A Wee Christmas Homicide (17 page)

Coughing, waving the swirl of mote-filled air away, Liss realized she had just gotten the proof she’d been looking for that Stu Burroughs wasn’t the person who’d broken into Moss’s house. Neither his snowmobile nor his ATV had been used in a very long time. Since she was convinced that the intruder and Thorne’s killer were one and the same—unless Moss was the murderer—she mentally crossed Stu off her suspect list.

“I’ve been thinking of selling this machine and getting a newer one,” Stu said. “I could give you a real good deal.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Not a thing. It’s just an older model, that’s all.”

“It’s what they call a two-up, right? Can one person ride it alone?”

“Of course they can. Marcia still uses the one she and Cabot used to ride together.”

“Is it difficult to drive? Do I need a license? A safety course?”

He gave her a look that said she obviously knew nothing about snowmobiles. She could hardly take offense. He was right.

“No to the last two questions,” Stu said. “As to how hard it is, hop on.”

Game, Liss complied, sliding up to the front of the seat. The last time she’d been on one of these, she’d been perched behind a boyfriend, hanging on to his waist for dear life. She hadn’t been able to see much and hadn’t really enjoyed the experience. Come to think of it, she hadn’t found the boy all that appealing, either. The relationship hadn’t lasted long.

“See that red button on top of the handlebars? That’s called the ‘kill switch.’”

“Nice name.”

“When you pull it up, the engine can run. When you push it down, the engine shuts off. Pull it up.”

Liss did, but nothing happened. She sent Stu a quizzical look.

“Step by step, Liss. Step by step. Next make sure the cord on the key is attached to the steering column. That’s a back up to the kill switch. The engine will only run if it’s secured.”

“Check.”

“Okay. Turn the key.”

Again, nothing happened. She craned her neck to glare at him. “This is beginning to get old.”

Stu grinned. “One more step, sunshine. On the right side of the sled there’s a start cord. It looks like a lawn mower pull cord, only bigger.”

Grasping it, she sent him an arch look. “And this time the engine’s actually going to start?”

“It should.”

It didn’t. All Liss got for her effort was a loud pop.

Stu chuckled. At his insistence, she pulled the start cord a few more times, but the engine still refused to turn over.

“She hasn’t been used in a while, that’s all. Look under the right side of the handlebars. That tab pull is the choke. Turn it on.”

To Liss’s relief, this finally persuaded the engine to fire. Or rather it coughed a couple of times.

“Good!” Stu looked relieved as he flapped around the snowmobile like a nervous rooster. “Now turn the choke back off. If you leave it on too long you’ll flood the engine.”

“God forbid!” The snowmobile continued to sputter. Liss expected the engine to die at any second. She’d never been mechanically inclined and could only hope she hadn’t inadvertently damaged Stu’s machine.

“See that lever on the right side of the handlebar?”

Since he was pointing right at it, she could hardly miss it.

“That’s the throttle. Work it with your thumb. Push it in a few times but don’t hold it down. That can flood the engine, too. When you’re riding, you use the throttle to speed up or slow down.”

At last, the sputter settled into a steady purr. Liss felt absurdly pleased with herself as she listened to the rhythmic hum.

“Now shut it down,” Stu ordered.

“What? I was just getting started.”

Stu gave a snort and stood with his hands fisted on his hips, one foot tapping the cement, impatient for her to follow his orders. “You can’t run it on the garage floor. You have to tow a snowmobile to snow and that snow should be at least four inches deep. Then you ride.”

“I knew that.” As heat crept into her face, she turned off the sled and started to dismount.

“Stay put. I’ll run you through the rest of what you need to know. Okay. We’re going to pretend you’re properly dressed. That includes a helmet, which you fasten securely under your chin.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Given the way he was barking out orders, she couldn’t resist saluting.

“None of your sass, young lady. I remember you when you were in pigtails.”

“I never,” she assured him haughtily, “wore my hair in pigtails.”

“Tuck your feet under those metal pockets on the lower front section of the sled. Unless you want to fall off on your first turn.”

She followed instructions and then listened attentively as he explained how to use the throttle, the brakes, and the handlebars while riding.

“It’s easier to turn if you’re going faster than fifteen miles an hour. Lean to the inside of a turn to keep the sled on both skis. Lean far left for a left turn. What usually works best is to slide your backside all the way off the seat, with your shoulders out to the side of the handlebars.”

She felt clumsy attempting the maneuver, especially on a sled that wasn’t moving, but he beamed at her when she managed it.

