He acted as if she’d insulted him, but Liss remembered his clandestine meeting with Jason Graye. Something had been “off” about it. “Can you prove your bears were made in the U.S.?”
Aside from the counterfeiting issue, Liss’s research had revealed that the toys were legitimately manufactured on both sides of the border. There was a limit, however, on the number of Canadian-made toys that could legally be brought into the U.S. Taking a trip to Quebec Province and filling the trunk of your car with bears, intending to resell them back home, was a big no-no. There had been several recent arrests at border crossings around the country, although none so far in Maine.
His eyes narrowed. He edged toward the exit. “I don’t have to prove nothin’!”
“Did Jason Graye set this up?”
Moss made a sound of disgust but he kept inching away from her.
“Come on, Mr. Moss. I need answers.” She slipped out from behind the sales counter, trying not to look as if she wanted to stop him from leaving. “I don’t do business with anyone who isn’t up front with me.”
“Man’s got to have some secrets.” Moss tugged nervously at a frayed section at the hem of his coat. “I stand to lose big time if someone else discovers my sources.”
“I’m not your competition.”
“So you say.” He hesitated at the door, looking uncertain whether he wanted to go or stay.
“Is Jason Graye? Or is he your partner?”
“I work alone!” Indignant, he left in a huff.
Liss peered through the display window, curious to see what Moss would do next. To her surprise, he was standing stock still on the sidewalk out front, staring at The Toy Box.
Her gaze followed his to Gavin Thorne’s display. The flashing light revealed a single Tiny Teddy, one of the ones dressed in a chef’s hat and apron. Next to it was a new sign, the black letters so huge that Liss could read them easily even though she was two houses over and half a block away.
LAST TINY TEDDY IN NEW ENGLAND—$750
Eric Moss took off across the town square. Liss found it odd that he didn’t approach Thorne or stop in at Marcia’s consignment shop but she told herself it was none of her business. She went back behind the counter, intending to look at spring catalogues and plan her stock orders.
Instead she found herself staring into space, elbows on the counter, chin propped on her fists. After a moment, her fingers moved to toy with the small silver pin of a Scottish dancer that she’d used to hold the lacy white jabot at the neckline of her blouse in place. As usual when at work, she wore an outfit from the Emporium. Her floor-length skirt was made of wool woven in the Royal Stewart tartan.
Double duty, her Aunt Margaret called the habit of dressing up for work and modeling what they sold at the same time. Sales staff automatically became walking advertisements for the merchandise.
And this year, the merchandise had included bears. Until she’d run out. They were all sold out of Tiny Teddies, or all but. Some fool would undoubtedly pay Thorne’s asking price for the last one. The trouble was, today was only the fifteenth of December.
People who arrived in Moosetookalook expecting to find Tiny Teddies for sale would be sorely disappointed. The Spruces was fully booked, but those guests wouldn’t stay if their reason for coming to the area was gone. Word would spread. There would be cancellations. Too many of those would be an unmitigated disaster. Joe Ruskin had gone to considerable expense to bring in extra food and supplies and hire more staff. He couldn’t afford a hit of this magnitude.
Groaning, Liss let her head fall forward until it hit the hard wooden surface with a thump. She conquered the urge to bang it a few more times in frustration. She wasn’t into self-inflicted pain, physical or mental. Still, this was all her fault. She’d counted on an influx of happy shoppers that would continue through the entire week and into next weekend. The sale of the last bear was supposed to coincide with the twelfth day of the pageant on Sunday afternoon.
“Idiot!” she muttered as she straightened. She should have allowed for this, should have seen it coming. She’d known how eager people were to buy this particular toy.
She should have charged more, if only to make her Tiny Teddies last longer. Well, that ship had sailed. Her only recourse now was to contact Eric Moss. She’d told him the truth. She couldn’t afford to pay fifty dollars a bear and she didn’t trust the provenance of the toys he’d offered her. But she wasn’t the only business in town.
Her expression grim, Liss reached for the phone. Marcia owned a consignment shop. Maybe she and Moss could work something out.
Sherri had just started her shift at midnight when a call came in from Gavin Thorne. She could barely make out what he was saying.
“Slow down,” she told him. “Are you hurt?” She listened a moment, shaking her head in disbelief as the story tumbled out. “Okay. I’m on my way.”
She kept her hand on her holster as she trotted across the town square. Lights blazed inside The Toy Box. She wished she’d told him to turn them off. Then again, she didn’t suppose Thorne himself was a target.
As she took the porch steps in one bound, she got a good look at the damage to the display window. The glass hadn’t shattered. There was just a neat, round hole surrounded by a spiderweb of cracks to show where the bullet had gone through. Thorne would still have to replace the glass, but at least there wasn’t a huge mess for him to clean up.
Inside she found the remains of the victim. Tufts of stuffing clung to every nearby surface. Sherri couldn’t believe there had been so much cotton—or whatever it was—inside such a small bear.
“Thorne?”
She located him behind the high sales counter, slumped in his expensive office chair, his head in his hands and a hand gun dangling from his fingers. Sherri did a double take at the sight of the weapon.
“Whoa! Is that thing loaded?”
Thorne looked up, a dazed and stricken expression on his paste-colored face. It took him a moment to process her question. Then he nodded. “I thought the villain might still be in the store, but I was too late.”
“Why don’t you put that away, then, and tell me what happened?” She wanted to yell at him for being an idiot, but instead kept her voice as low and soothing as she could. It was the same tone she used to calm her son Adam when he was out of sorts.
His movements erratic, Thorne complied. Once the gun was out of sight in a drawer, Sherri breathed easier. Civilians and firearms were a bad mix, especially when the civilians didn’t show proper respect for a deadly weapon.
“I take it you didn’t shoot out your own window?”
“Don’t be absurd!”
That was better. Nothing like a little righteous indignation to snap someone out of a pity party. Now maybe she could get some straight answers. “Any idea who did?”
“No. An intruder, I thought. But I didn’t see any sign of one.” He shook himself like a dog shedding water and managed a glum smile. “Lucky for him, whoever he was.”
“Sit tight,” Sherri advised. “Let me take a quick look around. Then we’ll talk.”
It didn’t take long to confirm that no one else was in the shop. The back door was still secure. The lock on the front door didn’t look as if it had been tampered with. “Was this open?” she called to Thorne.
“No. I unlocked it right after I called you.”
A closer inspection of the bullet hole in the window convinced Sherri that the shot had been fired from outside. Whoever had been responsible for the damage was long gone, and since no one had come out