Kilt Dead Page 25

  They both landed hard, Ned in an ungainly, unmoving sprawl and Liss, backpedaling to get out of the way, with a yelp as she lost her balance. The wind knocked out of her, it took her a moment to pull herself upright on the sun-warmed gravel that covered the roof. She looked around for her cousin, but he was still down for the count.

  Don’t kid yourself, she thought. He could revive at any moment and she was a long way from a phone. The one she’d used to call Sherri was in her purse, and her purse was in Ned’s apartment.

  Liss did a quick assessment of her injuries. She had scrapes, bruises, maybe even a twisted ankle on her good leg. She was alive and relatively undamaged, but she wasn’t sure she could walk, let alone do stairs, and this time she had no dance team to support her until she reached the wings.

  “Crawling it is,” she muttered after her first attempt to stand verified that she’d done damage to both her ankle and her knee.

  The sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs was music to her ears. When she recognized Dan’s voice calling her name she could have wept.

  “Sherri will pick you up at the airport,” Liss told her aunt.

  She didn’t want to go into detail on the phone about the twisted ankle that made it impossible for her to drive to Portland Jetport. Nor did she explain that Sherri had realized before Liss did that Ned wasn’t going to quietly confess to killing Mrs. Norris. Stuck in Fallstown, Sherri had not been about to sit tight and do nothing when she was certain Liss was walking straight into danger. She’d been unable to send in the local constabulary—they were tied up with a tractor-trailer accident out on Ridge Road—so she’d called Dan at the construction site. He’d arrived at Ned’s apartment building just in time to hear Ned shout, “You bitch!”

  “How’s she holding up?” Dan asked when Liss hung up.

  “Hard to tell. I think she’s still in shock.” Twenty-four hours after Ned’s arrest, Liss was far from sanguine about the situation herself. Her own cousin had tried to kill her. How was she supposed to react to that?

  “Did you tell her you were staying here?”

  “No. I’ll probably be able to hobble up to the apartment by the time she gets home.”

  Forbidden by the emergency room doctor she’d seen to climb stairs until the swelling in her ankle went down, Liss had temporarily moved into the downstairs of Mrs. Norris’s house. Her house, she corrected herself. The local grapevine had brought out the neighbors in force to help her settle in. They’d made sure she was comfortable and had plenty to eat, as well as plenty of company. Patsy had paid a visit this morning, bringing a fresh batch of “wicked good” sticky buns.

  Dan had stayed the night.

  She smiled up at him from the Canadian rocker. Both feet were propped up on a hassock. She had a clear view of the neighborhood but she had realized something—the neighbors were keeping an eye on her, too. In a good way. Horrible as the experience with Ned had been, since then she had truly begun to feel as if she belonged here, as if she was a part of Moosetookalook.

  “I’m thinking about staying on here awhile.”

  “Till you’re on your feet again?”

  “Maybe longer than that. I have to decide what to do about this house and Lumpkin. And Aunt Margaret . . .” She let her voice trail off. On the phone from Scotland, her aunt had been talking about selling the Emporium to raise money for her son’s legal defense. Liss wasn’t sure how she felt about helping that effort but, in spite of everything Ned had done, she knew she couldn’t abandon his mother. “I’ll stay as long as Aunt Margaret needs me.”

  Leaning against the wall, he grinned down at her. “Stick around long enough and you may even be able to get that scone recipe to come out right.”

  In spite of her worries about her aunt, Liss couldn’t help but respond to his teasing. “That last batch wasn’t so bad.”

  “Wasn’t too good, either.”

  She made a face at him. “The next batch will be good,” she promised. “And the batch after that”—she paused for effect—“will be wicked good.”

  Please turn the page for a sneak peek at the

  next exciting Liss MacCrimmon mystery,

  SCONE COLD DEAD,

  coming in hardcover in August 2008!

  Chapter One

  “So,” Dan Ruskin said. “Explain this to me.”