“It’s just a matter of coordination. You should go out in a field and practice. So, you want to buy her?”

“I want that practice session first.” She was half serious. She hadn’t come to Stu to buy a snowmobile, but she’d gotten a kick out of the lesson.

She asked him about local snowmobile clubs on the walk back to the ski shop and from that topic segued into gossiping about neighbors with snowmobiles.

“There’s Marcia, of course.”

“Yes.” Liss frowned. “I get why she owns a two-up. Why do you?”

He gave a rueful chuckle “Have you noticed the size of my butt? I like the extra room on the seat.”

Liss hid a smile as she returned to the rack of snowmobile suits. She rather liked the hot pink number.

Stu rattled off the names of several Moosetookalook snowmobilers as he rummaged through a file cabinet, but he claimed he’d never had much to do with the Fallstown crowd, the Thornes included. With a satisfied grunt, he produced a dog-eared owner’s manual.

“You read through this tonight.” Stu slapped it into her hand. “Then you take her out for a trial run tomorrow and see if she isn’t worth every penny of her price.”

Tuesday dawned clear, cold, and bright. Sherri watched the sun come up from the town square. She’d decided to go on “foot patrol” when she caught herself falling asleep in the office chair. Now wide awake and thoroughly chilled, she was about to go back inside when Liss hailed her.

“Time for a cup of coffee?” she called from the front porch of her house.

“Always.” Sherri hurried across to her.

She had done some hard thinking during the wee hours, working her way through a boatload of guilt and doing a lot of soul-searching. She’d made a few decisions. One of them was that she no longer had any qualms about sharing what she knew with Liss MacCrimmon.

Ever since the state police had moved their base of operations back to the state capitol in Augusta they’d been slowly but steadily cutting her out of the loop. They didn’t really want her input, not even Gordon Tandy. Maybe especially Gordon Tandy.

The upshot was that Sherri realized she was not going to be the one to solve Gavin Thorne’s murder. Not unless pure dumb luck came into play. She’d literally have to stumble over the killer in order to be the one making the arrest…or she’d have to take advantage of Liss’s talent for doing so.

In the warmth of the kitchen, redolent with the smell of freshly perked coffee and newly warmed cinnamon buns, Liss bustled about with an air of barely suppressed excitement. Something was up.

“Win the lottery?” Sherri asked.

Liss chuckled. “Better. I’ve had a bright idea.”

Sherri repressed a groan but at the same time she felt a glimmer of hope. Whatever Liss was up to, it was better than sitting and twiddling her thumbs. “Hit me with it.”

“This afternoon I’m going to go look at that property Moss circled on the map.”

“Wait a minute. There are no roads. How are you going to get there?”

“Snowmobile, of course. Stu is letting me borrow his. It seats two. Want to come along?”

Sherri couldn’t repress a shudder. “On a
snowmobile?”
The sport had never appealed to her. Nor had skiing or ice skating. Sherri couldn’t see the sense in any activity that required being out in freezing weather, exposed to the elements for an extended period of time.

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, neither one of us knows how to drive one.”

“Stu gave me a crash course.”

“Oh, that gives me confidence.”

“Don’t be negative.” Lumpkin appeared at Liss’s elbow, eyeing the tasty treat on her plate. The black kitten was right behind him. Apparently they’d negotiated a truce. “Do you want to come with me or not?”

“Not.”

Liss’s face fell. “Oh. I thought…”

Sherri kept her eyes on the last inch of coffee in her mug. “I did some serious thinking during the boring section of my shift. I realized a few things about this case and about myself. I…well, I need to talk to Pete this afternoon. A long, serious talk.”

“You’re not going to break up with him, are you?”

To Sherri’s horror, she felt herself tearing up. What was going on here? She wasn’t usually a crybaby!

“Sherri?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst from her in an anguished cry and she stood, heading for the coffeepot and a refill. Her back to Liss, she got control of her seesawing emotions. “Let’s change the subject, okay?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.” Concern underscored the words.

“I did come up with one more bit of information for you. It’s probably nothing important, but Felicity Thorne got a second snowmobile in the divorce settlement, one she didn’t register.”

“Thorne must have ridden one at some time, then.”

“That’s my guess.” She returned to the table, coffee in hand, and helped herself to a second pastry. The kitten leapt into her lap and nuzzled her hand. “Did you name this little sweetie yet?”

“No. Stick to the subject. Do you think Felicity might still be using the land along the border, even though it was sold to someone else?”

“Who’d know?”

