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hands. Liss had already told everyone how much money she needed. No one questioned her math, and the vote to authorize funding a group ad and a pageant was unanimous. In spite of their differences, Moosetookalook’s businesses were all desperate for customers.
    A second vote, much closer than the first, left the matter of displaying and pricing Tiny Teddies entirely in the hands of the three individuals who actually had supplies of the toy.
    That settled, everyone was in a hurry to leave. They all had businesses to run or jobs to go to. Even Dan did a rapid disappearing act, escaping before Liss had the opportunity to thank him for his help.
    “Marcia, wait,” Liss called as the other woman made a beeline for the front door. She caught the sleeve of Marcia’s coat, drawing her back inside until everyone else had gone. “Are you still set on online auctions?”
    “Why not? Good money there.”
    “Also a lot of hassle. You’ve got to make sure the buyers’ credit is solid. Then you have to ship and insure the merchandise. There’s always a chance of something getting lost in transit.”
    Marcia’s frown told Liss that her arguments were getting through. Who hadn’t heard at least one horror story about an online auction gone wrong?
    “You can always auction off your Tiny Teddies at the last minute if they don’t sell here.”
    “True.”
    “And you’re free to price them as you see fit.”
    “Also true. Okay. I’ll wait.” That said, she took off at a fast clip.
    Liss wondered what her hurry was. Second Time Around was open only “by chance or appointment,” although Marcia usually hung out the OPEN sign around ten.
    Lumpkin sauntered into the living room as soon as he was sure Liss was alone. “Why do I have the feeling,” she asked him, “that Marcia’s bears are not going to be sold for $9.99?”
    Liss spent a few minutes clearing away coffee mugs and paper plates. She stuck the two remaining doughnuts into a ziplock bag and put it in the refrigerator so that Lumpkin wouldn’t eat them. He was an expert at opening cabinets, louvered doors, even the old-fashioned bread box on the counter.
    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