If You See Kay Jig

by Quinn Glasneck

  “Rugby,” Morgan said.

  Justice nodded and uncorked a new bottle.

  The team jostled for seats around the tables.

  Polar Bear focused on me. “When I walked in, you were looking a little upset. Is everything okay?”

  3

  Thursday Night

  Hooch’s Bar

  For a moment I had forgotten the email from Colleen that Hooch had forwarded.

  The Royal Canadian Mounted Police rugby team, the Beavers out of Polly’s Cove, Nova Scotia, could have that effect. Especially when they were all sweaty and mud-streaked in their team uniforms.

  Yummy. A team of Royal Canadian Mounted Police in their kilts. Whew! Life was good. I fanned my over-heated face.

  Polar Bear raised a brow. “Everything’s okay?” he asked again.

  “It’s fine. Or will be. I was just blindsided by the Hooch.”

  “Yeah?” He was resting his hands on my thighs. They were warm, and the familiarity was a sign of our old friendship, but in that moment, I was remembering just how hungry I was from my lack of Officer Goodman.

  “I was planning on going to the Celtic Festival Saturday to compete and have fun with everyone,” I said. “But it turns out that Hooch volunteered the bar to do the whiskey booth. All that would be fine, I guess. But the email just came through, which means I don’t have that much time to get that all organized as well as take care of the bar. I’m not sure how I’m going to get it all done. And to top it all off, it seems he’s also agreed to a kissing booth.”

  “Wait. You’ll be kissing for money?” Morgan asked. “It’s a good cause, raising funds for our fallen officers’ families, but I imagine the men lining up aren’t the one’s you’d choose to kiss.”

  Everyone turned toward the guy in his black suit and white tie. He looked up from his glass, startled. “What?”

  “I’ve already decided, I’m not doing the kissing,” I said. “That’ll be Twinkles’s job. I figure a little dab of gravy on someone’s cheek, and Twinkles will happily give kisses all day long.”

  “You don’t think people will be intimidated by him?” Delight asked.

  “Twinkles? He’s as sweet as they come. Well, unless you’re a bad guy intent on harm. Then you’d better beware.”

  I watched the mafia guy turn a worried eye toward Twinkles.

  “You know,” Morgan said, reaching down to rub under Twinkles’s chin. “My first dog was all white with a bright pink nose, but the poor thing had no legs.”

  “What?” Kay put a hand on her heart and made a pouty face. “That is so sad!”

  “Yeah, I named him Cigarette. And every day after training, I’d take him out for a drag.”

  A general “Boo!” filled the bar.

  Kay chuckled in reply. “Hey, did you know I had to take my dalmatian to the eye doctor?”

  “Why? Was he seeing spots?” Morgan said without missing a beat. “Do you know what you get when you cross a sheepdog with a rose?”

  “A collie flower.” Kay giggled.

  “Okay you two, stop with the elementary school jokes. Gentlemen,” I called from my perch on the bar. “I welcome you to the United States and to the fine town of Jamesburg, Virginia. I’ll be buying drinks tonight for the Mounty with the best limerick. So let’s hear them, lads!”

  When the whooping calmed, Polar Bear started:

  “A Brit has made his mistakes,

  He argued with one of his mates.

  Who pulled out a cutlass,

  Thus leaving him nutless,

  Now girls find him useless on dates.”

  The men laughed boisterously. The women grimaced. And the mafia-guy crossed his legs protectively.

  Morgan raised a hand and the bar quieted.

  “A man was enjoying some fun,

  He gasped to his girl, ‘Tis a tight one.’

  She called, ‘Glory be, Joel,

  You’ve found the wrong hole,

  There’s plenty of room ‘round the right one.”

  “That’s stretching the limits with that last one,” Gruesome said.

  “That’s what she said,” Morgan countered.

  High fives clapped as Justice picked up her tray of filled shot glasses and started distributing them.

  “Come on, Gruesome, give us a limerick,” Polar Bear shouted out.

  Gruesome stood up from his chair.

  “There once was a man, brass balled

  Who kept the young lasses enthralled

  As he screwed from behind.

  His nuts they did chime,

  His rhythm was never equal-ed.”

  As the laughter settled, Justice arrived at his table. “You’re Gruesome?” she asked, holding out the tray of shot glasses.

  Gruesome picked up four and handed them around his table. “That’s right.”

  “Is there a story behind your name?”