  Liss MacCrimmon shot him an incredulous look. Explain what? The sequence of dance steps that made up a Highland Fling? The years of training that went into creating a professional dancer? Her life?

  Former life, she reminded herself, and felt a sharp pang in a region of her heart for all she had lost. In a few minutes the lights in the auditorium would dim and the show would begin. Members of Strathspey, the company of Scottish dancers Liss had belonged to from the time she was nineteen until a career-ending knee injury forced her into “retirement” seven months earlier, had come to Fallstown, Maine, to perform.

  At her urging, Liss reminded herself. This had been her own idea. She’d made all the arrangements to bring the show to the University of Maine’s Fallstown campus. Time to suck up any regrets and try to enjoy the evening. Besides, seeing the show from this side of the curtain would bring closure. She hoped.

  “Liss?” Dan prompted.

  She’d overreacted to his question. He was showing an interest, that was all. Turning her face up to his, Liss forced a smile.

  It wasn’t really a hardship to smile at Dan Ruskin under any circumstances. He’d been a childhood friend. Since Liss’s return to her old hometown he’d become something more, although she wasn’t entirely sure where their relationship was heading. At the moment, they lived in separate houses, each facing the town square in Moosetookalook, a picturesque village just north of Fallstown in the western Maine mountains.

  Dan smiled back, showing an engagingly boyish grin. He’d always had that, even when he was a gangly kid who seemed to be all arms and legs. During the ten years Liss had been away, first in a two-year college and then pursuing her career, he’d turned into what one of Liss’s friends liked to call “a tall drink of water.” He was a pure pleasure to look at—sandy-brown hair worn a little too long, eyes the color of molasses, and a lean, well-muscled build. The work he did—construction with his father’s company and making custom furniture in his spare time—kept him in shape and gave him the sort of fluid grace Liss associated with lions. Dan Ruskin: king of the jungle.

  “What?” The look on his face now was slightly worried.

  “Nothing. Just a stray image. You as a big cat.”

  “You’re picturing me as Lumpkin?” Startled, he shifted away, as if he wanted a little distance to take a good look at her. In the process he bumped against the woman sitting on the other side of him. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  From the row behind Liss and Dan, Sherri Willett stuck her head between them, bringing with her a faint whiff of the flowery perfume she saved for special occasions. Ordinarily, she smelled only of Dove soap and mint toothpaste. “Dan as Lumpkin? Really? When he’s biting ankles or when he’s catching mice by sitting on them?”

  Fighting laughter, Liss tried to rein in the images flooding her mind. Lumpkin was the large yellow neutered tomcat she’d inherited along with her house. Like most felines, he acted as if he owned her rather than the other way around. Sometimes she wasn’t too sure but what he had the right of it.

  “I said big cat, not fat cat,” she protested.

  “No, wait. I can see Dan as a pussycat,” Pete Campbell chimed in. He was Sherri’s brand-new fiancé, having popped the question just three weeks earlier, on Valentine’s Day. Like Liss, Pete had Scottish roots and had long taken an interest in Scottish festivals, Scottish music, and Scottish athletics.

  “Meow,” Dan said. Then he leaned in to whisper in Liss’s ear. “Does this mean I get to sleep with you?”

  “On my feet, or curled around my head?” she whispered back, listing two of Lumpkin’s favorite spots.

  The lighthearted bantering reminded
Liss that she was attracted to Dan for more than his looks. He was fun to be with.

  He was also steady. Reliable. Safe. She frowned at the last word choice, wondering why she should have thought it, and why such a sterling quality sounded just the slightest bit, well, stodgy.

  The life she’d led before returning to Moosetookalook had been unpredictable. Exciting. Occasionally unsettling and even a little scary. She’d traveled all over the country with a ragtag band of free spirits. She still missed those days and now, right here at home, her old company had come to her. As the lights in the auditorium dimmed to call stragglers to their seats, she finally answered Dan’s original question.

