Kilt Dead

Liss threaded her way through the dimly lit shop to the
stockroom. If she collected the bolt of tartan wool before
she went upstairs, there’d be no chance she’d forget to take
it with her in the morning. Jason Graye might be a royal
pain, but his money was nothing to scoff at. His kilt order
would yield a nice profit.

The sense of wrongness hit Liss the moment she
opened the door.

Her fingers, already reaching for the switch, completed
the movement, flooding the room with light. Harsh overhead fluorescent bulbs illuminated the scene with merciless clarity.

The Flower of Scotland fabric was no long on the shelf.

It was on the floor, partially covering a very dead
body …

Books by Kaitlyn Dunnett

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

KAITLyN DUNNETT

KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third Avenue New York, NY 10022

Copyright © 2007 by Kathy Lynn Emerson All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews. If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.” All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager: Attn. Special Sales Department. Kensington Publishing Corp., 850 Third Avenue, New York, NY, 10022. Phone: 1-800-221-2647. Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off. ISBN-13: 978-0-7582-1644-1 ISBN-10: 0-7582-1644-0 First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: August 2007 First Kensington Mass-Market Printing: July 2008 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America

iss MacCrimmon never felt more alive than when she
was about to step onto a stage. As she waited in the
wings, she drank in the essence of the theater hosting that
night’s performance, inhaling the mixed scents of freshly
ironed costumes, stage makeup, and rosin. Even the slightly
musty smell of the old velvet curtains delighted her senses.

Just behind her she could hear the soft creak of levers
moving a bit stiffly on an old-fashioned light board as one
of the crew tamed the antiquated system to his will. The
members of Strathspey had presented their show on all sorts
of stages. This venue, in a forty-year-old high school in a
medium-sized town in New York State, was no worse
than most and better than many.

The rest of the troupe-Americans, Canadians, and
Scots bound together by their passion for Scottish dancing wedged themselves into the cramped backstage
area as their introductory music blared through the sound
system, effectively drowning out audience chatter. Liss
had peeked out earlier. They had a good crowd, considering it was mid-week and they were in an area without a
large population of Scottish descent.

The company had launched its first tour eight years
earlier on the premise that those who loved the romance
of bagpipes, Braveheart, and kilts would take to the idea
the way the Irish, and everyone else, had embraced River dance. Strathspey-named after one of the traditional Scottish dances-had fallen far short of the phenomenal success of that show, but the troupe still managed to get
bookings in small venues fifty weeks out of every year.

To Liss it didn’t matter where they performed, or for
how many people. She got the same tingle in her toes, the
same giddy rush of pleasure and excitement, whether they
were in Boston, Boise, or Boca Raton. At the age of twentyseven, she felt as much anticipation, as much enthusiasm
for her career, as she had on the day she turned pro at nineteen.

Out front the recorded music came to an end. An expectant hush fell over the assembled spectators. Liss’s pulse
quickened and her heart beat just a little bit faster as she
waited for the first stirring notes to be played on the Great
Highland Bagpipe. She flexed one leg, then the other,
rolled her shoulders, and took a deep breath.

The cue came right on schedule. This was it. They were
on. A surge of adrenaline propelled her onto the stage.

Leading the others, Liss flowed with the music, her
feet performing the intricate steps as they had thousands
of times before. The rest of her body automatically assumed
the familiar poses and her face wore a radiant smile. She
whirled and leapt, reveling in the freedom and beauty of
the dances. The company performed a variety of Scottish
standards, from strathspeys and reels and jigs to sword
dances and Highland flings, all woven together in a loose
story of Scottish immigrants finding a new life in the
New World.

When she danced, Liss was aware of nothing but the
music, the other dancers, and her own joy. If she was short
on sleep, or stiff from too much traveling, she could easily ignore those minor distractions. She was accustomed
to performing in spite of aches and pains. Dancers lived
with both day in and day out, taping up ankles and knees
as necessary so the show could go on.

