Kilt at the Highland Games by Kaitlyn Dunnett Page A

broken with any amount of force, shards of glass would have sprayed directly into dozens of post office boxes. They had little doors that unlocked by keys at the front, but in back they were open so that Julie Simpson, Moosetookalook’s postmaster, could fill them with letters, postcards, advertising flyers, and package slips.
    Liss was about to turn away and return to Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium when Betsy Twining stepped out of Clip and Curl. While the post office, at the front of the building, opened onto Ash Street and the town square, the entrance to Betsy’s business was on Pine.
    â€œAwful, isn’t it?” Betsy asked. “What some people get up to!”
    â€œDid they catch whoever did it?” Liss asked.
    â€œNot so far.” She made a face. “I don’t think much of that new part-timer Sherri’s got working nights. He’s supposed to patrol. Do door checks. He never even noticed the broken window.”
    â€œIt’s pretty dark on this side, away from the lights in the town square.” Liss knew and liked Mike Jennings, but to Betsy he still carried the taint of being “from away.”
    â€œBe that as it may, it was left to Julie to spot the damage when she came in this morning. By the time I got here for my first appointment, a couple of men were already putting up that hunk of plywood.”
    Julie Simpson was not only Moosetookalook’s postmaster, she was the only United States Postal Service employee to work at Moosetookalook’s tiny post office. Most days she came in at half past six and had the mail sorted and slotted by eight, at which point she opened the lobby to customers.
    â€œIs Julie still in there?” Liss asked.
    â€œWent home a half hour ago, and not in the best of moods, either.” Betsy chuckled. “It wasn’t just the vandalism that had her riled. It was the attitude of the higher-ups in the postal service. I don’t know who she reports to, but she phoned him right after she called the cops. I think she was hoping he’d come give her a hand, or at least send someone to help out, but he just told her to close the facility. Facility! Then he told her to make sure none of her customers got cut on broken glass because it was embedded in their mail.”
    Not a pretty picture, Liss thought.
    â€œPoor Julie had to pull everything out of every box to make sure nothing had glass stuck to it. Then she had to vacuum the boxes before she could put the mail back in. And that’s not all. She had to clean everything—the floor, the sorting tables, even the bins.”
    Liss could sympathize. Glass had a tendency to fly in all directions and end up in the most unlikely locations.
    â€œThen, on top of all that,” Betsy continued, clearly relishing the chance to regale someone with the details, “Julie still had to put out the new mail that came in this morning.”
    â€œWho put up the plywood?” Liss asked.
    â€œWell, that’s another story. It was the glass company. You’d think they’d just come out and replace the glass, wouldn’t you? But no. Seems that high-mucky-muck post office guy called that outfit down to Fallstown and instead of just ordering a new window, he insisted that this one be replaced with safety glass.”
    â€œAnd this created a problem?” Liss didn’t try to hurry Betsy along. She was in no rush to get back to the Emporium, and she was curious to hear all the details.
    â€œWell, yes,” Betsy said, as if that should have been obvious. “That made it a special order, and that meant the glass people couldn’t replace it right away because they don’t keep that kind of glass in stock. Not the size needed to replace that window, anyway.”
    Liss wasn’t surprised. Fallstown might be considerably larger than Moosetookalook, but it was far from being a big city. No sensible business kept an expensive product in stock when there