“Someone who went there and took a look.”

“Liss, please promise me you won’t go alone. If that’s your plan, I’ll put Pete off.”

“No! Don’t do that. You two do need to talk.”

“But it’s dangerous to ride solo, even more so when you’re a novice. And that’s without the fact that there’s a killer running around loose. Be sensible.” Absently she broke off a piece of the cinnamon bun and fed it to the kitten.

“I will. I’ll…I’ll ask Gordon to go with me.” She gave Lumpkin a chunk of pastry. He carried it off into a corner, growling when the kitten trailed after him.

“Not Dan?”

“Gordon is the cop. Besides, he used to own a snowmobile. And I think I can persuade him to take a few hours of personal time.”

“You’re not going to tell him—?”

“No. I’ll let him think it’s a date. After all, the odds of finding something there are pretty slim. I just can’t shake the idea that I should go look.”

Sherri told herself that Liss was right. It was unlikely she would find any evidence of smuggling at the cabin that had once belonged to the Thornes. Felicity Thorne wasn’t that stupid. As for tracks crossing the border, with all the warm temperatures they’d had the last couple of days, it was doubtful that there would be anything left to see.

Tossing the last bit of her cinnamon bun to the kitten, Sherri headed back to the office with a clear conscience.

L
iss opened Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium a little later than usual and for once hoped no customers would bother her. She’d been trying for an hour to get hold of Gordon and so far had only connected with his voice mail.

Through the window she could see a bright blue sky punctuated by puffy clouds—perfect for the outing she had in mind. Sherri was right, though. It would be stupid to go out into the wilderness alone. She glared at the phone. “Ring, damn you!”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Aunt Margaret entered from the stairwell that led to her apartment. Liss sniffed, but for once didn’t notice any new scent. Her aunt smelled the way she always had in the past—of Dove soap and Prell shampoo.

“No perfume today? What was with that, anyway?”

“Just an experiment.”

Liss waited. Margaret’s cheeks took on a decidedly pinker tinge.

“If you must know, I was on a nostalgia trip. I found a shop in Phoenix that sells classic perfumes, some of which aren’t even manufactured anymore. I bought all my old favorites—Emeraude, My Sin, White Shoulders, Wind Song, White Diamonds.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “I used to wear My Sin when I was your age. I’m told it had a pronounced effect on the male of the species.”

She preened just a bit and Liss had to hide a smile. “All that trouble and expense for a man?”

“All that trouble for that dolt, Ernie Willett, who never notices how I smell!”

Liss was still trying to think of an adequate response when the phone finally rang. “Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. Good morning.”

Gordon’s familiar voice greeted her from the other end of the line.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said when he asked why she wanted to talk to him, “that you’ve been working straight out and could use a break. Is there any chance you could help me out for a few hours this afternoon? I’ve been looking at a snowmobile Stu Burroughs wants to sell and he’s willing to let me take it for a test drive. You said you missed the one you used to own, so I thought maybe….”

She twirled the cord around her fingers as she waited for his response.

“I’m not sure I can get away.” His voice sounded muffled, as if he had the phone tucked in against his shoulder to free up both hands. Checking his schedule?

“Not even for an hour or two?” She wasn’t above wheedling. “Couldn’t you say you were following up a lead? Surely there are things here in Moosetookalook that you need to check on.”

Too tense to stand still as she waited for his answer, Liss shifted her position behind the sales counter. Her eyes locked with Margaret’s and widened in surprise. Her aunt’s censorious look did not bode well, but Liss couldn’t begin to guess what was bothering her.

“How’s one o’clock?” Gordon asked. “I’ll have to go home for my snowmobile suit and helmet before I meet you.”

“Great.” She beamed at the phone, suddenly lighthearted. “See you then.”

She disconnected before he could change his mind and shifted her focus to Margaret. Her high spirits plummeted.

“What?”

“You have a business to run. How can you even consider going off gallivanting on a weekday afternoon?”

“Well, you could spell me again.” Liss kept her tone light, hoping to tease Margaret out of her obvious ill temper. “Yesterday you thought I needed a break.”

“Yesterday I had free time. Today I have a job to go to at the hotel.”

Margaret’s fulminating gaze meant trouble. Liss suddenly felt twelve years old again.

“In case it has escaped your notice, Amaryllis Rosalie MacCrimmon, that is a real job, not just auntie’s little hobby. I don’t mind giving you a break when I’m home anyway, but I told Joe Ruskin I’d put in a full eight-hour day today and so I shall.”