But this night, as Liss launched herself into the final
round of step dancing, the “Broadway kick-line” the company counted on to bring the audience to its feet, something went terribly wrong. Her left foot came down
awkwardly on the hard wooden stage. She heard a loud
pop. Excruciating pain shot through her knee. If her arms
hadn’t been linked with those of dancers on either side,
she would have collapsed.

Her smile frozen in place, Liss stumbled through the
next moments of the dance, literally carried by the others
until they could spirit her off stage. From the wings,
while anxious members of the backstage crew got her to
a chair, elevated her leg, and applied ice, Liss watched the
company dance on without her. Although she knew they
had no choice, she felt as if they’d abandoned her. When
another wave of pain swept over her, it was deeper and
more agonizing than mere physical torment. It was accompanied by the terrible fear that this injury was the one
all dancers dreaded, the one that could end a career.

Impatience was Liss MacCrimmon’s besetting sin. As
a child, she’d opened her Christmas presents as soon as
the brightly wrapped packages appeared beneath the tree.
Even when what she was waiting for might be bad news,
she always wanted to hear the worst quickly and be done
with it.

She sat in Dr. Kessler’s examining room, twisting a
lock of dark brown, shoulder-length hair between her fingers, wishing she’d brought a book with her to pass the
time. She suspected she’d be too fidgety to take in a single
word she read, but anything was better than staring at biggerthan-life diagrams of the hand, the elbow, the knee, and
the ankle.

The sound of the door opening brought her head up
with a snap. Her heart sank as she read the expression on the orthopedist’s jowly face. He hadn’t been optimistic
when he’d operated on her injured knee two months earlier, but she’d made such a rapid recovery after surgery
that she’d convinced herself there was still a chance of resuming her career. Hadn’t she just walked into the doctor’s office under her own steam and with only the hint of
a limp? She’d been hoping for a green light to go back on
the road with Strathspey before the summer was over.

Her gaze dropped to the X-rays he carried under his
arm.

Her X-rays. Her life.

“Give it to me straight,” she said.

Dr. Kessler’s expression turned even more grim and
Liss felt the knot of tension in her chest pull tighter.

“For someone in almost any other profession, this would
be good news,” he told her. “You’re healing well. Remarkably well. But you have plastic and metal in there now,
Liss.” He tapped the long, still-livid scar on her left knee.
“A partial knee replacement is not designed to stand up to
the high-impact step dancing you do for a living.”

Liss held herself perfectly still. “If I continue with the
physical therapy, surely I can–”

“If you keep up the strengthening exercises, in another
month you’ll be ninety-nine percent back to normal and
flexible enough to do almost anything, but if you go back
to dancing, that knee won’t last. You’ll end up needing
more surgery. And every time you have work done on the
same area, healing becomes more problematic. There are
no two ways about it, Liss. You’re going to have to find a
new career.”

Her hands tightened over the front edge of the chair as
emotions flooded through her. She was on the verge of
tears but she refused to let them fall. “No. Damn it, no! It
can’t end like this. I don’t know how to do anything else.
I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“Do you want to end up in a wheelchair?”

Liss’s usual self-possession deserted her. She was adrift.
Dr. Kessler’s blunt assessment left her without an anchor.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.
“Scottish dancing isn’t just my career,” she finally managed in a choked voice. “It’s my life”

“I’m sorry, Liss, but you have to face facts. And you
must have known all along that dancers don’t keep working until they reach the normal retirement age”

“I know that. I do. But some of the others in the company are in their thirties. One is forty-one. I should have
had years left.”

“I realize this is hard,” Dr. Kessler said, “but it isn’t the
end of the world. You could teach dancing.” He registered
her automatic moue of distaste and shrugged. “Manage a
dance company, then. Anything but perform night after
night.” He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “With normal use, this new knee can last ten to twenty years without giving you much trouble. But if you abuse it, it will
give out on you. Make no mistake, Liss, your days as a
professional dancer are over”