Kilt Dead (5 page)

“Oh, I can never resist coming to take a look around. I
won’t stay long. Too much going on. But I did want to see
how you were doing.” For her jaunt to the fairgrounds,
the retired teacher wore stretch denim and a loose, sleeveless top. The jogging shoes were the same ones she’d had
on the previous day.

“Things are going just fine, Mrs. Norris.”

“Had a scone yet?”

Liss laughed. “Imagine you remembering that!”

“Oh, I never forget a thing, dear. In fact, I seem to recall something a little naughty about you.”

“I can’t imagine what”

“Can’t you?”

Liss shook her head, truly baffled. “I wasn’t exactly a
wild child.”

“Well, we all have our little secrets. And I know most
of them”

“Now that sounds ominous,” Liss teased her. “Should
I be worried about blackmail?”

“Too risky. That would make you a threat to me, if you
were murderously inclined, that is.” Mrs. Norris lowered
her voice. “I was reading a mystery novel the other day in
which a character is stabbed to death with a little dagger.
I wonder if it could have been one of these?” She indicated another sgian dubh.

“Was the story set in Scotland?” Amanda Norris loved
to read. Liss had seen her bookshelves. They were lined
with mysteries, although romances ran a close second.

“Sixteenth-century England, but the victim was a
Scot”

For once, Liss wasn’t certain of her history. “I’m not
sure they called it a sgian dubh that long ago, but I’d certainly think twice about crossing someone who carried a
knife.”

“This character should have thought twice about carrying one himself, since it was his own weapon that was
used against him. Still, he got what he deserved. That’s as
it should be” She nodded sagely. “You’ll get your just
desserts, too, Liss MacCrimmon.”

At Liss’s blank look, Mrs. Norris leaned in, again lowering her voice to a whisper. “That piece of apple pie,
dear. It’s still got your name on it.”

‘or the first time all day, there were no potential customers in sight. Liss sank gratefully down onto a stool
and fished under the counter for the cooler she’d packed
with lunch. It was just after one in the afternoon.

Her knee ached a bit, but as a dancer she was accustomed to ignoring pain. Just now she was more concerned about easing the hollow feeling in her stomach.
She hadn’t eaten a bite since that quick breakfast at sunrise.

With a sigh, she pulled a container of strawberry yogurt out of the cooler. “Want one?” she asked Sherri.

“Yuck”

Silently agreeing with that assessment, Liss peeled
back the top and dug in. She tried to imagine she was eating a warm scone dripping with butter. It didn’t work.
She couldn’t even pretend the yogurt was one of the flavored scones, best eaten plain. “I have a feeling I’ll be
giving in to temptation before the day is out,” she muttered under her breath.

Sherri popped the top on a can of soda and squinted
toward the athletic field. The Stone of Strength competition was long over but two other events were in progress
at opposite ends of the field, the caber toss and the sheaf
throw.

Even without the binoculars, Liss could see the action well enough. Each caber was nineteen feet long and weighed
a hundred and twenty pounds-most people compared them
to telephone poles. The object of the competition wasn’t
distance, but to toss the caber end-over-end so that the
small end fell directly away from the competitor. The sheaf
toss was an event that involved tossing a sixteen-pound
sheaf of hay, encased in a burlap bag, over a bar … using
a three-tined pitchfork.

“Hammer throw is next,” Sherri said, consulting a program. “Pete’s entered in that one, too”

“Not my favorite sport,” Liss said. The hammer, a
metal ball attached to a wooden handle, weighed a little
over twenty pounds and had been known to fly more than
a hundred yards when well thrown. “One year I stood too
close to the field. A contestant lost his grip on the hammer and I swear it was coming straight at me. I let out a
shriek and threw myself flat on the ground”

“Were you hit?”

Liss shook her head, a rueful expression on her face.
“The only thing damaged was my dignity. The hammer
didn’t land anywhere near me”

She could smile about it now. At the time she’d been
mortified.

“So,” she said, scooping out the last of the yogurt, “do
you have a special interest in Pete Campbell?” Liss remembered him slightly. He’d been a couple of years
ahead of them in school.

A haunted expression came over Sherri’s face. “What
would be the point? I come with too much baggage”

Frowning thoughtfully, Liss tossed the now empty
container toward the trash can. “Because you have a child?”

“That’s part of it. The other’s my job. And his. It’s
complicated.”

“I’m a good listener,” Liss offered. “What does working in a shop that sells Scottish imports have to do with
anything?”

“Oh, not that job. I only work part time for your aunt.
My full-time job is as a corrections officer for the sheriff’s department” Before Liss could ask for further explanation, Sherri’s gaze shifted, moving to a spot over Liss’s
shoulder. Her eyes widened. “Oh-oh”

“What?” Liss turned her head to look but saw nothing
that alarmed her.

“Jason Graye is coming this way. He’s got to be the
most obnoxious man in Moosetookalook.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He only turned up in this area a couple of years ago.
One of those move-in-and-take-over types. Lives in Moosetookalook but owns a real estate company here in Fallstown.
Got himself elected president of the Rotary Club and a
selectman.”

“Ah, an entrepreneur!”

Sherri grinned. “Yup.”

Liss fixed her salesperson smile in place and reached
her side of the counter just as a man and woman came
abreast of the booth. Graye looked to be forty at most,
with a hawk nose and strong jaw. His companion was
younger, but not by much. Of medium height and slender,
she’d styled her strawberry blonde hair into an elaborate
twist that kept it away from an oval face dominated by
pouty lips and rather pretty hazel eyes. Liss glanced at
her hand, looking for a wedding ring, but didn’t see one.