Wow! Where had that come from? Liss had a feeling it wasn’t anything she’d said. Someone else—Ernie Willett, maybe? Or one of Margaret’s old friends?—was apparently not taking her new career seriously.

“No problem,” she said aloud, forcing a smile. “I’ll just close the shop.”

But that answer brought a horrified look to her aunt’s face. Liss had the feeling she was in a no-win situation, but she made one more game attempt to soothe ruffled feelings.

“You don’t want the shop anymore, remember? You’ve decided to sell out to me.”

Margaret still looked unhappy. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m overreacting. It’s just that, well, you seem to have other things on your mind these days. I have no idea what you’re thinking half the time. That worries me, Liss. Do you really want to stay here in Moosetookalook at all?”

“Of course I do!” Only then did Liss realize that she hadn’t told her aunt very much of what she’d been up to, or why. She supposed she’d been trying to protect the older woman, to avoid upsetting her. Fat lot of good that had done. She was upset anyway.

She crossed the shop to give Margaret a hug. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve gotten out of the habit of accounting for myself to anyone.”

“You’re entitled to a private life, just as I am.”

“True, but I didn’t mean to keep secrets from you. The truth is, I’ve been looking into certain aspects of Gavin Thorne’s murder.”

“Oh, Liss, is that wise?”

“Probably not, but the thing is, Aunt Margaret, I think I’ve got a lead.”

“Then you should tell the police and stay out of it.”

“In fact, that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

When they were ensconced in the cozy corner, Liss filled her aunt in on what she knew about the Tiny Teddies available on the other side of the border. She told Margaret about the land the Thornes had owned until recently, and even related the story of Eric Moss and his map.

“Oh, and apparently Marcia’s ex and Felicity Thorne are an item now,” she added as an afterthought. “At least they seem to be living at the same address.”

“Well for goodness sake! I knew the two couples were acquainted but I had no idea they were
that
close!”

“You’ve met Felicity Thorne?”

“No, but Marcia used to talk about how she and her husband were friends with people named Thorne. That would have been about three years ago, before you came back home. The four of them would go on snowmobile trips together.”

Liss wondered why Marcia hadn’t mentioned knowing Thorne before he moved to Moosetookalook and opened The Toy Box. She’d acted as if they’d just met. Brow furrowing, Liss thought back to that conversation. Marcia hadn’t lied. She’d just not added any extra information. What she’d actually said was that she’d gone over to The Toy Box to welcome Thorne to town and that he was so rude to her that she didn’t go back. Liss supposed that made sense, especially if Thorne knew his wife was carrying on with Marcia’s husband. That was probably why they’d gotten divorced.

“Do you think Marcia knows about Cabot and Felicity?” Margaret asked.

“I’ve no idea, and I’m not about to tell her if she doesn’t. Poor Marcia.”

“Well, you can certainly cross her off your list of suspects. She’d have no reason to harm Thorne. If she’d been inclined to kill anyone, it would have been her ex.”

“Or Felicity,” Liss agreed. “Don’t worry. She wasn’t on my list in the first place.”

A little silence fell. “You’re determined to take a look at that piece of land?” Margaret asked hesitantly.

Liss sighed. “It’s probably a waste of time, but it’s a loose end.” She shrugged. How could she expect Aunt Margaret to understand the compulsion she felt. She didn’t understand it herself.

“And the only way to get there is by snowmobile?”

Liss nodded. “That’s why I made arrangements to borrow Stu’s machine. Gordon and I will drive up there this afternoon.”

“Gordon Tandy,” Margaret mused. “Isn’t he more than ten years older than you are?”

“We have a lot in common,” Liss protested. She wasn’t certain if she meant their interest in crime or their interest in things Scottish but she didn’t suppose it mattered.

The sound of sleigh bells jangling as the door opened brought both Liss and Margaret to their feet. Liss automatically put on her professional shopkeeper smile for the first customer of the day. It faded when she recognized Ernie Willett.

He went straight to Margaret and gave her a peck on the cheek. They made an incongruous couple. At her new weight, Margaret wore business casual with a professional woman’s flair. Ernie sported a quilted, blaze-orange vest all year round. With his deeply lined face, gnarled fingers, and perpetual slouch, he’d always reminded Liss of a particularly sour-tempered gnome.

“Hello, Missy,” he greeted her. He rarely used her name.

“Mr. Willett. What brings you to Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium?”

