A Wee Christmas Homicide

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  “Are you going to keep it?” Sherri asked.

  “I don’t know yet. The owner may still turn up. Why? Are you looking for a pet for Adam?”

  “I wouldn’t mind, but my mother would have fits.” Ida Willett had moved in with Sherri and her son when she’d divorced Ernie and now cared for Sherri’s son while Sherri was at work. Sherri tried not to rile her. Finding a good day care provider wasn’t easy and it cost a small fortune.

  The kitten stopped eating to strop itself against Lumpkin’s front legs. The larger feline bristled and hissed.

  “Get over it,” Liss told him. To Sherri, she said, “If no one claims it by Christmas I’ll probably call the vet and make an appointment for a rabies shot and all the other vaccinations it needs.”

  Sherri wasn’t at all surprised. Liss had a kind heart. “Have you named it yet?”

  “It’s too soon.”

  Sherri glanced at her watch. “Nope. It’s too late. I’ve got to get back to work.” She couldn’t suppress a grin or control the tremor of excitement in her voice.

  Liss’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been at the crime scene all this time?”

  “Yup. And I’m going to stay on the case.” She preened just a bit. “You are looking at their local expert.”

  “Better you than me!”

  “I even provided Gordon with a clue.” She leaned closer to her friend and lowered her voice. “You can’t tell anyone this, Liss, but all the Tiny Teddies, the new ones, are missing.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe he sold them already.”

  “How many did he have?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know for certain where he got them or what costumes they were wearing. Not kilts. I’m pretty sure of that much.”

  “And?”

  Liss hesitated, but her internal debate didn’t last more than thirty seconds. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but this is a murder investigation. Tell Gordon he should probably have a little talk with Eric Moss.”

  Liss meant to stay clear of the murder investigation. She had other things to worry about—the change in venue for the ceremony, the presence of frustrated shoppers in town, and the press, not to mention possible proposals of marriage. And yet one question kept nagging at the back of her mind as she spent the afternoon making phone calls and fending off reporters: had the presence of Tiny Teddies in The Toy Box been responsible for Gavin Thorne’s murder? Each time the possibility surfaced, she shoved it firmly aside, even when it was asked by the same smiling television newswoman who’d covered the five golden rings ceremony.

  On the theory that the best defense is a good offense, Liss left the safety of her own house for the porch of the Emporium when she saw the news crew head that way. She’d already made a brief statement about how saddened the entire community was by the loss of one of its members. She intended to make an announcement about the evening’s entertainment—they’d decided to wait until tomorrow to continue the ceremonies—and then retreat.

  The woman with the microphone wasn’t interested in Liss’s spin. She had her own agenda. “Surely you must have some idea why he was killed? I understand Mr. Thorne had been charging outrageous prices for the remaining Tiny Teddies.”

  “I really can’t speculate.” Liss heard the hint of panic in her own voice and wished she’d left well enough alone. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the freezing temperature.

  “Were the Tiny Teddies stolen by the killer?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Any idea how many are left, then?”

  “I have not been inside The Toy Box, and even if I had, I don’t think I should be telling you anything. Talk to the police.” Vultures, she thought, moving closer to the entrance of the shop. Next they’d be asking her what she knew about Thorne’s love life.

  Instead, the reporter latched onto an even more troubling subject. “Is there any connection between this murder and the last one to take place in Moosetookalook?” The woman’s eyes were avid, as if she scented blood in this line of questioning.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Liss had one foot on the porch but turned back, eyes flashing with annoyance. “Mr. Thorne didn’t even live here back then. I repeat: if you have questions about his death, talk to the police. The only news story I have for you concerns tonight’s portion of our Twelve Days of Christmas Pageant.”

  “A little heartless, isn’t it? Going on with the festivities when there’s been a death?”

  “I am certain that Mr. Thorne would have wanted us to continue as planned.”

  That was certainly true. As Dan had suggested, had someone else been murdered, Thorne would have been the last one to miss a sale because of it.

  “However,” she continued, “tonight’s portion of the program has been postponed until tomorrow night and the combined seventh, eighth, and ninth days of Christmas will be celebrated at The Spruces, a lovely old hotel that has just been completely renovated. You may recall that it opened to the public last July. The festivities start at six o’clock.”

  Firing the last part of her announcement over her shoulder, Liss scuttled inside the safe haven of Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium and shut the door in the reporter’s face. Instinctively, she engaged the dead bolt and was glad she had when someone turned the knob, then rattled it aggressively. Fists thudded against the wood, louder than ordinary knocking.

  Determined to ignore the clamor to be let in, Liss stood with her back pressed against the inside of the door. The second round of pounding was violent enough to reverberate through her entire body. Or maybe that was trembling. She held one hand out in front of her and, sure enough, it was shaking.

  “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 on
line 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!”

  Chapter Nine

  “This 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.