, where the ads were located. They were shaped to resemble business cards, and the one Liss had designed was right at the top.

It read:
SAVE BIG AT MOOSETOOKALOOK'S MARCH MADNESS MUD-SEASON SALE
. Beneath the text, a small animated moose loped across the bottom of the rectangular space.

“Is the moose too distracting?” Liss frowned, debating whether or not to keep the animation.

Margaret took the tablet from her to study the effect. She had to try several distances before she could see the screen properly, more proof that she needed new glasses. “The moose disappears for a few seconds between passes. That's plenty of time for someone looking at the ad to absorb the fact that the sale will take place on the last day of March from eight in the morning until eight at night.”

Relieved, Liss took the iPad back and rested it on her knees. “You're right. And you're probably right about me worrying too much, too.”
About all kinds of things,
she added to herself. “Did I tell you there's going to be a feature story in the
Daily Scoop
on the twenty-ninth? I already gave Jerrilyn an interview.”

Margaret smiled. “Jerrilyn? Don't you mean ‘our intrepid staff reporter'?”

“Right.” Liss couldn't help smiling back. Jerrilyn was the editor's college-age daughter. Like most local businesses, the
Daily Scoop
was a family affair.

“No doubt there will be last-minute troubleshooting to do,” Margaret said, “but right at this moment I can't think of anything you've overlooked. Why don't you treat yourself to a few days off while it's so quiet?”

“I've already been closed two days this week.”

“Yes. It's called a weekend, even if it is a Monday and a Tuesday. But you still work too hard. You and Dan both. Life is short. You should enjoy it more.”

“Look who's talking. When did you last take time off?”

Margaret laughed. “Trust me, I have a well-balanced life. Besides, I love my job.”

“And Dan and I took a vacation last November.” That it hadn't turned out to be very relaxing hadn't been Liss's fault.

Shaking her head, Margaret drained the last of the coffee from her mug. “There's nothing wrong with taking off more than one week a year.”

“I have been thinking I could kick back and relax right here in the shop for part of the day.” Liss waved a hand to encompass the cozy corner. “You know—catch up on my reading. Especially if the dearth of live customers continues until the end of the month.”

“That's not exactly what I had in mind, but I suppose it's better than nothing. If you have a lull, I say take advantage of it.”

“I am tempted,” Liss admitted. “I must have bought a dozen novels from Angie's Books and downloaded at least that many again that I haven't had time to read.”

As she spoke, she glanced down at the iPad in her lap, thinking of the three apps she had for books, one each for Kindle, NOOK, and iBooks. The
Daily Scoop
was still showing on the screen. A few minutes earlier, Liss had only had eyes for her March Madness ad. Now, belatedly, the lead story on the left-hand side of the page caught her attention.