  “You want to know about Strathspey? Think Riverdance, only Scottish.”

  “Yeah, I got that part, but—”

  “Shhh! It’s about to start.” Liss’s very mixed feelings about being in the audience instead of on the stage returned in a rush. Dan knew some of what she’d gone through when she’d learned she could never dance professionally again, but he didn’t really understand. No one but another performer could grasp what it meant to be denied a means of artistic expression.

  As soon as the lights were down, taped music swelled. Just that quickly, Liss was back in the past, waiting in the wings, ready to go on. She could almost smell the rosin that kept their dancing shoes from slipping, and the dust that clung to the theater curtains, and what they still called “greasepaint,” even though modern cosmetics had long since replaced old-fashioned stage makeup.

  Liss’s breath hitched. Someone else was back there now, palms just a bit sweaty, heart racing in anticipation. She forced herself to watch as the curtain rose and a slim blonde of medium height stepped out onto the stage. Her name, according to the program, was Emily Townsend. As Liss once had, she led the rest of the company in the country dance that opened the eighty-minute show.

  She was good. Very good. For just a moment, Liss hated her guts.

  Then the magic of Strathspey caught her in its spell. As well as she knew the production, it still had the power to tug at her heartstrings. Loosely based on stories told by Scots who’d migrated to America, the plot wove together all the traditional Scottish dances—from reels to a sword dance—but they were performed within the tale of a young woman separated from her lover during the infamous “Highland Clearances” of the mid-eighteenth century. At that time, many Scots were deprived of both home and country. Families were rent asunder, friends scattered. In this retelling of history, however, the two sweethearts were reunited. The piece ended happily, with a wedding.

  Strathspey was a celebration of Scottish-American heritage, moving and exhilarating. As the first number segued into a tune performed by the company’s featured vocalist, a soprano, Liss relaxed and began to enjoy her unaccustomed role as a spectator. She’d never fully appreciated how well the dancers looked when seen as a group, or how nicely the occasional song—sometimes in Gaelic, sometimes in English—augmented the visual display. When the lone piper performed “Flowers of the Forest,” she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

  Without comment, Dan passed her his handkerchief.

  Liss had only one bad moment—the point in the program where she had taken the misstep that had ended her career. She caught herself wincing even as Emily Townsend sailed through the routine unharmed.

  Of itself, the injury might not have been so disastrous, but it had come on top of years of high-impact activity, all of which resulted in accumulated damage to both knees. In common with other athletes, dancers didn’t expect to keep at their profession until a normal retirement age, but Liss had assumed she’d be able to perform until she was in her forties. Her career had ended at twenty-seven.

  Oh, stop the pity party! she admonished herself as she rose with the others to applaud at the end of the show. You’ve got a new life now.

  As if to prove it, Sherri Willett reached forward again to touch her arm. “I’m so glad you invited us to the show. I’ve never seen anything quite like that.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “It was wonderful!” Sherri clapped louder as the performers, faces slightly flushed from their exertions but wreathed in smiles, came back out on stage for a final bow.

  Apparently the rest of the audience agreed with Sherri’s assessment. Someone whistled approval and, from another part of the auditorium, Liss heard the rhythmic stomp of boots, a clear sign of approbation in this part of the world.

  When the applause finally died down, Liss turned to collect her winter coat from the back of her seat. Everyone else was doing the same. The March night had been clear and cold when they’d arrived at the campus theater, but there had been the smell of snow in the air. Even those staying for the reception had dressed for the weather and now donned coats, scarves, gloves, and hats over warm and practical indoor clothing.

  Standing, Liss towered over her petite blond friend. She was accustomed to that. At five-nine she’d almost always been one of the tallest females around. Half the time she was also taller than most of the males in the vicinity. Dark-haired, dark-eyed Pete Campbell was five-ten, but he had a tendency to stoop.

