“Who was that?” Liss kept her voice low even though there was no longer anyone around to overhear.
“Eric Moss, I think.”
Liss knew Moss slightly. He was a former delivery service driver who’d had a hard time making ends meet after he retired. Since he was already acquainted with all the local businesspeople and familiar with the products they sold, he’d been able to develop a reasonably profitable sideline as a picker. He located odd lots and interesting single items and resold them to shopkeepers who handled similar merchandise.
“What business would Moss have with Graye? Graye sells land, not goods.”
“No idea.” Dan tugged at her hand until she rose from the stairs.
His grip was firm, his skin warm against hers but Liss ignored the sensual tingle his touch produced. Wrong time. Wrong place. And she was distracted by an almost overwhelming desire to discover what Graye and Moss had been discussing.
“They looked furtive to me, sneaking around like that. Didn’t they look like they were up to no good to you?”
She justified her curiosity by rationalizing that any nefarious plotting on Graye’s part just now might have a negative effect on her own plans. She wasn’t about to let a slimy toad like Jason Graye mess with her pageant or the successful sale of Tiny Teddies.
“Graye always looks as if he’s up to something. It’s part of his charm.”
The sarcasm in Dan’s tone told Liss he didn’t really care what was going on, but she didn’t trust Graye as far as she could throw him. She hesitated outside the door to the town office, groping for the words to express her concern. She hadn’t come up with anything more specific than a gut feeling before Dan bent to give her a light kiss on the cheek.
“I gotta go, Liss.”
As quick as that, she banished Jason Graye to the back burner. Priority one was the welfare of the town, but number two was a more personal issue. She caught up with Dan at the coatrack as he shrugged into his L. L. Bean Maine Guide’s jacket. “I appreciate your support this evening.”
“No problem.” His expression somber, he wished her good luck. “You’ve got a lot of hard work ahead of you.”
“It will bring in business for all of us, Dan. I know it will.”
“So would a nice northeaster.” They had reached the entrance, which gave them a clear view of the expanse of bare ground that was Moosetookalook’s town square.
“We’ll get snow eventually. We always do.”
“It can’t be soon enough to suit me. I gotta tell you, Liss, the sight of all those tarp-covered snowmobiles sitting in garages and on the dead grass of side lawns is really starting to depress me.”
On that less-than-cheerful remark, Dan left for the hotel.
Liss sighed as she headed back to the Town Office. She’d see him at the MSBA meeting in the morning, but there had been a time not so long ago when he’d have suggested stopping by at her house after he finished whatever job he had to do at The Spruces tonight.
The lack of snow was depressing, but it was nothing compared to the lack of romance in her life!
Chapter Three
By eight o’clock on Wednesday morning, twenty people had crowded into Liss’s living room. She had plenty of coffee ready, thanks to her own eight-cup pot, the large coffeemaker she’d brought home from the shop, and her aunt’s old-fashioned percolator, but she could have kissed Patsy of Patsy’s Coffee House when she turned up carrying two boxes of assorted homemade pastries—everything from doughnuts to scones to blueberry muffins. The smell of fresh baked goods had Liss’s mouth watering even before she lifted the lid of the first box to peek inside at the goodies.
“For this,” Liss told the pale, cadaverously thin genius-in-the-kitchen, “you get to sit in the place of honor.” A few minutes later, Patsy was installed the overstuffed easy chair, Liss’s favorite spot to curl up in and read.
Liss cleared her throat and waited for everyone to quiet down. “I’m speaking for myself, Gavin, and Marcia,” she began.
The two of them shared the sofa with Stuart Burroughs, owner of Stu’s Ski Shop. Marcia, considerably taller than either of them when they were seated, looked like a beanpole between two pumpkins. Liss had to work to dislodge that image from her head. It didn’t help that Stu, who had always been chunky but had recently put on quite a bit of weight, was wearing a blaze-orange fleece sweat suit.
“Okay,” Liss said, starting again when she had the urge to giggle under control. “Here’s the deal.”
A quarter of an hour later she concluded her pitch: “This will make Moosetookalook a destination shopping venue. People will come for the toy, stay over at The Spruces because they’ve had to travel so far, and spend money at all the shops in town.”
Liss stopped, feeling like a toy that had wound down. No, she decided, more like someone caught in an endless loop, repeating the same refrain over and over again. Fortunately, her words seemed to be having the desired effect. The board of selectmen had fallen in line and she had the expense check to prove it. Yesterday, even before the board of selectmen met, she’d won the support of the principal at the regional high school in Fallstown. She had been promised her nine lords a-leaping and her twelve drummers drumming, as well as some necessary props. She was still working on the milkmaids, the dancing ladies and the pipers, but she expected no problems finding them, especially now that the folks in her living room were talking to each other and nodding.
Stu Burroughs was the first to speak up. “I’m in, but only if I get a couple of these teddy bears to sell in my ski shop. I don’t suppose you’ve got any that are wearing parkas and carrying little skis?”
“Oh, I like that idea,” Betsy Twining chimed in from her perch on one of Liss’s kitchen chairs. “I want some teddy bears to sell in my place, too.”
Betsy owned the Clip and Curl, a combination beauty parlor and barber shop, located in the back half of the building that also housed the post office. Stu could have used her services, Liss thought. His hair was the flat black of a do-it-yourself dye job.
“Are you talking about selling on consignment?” Thorne asked.
“I’m saying you should sell me a couple for resale. Call it a good-will gesture among local businessmen.”
“If you wanted to sell teddy bears, Burroughs, you should have bought your own supply in the first place. Mine are staying right where they are.”
“What do you think, Joe?” Stu appealed to Joe Ruskin, Dan’s father, who had appropriated the Canadian rocker in Liss’s bay window. “Share the wealth, right?”
Liss had only to study the older Ruskin’s features to know what his son would look like in twenty years. Dan’s sandy brown hair would have a bit of gray at the temples—very distinguished. There would be more lines around his molasses-brown eyes. But he wouldn’t stoop, for all that he was over six feet tall, and he’d still have the muscular build that came from working in construction and owed nothing to exercise machines in a gym.
“Thorne has a point,” Joe said. “He was the one with the foresight to buy the bears.”
“Or his ex wife was.” Marcia’s mutter was just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
Liss sent her a repressive look, thinking that Marcia should be the last person in the world to look down on the idea of consignment sales. Marcia ignored the warning glance. Apparently she considered these extraordinary circumstances.