“The lady wants a kilt,” Jason Graye said. He had a
brusque manner and although he wasn’t quite tall enough
to loom over Liss, he thrust himself into her space in a
way that made her hackles rise. She wondered if he tried
to intimidate everyone, or only those he considered his
inferiors.

Hiding her irritation behind the facade of a helpful
salesclerk, she invited him to come around the counter
and take a look. A narrow aisle allowed access to several
racks of clothing, including ready-made kilts. The rest of the sales space consisted of a series of display tables
arranged in a square under an awning.

From the rack holding an even dozen, Liss selected a
kilt in the red, green, yellow, blue, and white Royal Stewart tartan and held it up for their inspection. “This one is
beautifully made”

Graye reached in front of his companion and flipped
the price tag over. His eyes widened. “Three hundred dollars! For a skirt?”

“For a kilt,” Liss corrected him. “Kilts are tightly pleated
at the back and take eight yards of material to make. The
apron front has to hang just right. Length is important,
too. A properly made kilt just clears the ground when the
wearer kneels.”

“That looks too big for me,” the woman said, leaning
in and nearly knocking Liss over with the strong perfume
she wore. “What size is it?”

“They don’t come sized the way women’s clothes are.
To be honest, the best way to make sure your kilt will
look right is to have one custom made”

“And that costs more, right?” Graye made it sound as
if he thought Liss was trying to bilk him.

“Yes, it does. And it can’t be done overnight, but the
results are well worth both the price and the wait. We
have three sources for custom-made kilts. Kilts ordered
from Canada arrive in ten to twelve weeks. Special orders
to the kilt-maker we use in Glasgow take longer.”

“And the third choice?” the woman asked.

“My aunt, the owner of Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium, makes kilts as a sideline. However, she is currently in Scotland. I’m afraid you’d have to wait three weeks
just for an appointment to have measurements taken”

“Forget it. Come on, Barbara “

But Barbara was having none of it. Liss applauded her
for refusing to let Jason Graye boss her around even as she winced at the whine in the other woman’s voice. “You
promised, Jase. You promised me a kilt.”

“That was when I thought we could get one off the
rack” Unspoken was the qualifier “cheap.”

“You promised.”

“All right. All right. Anything to shut you up. Order
the damned kilt.”

All smiles, Barbara turned back to Liss. “I don’t like
this plaid. It’s too bright.”

“In connection with kilts, the pattern is called a tartan,
and these days each clan has one or more of its own. Do
you have any Scottish ancestors?”

“I don’t think so” Her face fell, momentarily giving
her the look of a small child denied a treat. “Does that
mean I can’t wear a kilt?”

“Not at all. The tartan I just showed you is called
Royal Stewart and this”-she pulled out a kilt featuring
darker hues “is Black Watch. Anyone can wear either of
these, which is why you often see them in the uniforms of
bagpipe bands”

Liss lovingly fingered the soft wool, debating whether
she should elaborate on the terminology. What Barbara
had called plaid pronouncing it “pladd”-was rightly tartan and a plaid pronounced “played”-was the rectangular woolen cape in a tartan pattern that was worn over
one shoulder. TMI, she decided. By the same token, she
didn’t think she’d let Jason Graye in on the fact that some
purists still insisted only men be allowed to wear kilts.
That would cost Aunt Margaret a sale for sure.

“I don’t like that pattern either,” Barbara said. “Too
dark”

Liss indicated the tartan in her own skirt, yet another
available to anyone. “This is Hunting Stewart”

But Barbara’s gaze had strayed to an assortment of tartan ties on a nearby rack. “What about that one?” The pat tern she’d picked was dark green and blue with black and
pink worked in.

“You’re in luck.” And so was Aunt Margaret. “This is
called the Flower of Scotland and was specifically created
for those who don’t have Scots roots. I noticed just this
morning that there is a bolt of this fabric in my aunt’s
stock room, so if you’d like to go ahead and place the
order for your kilt, I can set up an appointment for three
weeks from today. The deposit is a hundred dollars.”

“What a racket,” Graye complained.

“I want a kilt in this pattern” Arms crossed in front of
her chest, Barbara gave him a look that said she wasn’t
budging until he agreed to Liss’s terms.

“And I want to see this bolt of fabric first,” Graye said,
“to make sure it’s quality stuff. And I want to see a sample of your aunt’s work. Margaret Boyd, right? I know
her.”

Liss kept smiling, but it took an effort. “I’m not sure
one of Aunt Margaret’s creations is available. Every kilt
she makes is pre-sold. They don’t stay in the shop long
once they’re finished. As for the fabric, however, I’d be
happy to bring the bolt of cloth here to the fairgrounds
with me tomorrow, if that would suit.”

“We won’t be here tomorrow. Why not today? It’s only
sixteen miles to Moosetookalook. You could get there in
twenty minutes.”

“But to drive there, pick up the fabric, and come back
would take closer to an hour,” Liss pointed out. “I’m
afraid neither Sherri nor I can spare that much time away
from the booth”

Luckily, the number of customers browsing at the display tables supported her claim. Just now they could have
used a third pair of hands.

“You could give me a key to the shop,” Graye had the
audacity to suggest. “Barbara and I can stop in on our
way home”