Assisted by chief of police Jeff Thibodeau, dressed as Santa Claus, Liss hoisted the rings into the air. She said a few words about the twelve days of Christmas shopping in Moosetookalook, and encouraged everyone to take advantage of the opportunity to visit all of the community’s shops. Then she turned the gazebo over to the carolers.
They sang standing next to the “pear tree” from the first night of the pageant. It was actually a young apple tree in a large pot. Wax pears and a stuffed partridge had been wired to otherwise bare branches. Sherri was glad Liss had reconsidered asking the art teacher at the high school to make her something out of papier mâché. Precipitation of some sort was likely during the twelve days it would have to sit outdoors, even if that precipitation didn’t fall in the form of snow.
Sherri hummed along with the Christmas carols while she continued to direct traffic. Things were slowing down a bit, but The Toy Box was still open. With the other stores around the town square closed for the night, Gavin Thorne’s shop windows shone like a beacon. He’d strung Christmas bulbs around every frame and across the porch. A flashing light highlighted a sign announcing the current price for Tiny Teddies. It seemed to go up every time Sherri turned around.
The cost of a Tiny Teddy from Gavin Thorne’s shop was now a hundred and fifty dollars. He’d jacked the price up yet again just as soon as Liss sold the last of her supply. Sherri wasn’t sure, but she thought Marcia might still have one or two left. Then again, Marcia had started out pricing her bears at a hundred dollars apiece.
Crazy, Sherri thought. People who’d pay that much for a stuffed toy have got to be nuts.
But like moths to a flame, shoppers couldn’t seem to stay away. Almost everyone who entered Thorne’s store came out carrying a small Toy Box bag in a manner that suggested it contained treasure more precious than gold.
“I haven’t seen anything like this since the Beanie Baby craze back in the late ’90s,” the cameraman said as he and the reporter passed Sherri again on their way out of the town square.
Sherri had a vague memory of what he was talking about, but only that there had been a shortage of the toys, not that prices had gone sky high. Back then, she’d been a rebellious teenager living on her own after she’d dropped out of high school and run away from Moosetookalook.
How things had changed!
On Monday morning, Liss was in no hurry to reopen the Emporium. A sign in the window told shoppers she was sold out of Tiny Teddies. She did not expect anywhere near as many customers as she’d had over the weekend, although she did hope there would still be some overflow from The Toy Box. After all, she had other items in stock that would make wonderful Christmas gifts.
She took her time feeding and cleaning up after the assorted poultry living in her stockroom and only when that was done did she unlock the shop. During the morning and the first part of the afternoon, business was steady, if not exactly stellar. Then it fell off entirely. The sleigh bells on the door hadn’t jangled for over an hour when Eric Moss turned up with a delivery—six geese for that evening’s ceremony.
“Are they getting fat?” she asked, remembering again the song about Christmas, pennies, and hats.
“Why?” Moss asked. “You planning on eating them after the ceremony?”
Taken aback, Liss just stared at him. She honestly hadn’t made the connection. Her family usually had a nice turkey and maybe a ham at Christmas. She peered into the huge crate. Two of the geese stared back at her. One stuck its head through the slats and tried to peck her.
“You’ll have to watch out. Geese have nasty temperaments. Do best if they weren’t so confined, too.”
“They are not getting the run of the stockroom.”
“You got a garage, don’t you? Use that as a coop.”
“Isn’t it too cold out there? And I have chickens and pigeons, too.”
Moss shook his head in disbelief as he wheeled the dolly with the crate toward the stockroom. “Used to be kids who grew up in the country knew something about farm life. You do know eggs come from chickens and milk comes from cows, right?”
“There’s no need for sarcasm,” she muttered, following him.
“My folks raised chickens. Had a few goats and a couple of cows, too, and our own apple trees. Planted vegetables every year.”
“The good old days?” Liss wrinkled her nose as one of the geese made a deposit in the straw in the crate. It was not an egg, golden or otherwise.
Moss snorted. “Not so good. Folks around here barely got by even back then. Anyway, what I was going to say is that our chicken coop was a wooden building with no heat or insulation except for the straw in the nests. Never seemed to bother the birds none to be cold. They got them nice feather coats.” He grinned, showing a mouthful of store-bought teeth.
The retired delivery service driver was a lean man of medium height, although age had given him a slight stoop. When he’d unloaded the crate, he wheeled the dolly back into the shop. “I hear you’re all out of Tiny Teddies.”
“I’m afraid so.” Liss retreated behind the sales counter.
“You sold ’em too cheap.”
“Probably, but I didn’t feel comfortable putting the price up higher.” Her profit had been healthy enough and her customers had gone away happy. Many of them had spent time browsing in the Emporium and made other purchases before they left. Others had promised to check out her Web site next time they needed a unique gift.
“Would you charge more if you had to do over again?” Propping an elbow next to the cash register, Moss leaned close enough for Liss to catch a whiff of the Ben Gay he used to keep his arthritic fingers limber.
She considered the question for only a moment before she replied. “I doubt it.”
He frowned at her answer and seemed to be pondering its significance as he left the counter to wander around the shop. It took him a good ten minutes to finally came to the point. “I can get you more.”
Liss felt her eyes widen in disbelief. “More Tiny Teddies?”
“Yep. And ’cuz I like you, Liss, I’ll sell ’em to you for only fifty bucks apiece.”
“How…generous of you.”
“Interested?”
“No.”
He looked at her as if she’d lost her marbles. “Why not?”
“These bears of yours aren’t wearing kilts, are they?”
“No.”
“There you have it, then. Besides, you want too much for them.”
“I could come down a bit.”
Liss sighed. She really didn’t want to ask. “Where did you get them, Mr. Moss?”
“I’ve got my sources.”
“Yes, well, I’ve got a source, too—for information. It’s called the Internet, and this last week I’ve been reading up on Tiny Teddies. Seems there are some unscrupulous people who are trying to pass off counterfeit bears as the real thing.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about that,” Moss mumbled.
“No? Seems these bears are cheaply made in China. The collectors don’t want anything to do with them. They aren’t, well, collectible. One report I read said they weren’t particularly safe for toddlers to play with, either.”
Moss looked offended. “I wouldn’t try to pull a fast one on you, Liss. These are the real