staring through the glass, as Liss was, at The Toy Box.
The door left standing wide open behind her, Margaret stumbled down the porch steps and into the street. Oblivious to the fact that Dan Ruskin, headed for work in his pickup truck, was bearing down on her, she ran right out in front of him. Tires squealed as he stopped inches from a collision.
Margaret kept going. Her face ashen, she burst into the Emporium. “Call 9–1-1,” she gasped, her voice barely audible above the jangle of the sleigh bells attached to the door.
“Sherri’s right here.” Liss had never seen her aunt so upset. She was literally shaking.
“What’s wrong?” Sherri asked.
The sleigh bells over the threshold erupted once more as Dan rushed inside. His face was almost as pale as Margaret’s.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted. “I almost hit you!”
Margaret didn’t seem to hear him, nor did she respond to Sherri’s blue uniform. Her eyes locked with Liss’s. “There’s a dead man in the toy store!”
“What?” Liss didn’t think she could have heard correctly.
“Are you certain?” Sherri was already moving toward the door.
A horrible grimace distorted Margaret’s features. “I’m sure. Hearts tend to stop beating when someone fires a bullet through them.”
Ohmigod, Liss thought. Just like the Tiny Teddy!
Chapter Seven
T he words of a lecture on crime scenes came back to Sherri as she stepped cautiously through the open front door of The Toy Box. “Think like a criminal,” the instructor had said. “Witnesses are not the most important factor. They’re unreliable. The scene, however, does not change.”
It did if it had been messed with.
A strange man knelt next to Gavin Thorne’s body.
“You! Stand up and turn around. Slowly.” Sherri didn’t see a weapon, but she drew her own. Better safe than sorry.
The man blinked at her in confusion. Hands in the air, he tried for an innocuous smile and missed. He wore a dark gray wool coat that shouted expensive but the faint greenish tinge of his complexion was common as dirt. “I’m sorry. I think I’m going to—”
“Outside. Now!” She barely had time to get out of his way before he rushed past her to deposit his breakfast in the bushes beside the porch. She followed him, giving him a moment to recover before she spoke again. “You done?”
He nodded, eyes closed.
“Name?”
“Mark Patton. Innocent bystander. I swear.”
“Then why did you go inside?”
“Something upset that woman.”
“Try again.”
“I was looking for a Tiny Teddy, okay?”
“Okay. Stay put. You’ll have to give a statement.” She wasn’t sure she trusted him to follow orders, but she had his name and made a mental note of the license number on his car before she went back inside. If he took off, she could find him.
The basics of murder investigation had been drilled into Sherri at the police academy. There were only three departments in the entire state that handled them—the cities of Portland and Bangor and the State Police. The local P.D., however, had its role to play. Sherri was the one responsible for making initial observations. She might be asked to assist the state police further, if she had special knowledge of the case to offer. What she did in the next couple of minutes could be crucial, not only to solving Thorne’s murder but also to her career in law enforcement.
Secure the scene? No. Not until she’d made sure Thorne was really dead. Although she wasn’t in much doubt, she wasn’t supposed to take a civilian’s word for it. A few steps inside the shop she stopped to brace herself for the sight and smell of violent death.
It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. There was blood, but not buckets of it. Thorne lay sprawled on the floor on his back. His Harry Potter glasses had landed a short distance away. One lens was cracked.
Her gaze shifted back to the body. Gavin Thorne had been shot in the chest. Good aim, Sherri thought. She
The door left standing wide open behind her, Margaret stumbled down the porch steps and into the street. Oblivious to the fact that Dan Ruskin, headed for work in his pickup truck, was bearing down on her, she ran right out in front of him. Tires squealed as he stopped inches from a collision.
Margaret kept going. Her face ashen, she burst into the Emporium. “Call 9–1-1,” she gasped, her voice barely audible above the jangle of the sleigh bells attached to the door.
“Sherri’s right here.” Liss had never seen her aunt so upset. She was literally shaking.
“What’s wrong?” Sherri asked.
The sleigh bells over the threshold erupted once more as Dan rushed inside. His face was almost as pale as Margaret’s.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted. “I almost hit you!”
Margaret didn’t seem to hear him, nor did she respond to Sherri’s blue uniform. Her eyes locked with Liss’s. “There’s a dead man in the toy store!”
“What?” Liss didn’t think she could have heard correctly.
“Are you certain?” Sherri was already moving toward the door.
A horrible grimace distorted Margaret’s features. “I’m sure. Hearts tend to stop beating when someone fires a bullet through them.”
Ohmigod, Liss thought. Just like the Tiny Teddy!
Chapter Seven
T he words of a lecture on crime scenes came back to Sherri as she stepped cautiously through the open front door of The Toy Box. “Think like a criminal,” the instructor had said. “Witnesses are not the most important factor. They’re unreliable. The scene, however, does not change.”
It did if it had been messed with.
A strange man knelt next to Gavin Thorne’s body.
“You! Stand up and turn around. Slowly.” Sherri didn’t see a weapon, but she drew her own. Better safe than sorry.
The man blinked at her in confusion. Hands in the air, he tried for an innocuous smile and missed. He wore a dark gray wool coat that shouted expensive but the faint greenish tinge of his complexion was common as dirt. “I’m sorry. I think I’m going to—”
“Outside. Now!” She barely had time to get out of his way before he rushed past her to deposit his breakfast in the bushes beside the porch. She followed him, giving him a moment to recover before she spoke again. “You done?”
He nodded, eyes closed.
“Name?”
“Mark Patton. Innocent bystander. I swear.”
“Then why did you go inside?”
“Something upset that woman.”
“Try again.”
“I was looking for a Tiny Teddy, okay?”
“Okay. Stay put. You’ll have to give a statement.” She wasn’t sure she trusted him to follow orders, but she had his name and made a mental note of the license number on his car before she went back inside. If he took off, she could find him.
The basics of murder investigation had been drilled into Sherri at the police academy. There were only three departments in the entire state that handled them—the cities of Portland and Bangor and the State Police. The local P.D., however, had its role to play. Sherri was the one responsible for making initial observations. She might be asked to assist the state police further, if she had special knowledge of the case to offer. What she did in the next couple of minutes could be crucial, not only to solving Thorne’s murder but also to her career in law enforcement.
Secure the scene? No. Not until she’d made sure Thorne was really dead. Although she wasn’t in much doubt, she wasn’t supposed to take a civilian’s word for it. A few steps inside the shop she stopped to brace herself for the sight and smell of violent death.
It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. There was blood, but not buckets of it. Thorne lay sprawled on the floor on his back. His Harry Potter glasses had landed a short distance away. One lens was cracked.
Her gaze shifted back to the body. Gavin Thorne had been shot in the chest. Good aim, Sherri thought. She
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