in Sherri’s cup had the consistency of sludge. She shuddered when she inspected the grounds.
Carrying the whole mess to the communal kitchen down the hall, she scrubbed the coffeepot and basket, then returned to the P.D. to collect all the mugs and cups scattered about and toss them into the suds. She hoped she wasn’t setting a bad precedent. She might be Moosetookalook’s only female police officer, but neither making coffee nor cleaning house was part of her job description.
She’d made that very clear to her coworkers when she’d started her last job and there had never been any trouble. Until recently, she’d been a corrections officer, dispatcher, and deputy—the three jobs were all one in rural Carrabassett County. She’d worked at the county jail, appointed by and responsible to the sheriff.
Sometimes she regretted leaving the sheriff’s office for the police department, but not when she opened her pay envelope. The town fathers of Moosetookalook might be frugal, but they were nowhere near as miserly as the county commissioners.
While a fresh pot of coffee brewed, Sherri resumed rambling. She stopped on the brink of entering the tiny holding cell in the P.D.’s closet-size third room. It probably had been a closet at one time, since it could only be reached through the office.
“What were you planning to do?” she muttered to herself. “Dust?”
Reversing course, she flung herself into the oversize chair behind one of the two desks in the larger room. The seat, which bore the permanent imprint of Jeff Thibodeau’s posterior, seemed to swallow her whole.
This was not what she’d expected. Oh, sure, she’d always known police work was 99 percent boredom and 1 percent sheer panic, but—
The shrill ring of the phone at her elbow startled her so badly that she let out a small squeak of alarm. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat as she reached for the receiver and put all the authority she could muster into her voice.
“Moosetookalook Police Department. Officer Willett speaking.”
Ten minutes later, Sherri strolled into Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. Although Liss hadn’t made a lick of sense on the phone, Sherri was relatively certain there was no crime in progress at the shop. Curiosity, rather than concern for her friend’s safety, had convinced her to forward all incoming calls to the P.D. to her cell phone and venture out on “foot patrol.”
It took another ten minutes for Liss to bring Sherri up to speed. She recounted Gavin Thorne’s visit and its outcome, stopping now and again to answer Sherri’s questions.
“So you do have more of these Tiny Teddies?”
“Almost a hundred of them. And Marcia bought some too.”
“Why?”
“I liked the little kilts. I figured I’d corner the market on kilted teddy bears. I never expected—”
“No, I mean why does Marcia have Tiny Teddies? She runs a consignment shop. Second Time Around stocks mostly clothing.”
“She bought hers for decoration. They’re dressed like Santa’s elves. From what I can gather—I did some checking on the Internet—the company that makes Tiny Teddies only manufactures a limited number wearing any particular costume. That makes all the varieties more collectible.”
Sherri nodded. Now that she thought about it, she’d noticed that the Tiny Teddies in the display window of The Toy Box, Gavin Thorne’s store, all wore different outfits. “So Tiny Teddies come in many varieties, in all sorts of get-ups. They’re considered collectible by adults as well as being toys for kids. And if you really have cornered the market on teddies in kilts, you can name your own price. But if this is such a hot item, why haven’t buyers already found your supply? You put the bears in the online catalog at the Emporium’s Web site, right?”
“Yes, but I didn’t call them Tiny Teddies.”
“So update the description.”
“I’ve had a better idea.” Liss’s changeable blue-green eyes gleamed with barely suppressed excitement. “We make the buyers come here. This could be just what Moosetookalook needs. There isn’t much time, but we do still have more than two weeks until Christmas. I’ve been making lists.”
“Of course you have.” Liss always made lists.
“First I have to talk to Marcia. Then to Gavin Thorne. And then we need to bring the whole town in on this.” Liss turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED, grabbed her bright green coat off the rack by the door and led the way back outside.
A blast of cold air hit Sherri as soon as they left the Emporium. She looked hopefully at the sky, but there wasn’t a cloud in sight.
They hurried past Stu’s Ski Shop with its life-size skier on the roof of the porch and dashed across the intersection of Pine and Birch Streets. Marcia and her husband had bought the corner house a few years back. In common with most of the old Victorians that surrounded the town square, the downstairs portion had been converted for use as a business while the upstairs rooms had been turned into an apartment. Marcia lived there alone now. Almost a year ago, apparently in the throes of a midlife crisis, Cabot Katz had decamped. Sherri had no idea where he’d gone, but several months later, Marcia had dropped the name Katz and gone back to being Marcia Milliken.
A small bell above the door tinkled merrily and more melodiously than the one at the Emporium. Once inside the consignment shop, Liss waited a moment, then called out a greeting: “Anybody home?”
“Hang on a sec!” The sound of a disembodied voice was followed by a flush. Sherri and Liss exchanged a rueful grin. When you owned a small shop there was rarely anyone available to cover for you when you needed to use the facilities.
Marcia emerged through a door behind the small desk she used as a sales counter. She was a tall, angular woman in her forties with a pale complexion and wheat-colored hair. Unlike Liss, she did not wear her store’s stock. She was comfortably dressed in well-worn jeans and a cable-knit sweater. She needed the latter. Marcia kept the temperature in her building at a frugal sixty-two degrees.
“Liss. Sherri. Hi. What brings you out on this nippy morning?”
“Have you seen this?” Liss thrust the newspaper at her.
Marcia’s eyes widened as she read. “Those dumb little bears? Get out of here!”
“How many do you have?”
“Two dozen. I didn’t buy them to sell. I’m using them for Christmas decorations.”
Liss started to explain her plan but Marcia didn’t let her get very far.
“eBay.”
“What?”
“Online auction. That’s the best way to sell them. Put the bears up one at a time. Set a nice high minimum bid for each one.”
If this were a cartoon, Sherri thought, the artist would draw dollar signs in place of Marcia’s eyes.
Liss looked horrified. “You can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“Because we have a chance