“I came by to talk to Margaret about our plans for Christmas Day.” He sidled closer to Liss’s aunt and an expression of delight came over his grizzled features. “Hey, you smell good today. Keep this one. Those other perfumes were too danged strong for a delicate flower like you.”

Liss smothered a laugh.

Her aunt fixed her with a stern look as she gathered up her coat and the briefcase she’d brought downstairs with her. “Good timing,” she said to Ernie. “You can drive me to work and we can talk on the way. I do have one suggestion for you, Liss,” she threw over her shoulder when Ernie had opened the door for her and set the bells ringing again.

“What’s that?” Liss hoped she wasn’t about to receive auntly advice on juggling men friends, especially not while Sherri’s father could overhear.

Apparently unaware of her niece’s train of thought, Margaret rolled her eyes upward toward the top of the door frame. “Replace those annoying sleigh bells with something that sounds a little more pleasant.”

Gordon pulled off the two-lane country road when Liss told him to, but he looked at her askance. “Are you sure this is where you want to start? We could have picked up the same trail five miles back, near an actual parking lot.”

He didn’t bother to point out that they could also have found a similar trail much closer to Moosetookalook. To reach this point they’d had to drive nearly an hour along the road that ran north through Carrabassett County and into Quebec.

“I just want to take a little test run and I came across a site online that showed all the trails and where they cross streets and highways.” That was true enough. The maps she’d found there had told her where to turn off the trail groomed by a local snowmobile club to get to the site marked in Eric Moss’s Maine atlas.

“You’re the boss.”

Gordon had Stu’s machine off its trailer in short order. Liss got aboard and started the engine, on the first try, while he locked his truck and made a final check of their gear. Although Liss had seen his wistful glance at the controls, he climbed on behind her without a word of protest, content to let her drive.

Liss passed back the map she’d printed out and marked. “We’re looking for the spot with the big red X,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t let me drive past it.”

His visor was open, giving her a clear view of his skeptical expression. Before it could turn into suspicion, she flipped her own face mask into place and put the snowmobile in motion.

She started off slowly. Stu had been right about the condition of the snow. Even on a well-maintained trail it was rough going. They bumped along, the noise of the engine discouraging conversation. She felt as if every inch of her body had gone numb from the cold and the constant vibration of the snowmobile by the time Gordon shouted into her ear.

“There! That’s the place you marked.”

Glad she’d read the owner’s manual and knew how to stop, Liss brought the snowmobile to a satisfactory if jerky halt and let it idle as she scanned the frozen landscape. It was also a good thing she’d brought Gordon along, she decided. She wouldn’t have recognized any landmarks in this sea of white.

“You’re sure?”

“The area you want to look at is through there.” He pointed to a stand of birch trees. “Looks like someone else has been this way recently.”

Liss’s spirits lifted. That would make things easier. It might also mean she’d been right about smugglers using this route.

Navigating carefully, she eased the snowmobile onto an even icier and more deeply rutted surface, the track left by one machine breaking its own trail. It was impossible to tell how often it had been used or when, but that it existed at all seemed to confirm her theory.

Behind her, Liss could sense Gordon’s increased wariness. He must have guessed by now that she was up to something. She was surprised he didn’t simply reach around her and hit the “kill switch.”

She refused to feel guilty about her ruse. He’d agreed to come with her. If he’d needed the break she offered and had been looking forward to getting away from the case for a few hours, well they’d had a relaxing drive to get this far. She did owe him an apology, along with an explanation. He’d get both, but not until they reached their destination.

The trail suddenly became much rougher and the day seemed colder, too. Liss shivered in spite of her warm clothing. She wished she’d opted for mittens rather than gloves.

Gradually, the trees through which they’d been traveling began to thin out. A few minutes later, she pulled into a clearing. At the center was a small shake-shingle house—the “rustic cabin” Jason Graye had described.

Rustic was right. Not only were no phone or power lines in sight, but off to one side was a phone-booth-sized structure that could only be an outhouse. The quarter moon cut into the door confirmed Liss’s guess.

She stopped the snowmobile, dismounted, and removed her helmet. Then she took a quick peek at the compass attached to the zipper of one of the many pockets on the outside of her hot pink snowmobile suit and turned so she faced due north.

The border with Canada was plainly distinguishable from the surrounding countryside—no fence or signs, but the trees had been clear-cut in a wide swath on both sides. She also saw evidence that the rough snowmobile trail they’d been following continued on across the gap in the pines and spruces, straight into the country next door.

Gordon’s gaze followed hers. His face hardened. His voice was deceptively mellow. “Something you’d like to share, Liss?”