  “Well, sure there is, lass. You see, one day, a young lady came up and asked me what was under my kilt. And I said, ‘You’re welcome to stick your hand up there and find out for yourself.’ It was quite the surprise when she actually did. ‘Agh, gruesome!’ she cried, pulling her hand out as quick as she could. I told her if she put her hand up there again, she’d discover that I’d grew some more!”

  “And with that, I believe we have our winner,” I called out. “Gentlemen. All hail, Peter Gruesome.”

  As the cheers were raised, Gruesome turned around and pointed over his shoulder at his family name printed at the top of his Rugby shirt over the number 13.

  Justice didn’t change her facial expression from jaded, but Nicodemus was snickering into his paws.

  “Okay, that’s all well and good, but just what do you wear under that there kilt of yours?” Delight asked.

  “On a good day,” Gruesome said with a grin, “a bonny lass’s lipstick!”

  I turned to Kay. “Did you let Connor know that the Beavers were here?”

  She held up her phone. “Yeah, he should be walking through the door any minute now.”

  Just then, the bells tinkled as the door was pushed wide, and there he was. In a room full of yummy men in kilts, Connor Patrick Fitzgerald still stood out as the yummiest. Tonight he was dressed in a pair of jeans that showed off his narrow hips and strong thighs. His shoulders were broad, and he had that boyish grin that just did crazy things to my heart. He sent me over a knowing wink, like he’d just read my thoughts.

  Yeah. He was dangerous.

  He’d be even more dangerous tomorrow when he put on his clan’s kilt.

  The problem with Connor was that he wasn’t just cute, he was genuinely golden-hearted, smart, and a cop who wore a Jamesburg blue uniform with the yummy gold badge over his heart.

  Yep. Dangerous territory.

  I loved him. And he was completely off limits.

  Connor was Kay’s brother. He had known me since I was still working on the whole potty-training thing. He had watched me grow up, and now that I was grown, he’d decided that he loved me, too.

  Which was terrible.

  After all, I was a young woman, trying to enjoy life. I had no desire to settle down and start a family before I’d even had a chance to experience just being me. Since Connor was five years older than I was, he’d had his opportunity to sow his wild oats. I wanted my opportunity, too. The most adult decision I wanted to make had to do with running my bar and being a good mom to Twinkles.

  But then Connor would saunter into the bar looking like that, and…well it did crazy things to my insides.

  So I decided to sidle on out the back door of the bar and put some distance between us while I felt vulnerable.

  Yup, that was my level of immaturity in this moment.

  If Goodman had been able to follow through with our plans, I’d be satisfied right now. My hormones wouldn’t be churning around begging for attention.

  After raising my hand to Connor in a salute, I walked to the back of the bar to gather the half-filled trash. I tied it off and re
lined the bin.

  When I lifted the trash bag to my shoulder, I saw Justice looking at me, a glint of amusement in her eye. Nicodemus on the other hand had tipped his head down and was using rather sarcastic body language to convey that he knew I was a coward.

  Whatever, Nicodemus.

  “I’m taking out the trash, then taking my break. Ask Kay or Connor to step in if you need help. Remember that if Gruesome is checking out, that tab’s on me. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  Justice gave me a nod.

  On the way out, I changed the soundtrack over to Irish pub music and glanced back to make sure everyone had smiles on their faces.

  The door banged closed behind me.

  I made my way over to the dumpster between the bar and Nicky’s restaurant. Lifting the lid, I flipped the trash in. I turned as I heard the door at Nicky’s slam shut. I’d hoped it would be Nicky’s dishwasher so I could ask how things were going and if Nicky was getting any better after his stroke.

  While Nicky was my arch nemesis, and I wished he’d leave me alone, I didn’t wish him harm.

  I moved out into the alley to discover it wasn’t the dishwasher. It was the mafioso guy with the black suit and white tie. He slid his hands into his pockets, and I hoped he stayed where he was. He made me uncomfortable.

  “Roberta Jaqueline Reid, right?” he asked.

  I said nothing.

  “I’m Sal Stromboli.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought your name was Guido.” I had been told cousin Guido had taken over Nicky’s restaurant while Nicky was in recovery.

  “Guido’s from the other side of the family. We all play different roles. For now, it looks like Guido is running Nicky’s business.”

  “Right now. What does he normally do?”

  “He takes care of the meat.”

