Kaitlyn Dunnett - A Wee Christmas Homicide

B anners reading HAVE A JOYOUS YULETIDE, MERRY NOLLAIG BEAG, and HAPPY HOGMANAY decorated the interior of Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. A box of Yule candles sat next to Liss MacCrimmons day-by-day calendar on the sales counter. It was open to the current pageTuesday, the ninth of December.

As Liss wielded a feather duster and rearranged stock, a snippet of an old Christmas carol lodged in her mind and stuck there. Christmas was coming. The geese were getting fat. Or at least Liss supposed they were, not being acquainted with any personally. But with sales virtually nonexistent, she had a scant supply of pennies to put in the poor mans hat.

Or was it the old mans hat?

Liss never could remember the exact lyrics. She wasnt much of a singer, either. Alone in the shop, she contented herself with humming the melody aloud. Even that small musical effort was off-key, but not far enough to silence her.

A glance through the plate-glass display window at the front of the store revealed the same bare, unappealing landscape shed seen every other time shed looked. Skeletal branches reached up into an impossibly blue sky, starkly silhouetted against that cloudless backdrop. On the ground, patches of dead, yellow-brown grass alternated with piles of rotting leaves, pummeled by hard rains into shapeless, colorless lumps of vegetation. The vivid hues that had brought tourists flocking to Maine in the fall were only a distant memory.

Bright morning sun made the scene even more depressing. Still no snow. How could it not snow in Maine in December?

Think snow, Liss muttered to herself. I ought to put that on a banner.

People had a right to see the white stuff on the ground by now. Skiers expected to be able to take their first outing of the season during Christmas vacation, if not before. Even more important, the residents of Carrabassett County needed tourists to show up and spend money on lift tickets, lodging, food, and gifts. Without that regular influx of business, everybody suffered, especially the tiny town of Moosetookalook.

With a sigh, Liss turned away from the window. Wishing wouldnt make it snow, not even if she had Aladdins lamp and a genie at her beck and call. What a pity that neither magic nor science could accurately predict the weather, let alone control it.

After retying the bright red scarf holding her long, dark brown hair away from her face, Liss busied herself straightening the display next to a sign that read KILT-HOSE STUFFERS . To Lisss mind kilt hoseor knee socks, as those not into Scottish-American heritage in a big way would call themmade ideal Christmas stockings. Shed gathered together an eclectic assortment of items that might be tucked into the toe or made to cascade enticingly over the top. There were pennywhistles and small figurines of pipers, refrigerator magnets, and campaign buttons bearing pseudo-Scottish sayings and puns, and the cutest little stuffed bears Liss had ever seen, all dressed up in kilts and plaids and wearing minuscule Balmoral caps. Liss had dubbed the four-inch high toys Wee Scottish Bears in the online catalogue shed set up for the store.

The display table in order, Liss turned next to the tall shelves that held a variety of Scottish imports, everything from tins of Black Bun, the traditional Twelfth Night cake made with fruit, almonds, spices, and whiskey lots of whiskeyto canned haggis. She had no trouble dusting the upper reaches. She stood five-foot-nine in her stocking feet.

Fourteen shopping days till Christmas, Liss thought as she worked. There was time yet to make a profit. If she started opening on Sundays, then it would be sixteen shopping days. She already planned to extend the shops hours by adding the two Mondays before Christmas. The rest of the year she took that day off to compensate for working Saturdays. Would it be worth the effort, and the expense, to staff the store seven days a week?

The loss of her part-time sales clerk, Sherri Willett, had made scheduling more difficult. At the moment, Liss was not only half owner of the Emporium, but the stores only employee. To leave the shop for any reason, she had to lock up and put the CLOSED sign in the window.

Still, the extra hours might pay off. There was always the chance of a stray shopper wandering in. Liss sighed again. She should give it a shot. After all, shed already calculated expenses down to the last decimal point. It wouldnt cost all that much more to keep the heat at sixty-eight degrees for those extra days.

The raucous jangle of the sleigh bells shed attached to the door had Liss smiling in anticipation. A customer at last!

Her spirits plummeted when she recognized Gavin Thorne. Like Liss, he owned a store that faced Moosetookalooks town square. Several months earlier hed bought the building that had once housed Aldens Small Appliance Repair and opened The Toy Box.

Dont you look the fine Scottish lassie! Thorne had a big, booming voice and a smile that showed a great many large white teeth. Both were in marked contrast to a milquetoast appearance.

Liss glanced down at the white peasant blouse and tartan miniskirt shed selected from the stores stock that morning and was suddenly glad shed put on wooly dancers tights beneath the skirt. She did not know Gavin Thorne well, but the last thing she needed was for another man to take an interest in her. Juggling the two she already had was hard enough!

You know the store policy, she quipped. Model what we sell.

When am I finally going to meet this aunt of yours? he asked as he made his way slowly through the shop. He paused to look at several of the displays, including the one of kilt-hose stuffers.

Shes arriving on the nineteenth.

A sudden thought had Liss taking a closer look at Thorne. She saw a lumpy individual with hair the color of dry grass and eyes hidden behind small, round-framed glasses. Liss wasnt sure how old the toy store owner was, but he was surely closer to Aunt Margarets agefifty-ninethan her own twenty-eight years. Could Thorne have a personal reason for asking about her aunt?

He approached the sales counter with one of the Wee Scottish Bears in hand. These selling well for you?

They do okay, Liss fibbed.

Shed sold only one, to Sherri as a present for her young son. Shed expected to sell another to Angie Hogencamp, who owned the bookstore on the other side of the town square and had a small collection of designer teddy bears that her children were not allowed to touch, but Angie had taken one look at the stuffed toys and given a disdainful sniff.

Maybe theyd do better at my place. Thornes watery blue eyes looked straight at Liss, but only for an instant. The speed with which his gaze skittered away from hers set off an alarm of air-raid-siren intensity. I could take them off your hands if youre willing to sell them to me at dealer discount.

Lisss suspicion that he was trying to pull a fast one hardened into a certainty. The standard discount businesses gave one another didnt leave much room for resale profit. The little bears were cute, but their suggested retail price was only $9.99.

I dont want to mess up the display. Liss waited, curious to hear what hed say next.

Thorne fiddled with the bear, smoothing one broad thumb over its tiny kilt and tugging at the itty-bitty hat to make sure it was securely attached. He inspected the minuscule manufacturers tag, which identified the company that had produced and distributed the toy.