  As Dan, who stood a refreshing five inches higher than Liss did, shrugged into his heavy woolen topcoat, she gave herself another little lecture: Chin up. Smile. Think positive.

  Her nervousness roared back with a vengeance, far worse than the case of jitters she’d suffered through that afternoon. She thought again that she should have found someone to work for her at Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium, the store she co-owned with her aunt, Margaret Boyd. She should have been here in Fallstown to greet the members of Strathspey when they arrived on their tour bus. She’d arranged rooms for all of them, but she should have settled them in herself, made sure there were no problems. Instead she’d left them to their own devices.

  Sherri would have filled in for her. She worked at the Emporium part time, when it could be managed around the schedule of her full-time job as a corrections officer and dispatcher at the county jail. Or Liss could have closed up shop for the day. It wasn’t as if March was their busy season for walk-in sales. She’d had only one customer all afternoon.

  As they made their way out of the auditorium, jostled now and again by the crowd, a blast of cold air reached them through the open outer doors. Had she warned everyone that they’d need warm clothes? Of course she had. And they knew that already. This wasn’t the only northern New England gig on their tour.

  Stop fussing! she ordered herself. They didn’t need you around earlier.

  In fact, she’d probably have been in the way. Everyone in the company had their own pre-performance routine. It did not include taking time to visit with former co-workers. There would be ample opportunity for that now that the show was over.

  “You okay?” Dan asked in a voice so filled with concern that she wondered what he’d read in her face.

  Liss nodded and continued her silent pep talk as they slowly closed the distance to the exit. She’d survived the first challenge. Only two more to go. Next up was the reception for the entire Strathspey company. That shouldn’t be too bad. Lots of chatter. Good food. Everyone in a sociable mood. But at the end would come challenge number three. She was taking two members of the company home with her. Two of her dearest friends would be in residence until Monday morning when they left on the next lap of their current tour. Liss wondered if she would be able to convince them that she was content with a life in which she stayed in one place, managed a gift shop, and would never again set foot on a stage.

  Dan Ruskin was rural Maine born and bred. He’d gone as far as the University of Maine’s Orono campus to pick up a bachelor’s degree but had returned to Moosetookalook to work for his father right after graduation. He didn’t consider himself a hick. He’d attended plays and concerts before . . . but never anything like Strathspey. He still wasn’t sure what he’d just seen. If pressed, he supposed he’d call it a variety show.

  As they walked from the building that hous
ed the theater to the Student Center where the reception was to be held, he watched Liss carefully. At first casual glance she looked just as she always did, a tall, slender, graceful, self-possessed brunette with a flair for wearing scarves and bright colors. Her winter coat was vivid green.

  But this evening she was unaccountably nervous. She betrayed herself in little ways—periodically curling a strand of her dark brown, shoulder-length hair around her index finger; tugging repeatedly at the bottom of the black velvet vest she wore over a lace-trimmed white blouse. In honor of the occasion she had selected a new outfit from the stock carried by Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium. She wore the blouse and vest with a full-length plaid skirt.

  Tartan, he corrected himself. The pattern was called tartan. Personally, he didn’t see what the big deal was, but apparently some Scottish-Americans got all bent out of shape if you used the “p” word.

  “You okay?” he asked again, keeping his voice too low for Sherri or Pete, walking just behind them, to hear.

  “Just dandy.”

  It was hard to tell by the security lights that illuminated the pathway, but Dan thought her changeable blue-green eyes looked worried. The too-bright smile and the hint of panic in her voice also betrayed her state of mind.

  What was the big deal? She’d worked with most of these people for eight years. Why should she be nervous about seeing them again? She ought to be excited. Happy. Dan was tempted to lump her behavior together with all the other things a man would never understand about the way a woman’s mind worked, but something told him the answer wasn’t that simple.

  The Student Center at the Fallstown branch of the University of Maine had a large function room available for social gatherings. A few months earlier, Dan and Liss had attended their tenth high-school reunion there. He hoped this evening turned out better than that one had.