Free A Wee Christmas Homicide by Kaitlyn Dunnett Page A

crew will come back.”
    “Oh, that’s all we need! The idea was to get good publicity for the town.”
    Sherri polished off a second muffin, one of Patsy’s, she assumed, since the breads and pastries Liss baked tended to have the consistency of rocks. “Isn’t there some old saw about any publicity being good publicity?”
    “A vicious lie.” Liss buttered a second muffin for herself. “Is Jeff calling anyone in to help investigate?”
    “I doubt it. Vandalism isn’t that serious a crime. There was no threatening note tossed through the window or anything. Jeff will probably let Sheriff Lassiter know what happened, but there’s no reason to bring in the state police.” She sent Liss a sudden impish grin. “Why? Were you hoping to see Gordon again?”
    “I don’t know what you mean.” Liss tried to feign innocence, but after a moment she smiled, a dreamy look in her eyes. As Sherri well knew, Gordon Tandy, the state police detective assigned to Carrabassett County, was the other man in Liss MacCrimmon’s life.
     
    After Sherri left, Liss opened the Emporium, took delivery of seven swans, and for the next five hours waited on a steady stream of customers, all complaining about the lack of Tiny Teddies. Some of them, however, bought things.
    At two in the afternoon, she heard a cheer go up outside. It didn’t take long for word to spread. Gavin Thorne had a new supply of Tiny Teddies. The Emporium promptly emptied out.
    Liss stepped onto her porch to have a look. The plywood Thorne had used to board up his display window was now plastered with flyers. She couldn’t read them at this distance, but it was pretty obvious what they were advertising. She spared a glance for Marcia’s consignment shop, wondering if the other woman had ever contacted Eric Moss. Liss had left a message on Marcia’s machine about Moss’s Tiny Teddies, but maybe Marcia, too, had thought fifty dollars a bear too steep a price.
    A car horn sounded, jerking her attention back to the crowd mobbing the toy store. She spotted Lovey FitzPatrick among them, and a few other faces that looked vaguely familiar.
    Thorne had probably struck a deal with Moss, Liss decided. She told herself that if the toys were counterfeits or had been brought into the country illegally, she didn’t want to know. As long as she wasn’t selling them, it was no business of hers. The only real question was how high the toy shop owner would jack up his prices this time around. She expected that someone would stop by the Emporium sooner or later and tell her.
    In the meantime, the chill in the air made her shiver. On the way out the door, she’d wrapped a shawl in the predominantly yellow MacMillan tartan around her shoulders, but it wasn’t sufficient protection from the cold, not even when worn over a knit sweater imported from Scotland and a pair of slacks in the Black Watch pattern. She ducked back inside, grateful for the warmth of the shop.
    The deserted store, however, had a depressing effect on Liss. It was quiet. Too quiet. Normally, neither solitude nor silence bothered her, not for brief stretches anyway. Sometimes she played Celtic music in the background when the Emporium was open. At others she opted for the local radio station or for no noise at all. She was about to reach under the sales counter for a CD of one of her favorite bagpipe bands when she heard an odd little squeak at floor level.
    Something slithered across her shoe.
    Liss froze.
    There are no poisonous snakes in the state of Maine.
    Almost as soon as the thought slashed through her mind, she knew she was being foolish. It was too cold for snakes, even if that explanation for what she’d just felt made sense. It didn’t. Neither did thinking the shop had rats.
    At worst, they had mice. Or one of the chickens had gotten loose. Liss braced herself and looked down.
    A small, furry black face stared back at her with big, green eyes. The creature clambered onto the toe of her shoe once