Instead of leaving by the back door and crossing the driveway and a narrow strip of lawn to enter the Emporium through the stockroom as she usually did, Liss left her house by the front entrance so that she could dash across the intersection of Pine and Ash and pick up the mail before she opened the shop for the day. Moosetookalook was too small to have a postman who went door-to-door. Both Liss’s home address and the Emporium’s mailing address were P.O. box numbers.
She was just leaving the post office with a handful of bills and advertisements and a letter from a friend in her old dance troupe, Strathspey, when she heard raised voices coming from the house next door. Since the combatants were standing on the porch of The Toy Box, it was impossible not to overhear.
“We’re not married anymore, Felicity!” Gavin Thorne shouted. “You can’t just barge in here like you own the place.”
“You bastard!” shrieked the woman squared off against him. “You greedy son of a bitch! I’m the one who ordered those bears. You thought they were stupid.”
Thorne didn’t have to say a word. His attitude alone was apparently enough to infuriate his ex wife. Felicity Thorne stood facing the post office, giving Liss a clear view of her expression. Rage was not a good look for her.
Judging by the crow’s-feet around her eyes and mouth, Felicity Thorne was about the same age as her ex husband. She was carrying thirty or forty extra pounds but looked healthy as a horse. She had an air of energy and athleticism about her that made Liss think she could probably lift crates full of toys without breaking a sweat. An inch or so shorter than Thorne, Felicity had a wild mane of black hair just starting to go gray and dark eyes that were slightly tilted at the corners. Catching sight of Liss, those eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“What do you think you’re looking at?” she snarled.
Before Liss could reply—not that she intended to—Thorne’s ex turned away. She gave him a shove that propelled him back into the toy store and strode through the door after him. It slammed behind them with such a resounding crash that Liss was surprised the glass didn’t break.
Shaking her head, she retreated to the sanctuary of Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. She had too much work of her own to spend time worrying about domestic discord at the toy shop.
Liss awoke on Saturday morning to find herself nose to nose with Lumpkin. His was cold and wet. “We’ve had this discussion before,” she told the big cat. “You’re not supposed to sleep on the bed.”
He stretched out an oversized paw and patted her cheek with it.
“Think you’re cute, don’t you?” But she ran her palm over his furry head and back in a long, loving stroke before she swung her legs off the side of the bed and got up.
The movement was fluid, causing only the faintest twinge and accompanied by a little early morning stiffness—both reminders that she’d had major knee surgery less than two years earlier. Liss did a few stretches to limber up, but nothing close to the routine she’d once gone through to start every day.
Her career as a professional Scottish dancer had ended abruptly with an injury that, while it did not prevent her from leading a normal life, had put an end to doing high-impact jigs and reels as a way of making a living. Liss still missed being part of Strathspey, a touring company intended to be to Scottish-Americans what Riverdance was to those of Irish descent. Gradually, however, she had come to appreciate what she was doing now. These days, the occasional ache in her knee and the stiffness that sometimes set in when she went too long without moving were petty annoyances rather than emotionally painful reminders of what she had lost.
A quick glance through the corner window as she dressed was enough to tell Liss there was still no snow on the ground. In fact, it looked to be another clear, cloudless day. There were, however, two strange cars parked on the street in front of Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. A pickup truck she didn’t recognize sat idling outside The Toy Box.
The number of vehicles had increased to seven by the time Liss slipped across the back way to the shop in preparation for opening at eight. A hopeful sign, she thought, and pretty much right on schedule.
Word of a cache of Tiny Teddies in Maine had hit the Internet even before the first newspaper and television ads appeared on Thursday, along with a brief news item on the partridge-in-the-pear-tree ceremony. That was how Felicity Thorne had discovered what her ex was up to.
By Friday morning, Liss had received several dozen e-mail inquiries. She’d sent the same reply to everyone: “Come to Moosetookalook, Maine, to shop. No mail orders will be filled.”
As she’d expected, there had not been an immediate upsurge in business. Friday had been almost as slow as it usually was. Liss had been prepared for that. After all, most people had jobs. If they were going to drive to central Maine, a solid four hours northwest of Boston, they had to have the time to do it. That meant the weekend…and here were the first of them.
She loaded the change from the safe into the cash register, turned on the lights, made one last check of the displays, pasted a smile on her face, and opened the door. That was the last moment she had to take a deep breath for the rest of the day.
Within an hour, at least in terms of what was usual for a small, rural Maine town, hordes of shoppers had descended upon Moosetookalook. Liss was down to sixty Tiny Teddies in kilts by the end of the day. She’d done pretty well selling other items, too, and been kept so busy by the steady stream of customers that she’d barely had time to scarf down a couple of power bars and a soda for lunch and take a bathroom break. She had no idea what might be happening beyond the Emporium’s front door.
She had seen the last customer out and was about to lock up when a bright red Lexus with Massachusetts plates screeched to a halt at the curb in front of The Toy Box. The woman who barreled out of the driver’s side, barely taking time to slam the door behind her, was swathed in layers of vivid electric blue. The garment appeared to be a cross between a Victorian greatcoat and a cloak—lots of capes attached.
Shaking her head, Liss watched the woman race up the steps to the porch of the toy store and into Gavin Thorne’s shop. She didn’t look particularly young, which meant it was probably collecting fervor that put wings on her feet. Either that or she was an extremely dedicated grandma.
Liss turned the dead bolt on her own door, lowered the shade over the glass, and headed for the half bath next to the stockroom. By the time she came out, someone was knocking with enough force to make the panes in the door rattle. Liss sighed. She had a pretty good idea who was on the other side. One glimpse of the woman in blue had been enough to tell her that she wasn’t the type who went away before she got what she wanted.
“Just a minute!” Resigned to another delay before she could fix supper and put her feet up, Liss trudged through the shop to unlock the door.
“Well, finally,” said the caped customer on the other side.
She pushed past Liss into the shop, craning her neck and swinging her head from side to side, her beaklike nose all but sniffing the air. She was older than Liss had thought, with wattle showing above the neckline of her incredible coat. Liss couldn’t help but imagine her as a giant bird turning beady-eyed curiosity onto new territory.
Just lately, birds had been much on Liss’s mind. This was the third day in a row she’d had poultry on the premises. The “first day of Christmas” had featured a partridge provided by the local taxidermist, but on Thursday she’d taken custody of two turtle doves—actually carrier pigeons—and yesterday she’d added a crate containing the chickens who had played the roles of “three French hens” in last night’s festivities. After a while she’d gotten used to the continual scratching sounds, but the truly incredible smell was something else entirely. Today, this evening’s “calling birds” had been delivered, one by one, during the height of the shopping frenzy. All four now resided in the stockroom with the rest of the livestock.
“This is it?” The woman in