  I blinked. “You mean he’s a butcher?” That didn’t sound good. Maybe I shouldn’t be asking questions. Maybe I should just mosey back into the bar.

  Sal winked. “Yeah, in a loose sense of the word.”

  I felt a shiver go down my spine. “And your role?” I couldn’t believe I’d just asked that.

  “I talk to people about their insurance needs. You, for example, might want to consider a special insurance policy on your business.”

  “I have an insurance policy on the business.”

  “Ah, probably not as good as what I can offer you. It probably doesn’t cover the kinds of things I would cover. Maybe you might also need some life insurance?” He shrugged both of his shoulders. It made his jacket lift and settle again in a really unsettling way. “I know you think you’re young and nothing will ever happen to you. But very quickly, you’ll figure out that bad things can happen when you least expect it. It’s better to know that someone’s watching out for your interests…if you see what I’m saying.”

  “I think I might.” A police car rolled into the alleyway.

  “I heard you were talking about the hatchet throwing contest. You know who’s great when it comes to a hatchet?”

  “Who?” I asked, focusing on the driver and seeing it was Randy Goodman with a big old grin on his face.

  “Guido. Surgical precision. Surgical. It’s like a piece of art when he’s done.”

  “Hacking things up?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh, okay. Good to know.”

  Goodman flashed his blue lights for my amusement. I wasn’t amused. I was, however, thankful he was there.

  4

  Friday Morning

  Jamesburg Celtic Festival

  I dragged my fully laden cart over the muddy field. My Celtic Festival map was fluttering in the breeze as I tried to figure out where Hooch’s had been assigned for the whiskey tasting tent. Twinkles was plodding along beside me, nose up in the air. One of the food tents was operating today to feed the vendors who were busy setting up.

  I could smell it, too, bangers and mash. Yum. That and the hot, meaty taste of Scotch eggs. I was planning to indulge in both today.

  I arrived at the empty tent sandwiched between a Viking shop and a carved wooden bowls gallery. They seemed already set up and ready for business. My tent stood empty and sad.

  “Woohoo!” I heard the call ride the breeze.

  I swiped my hair from my face as I turned.

  “Woohooo!” This time I saw Delight making her way over to me, bags in either hand, and a grin on her lilac-lipsticked mouth.

  I pulled a tarp from off my little hand cart and laid it at the corner of the tent. “Place,” I told Twinkles. He lumbered in and plopped down. A rivulet of drool dangled from the corner of his mouth. I swiped a wrist across my own lips. “I feel you, buddy. Bangers make me drool, too.”

  “Look at here! Look what I got!” Delight said as she hustled over in pink polka dotted rain boots. She reached out her bags, which I took and placed on the counter − part of the whiskey tent’s “available furnishings.” At least Hooch hadn’t been derelict in ticking off the right boxes on the form, even if he had forgotten to clue me in.

  In Delight’s first bag was a length of beautiful green wool fabric and a tartan sash. In the second bag was a parchment in a plastic sleeve that talked about the history of the Davidson family, their crest, and their motto. Sapienter Si Sincer, which apparently meant, “wisely if sincerely.” The “if” confused me a bit. It would be nice if they could as a clan be both wise and sincere. “If.” Yeah, I’d have to think about that one…when I had nothing else to do…

  “See that there crest? Isn’t it just perfect? That there is what they call a stag. Look here, I have it on my sash pin.” She pointed at her shoulder. “I’m gonna wear it tomorrow so everyone can see how much I like stags.”

  “How did you decide to get the Davidson clan tartan?” I asked.

  “A while back I had a cheek swipe for that DNA testing kit thingy. I wanted to know about my ancestors. I might want to go and see where all this wonderfulness began.” She gestured the length of her body with graceful hands. “So I have ancestors in Northern Africa and Eastern Africa, but I’m thirteen percent Scott-Viking.” She pointed over to the tent next to mine where they were displaying drinking horns. “I guess that’s where I get all the horny from. Anyways, I was following my family tree, and Davidson is the clan name that makes up one of the branches.”

  “That’s so interesting to have such diversity in your background. I’m just straight up Scotch-Irish.”

  “That is sad.” Delight put her hand over her heart. “I’m sorry to hear about that. Maybe you can find you someone nice who will let you swim in his genetic pool, if you see what I’m saying. Let your kids have a little diversity.”

  “That sounds like a plan, I’ll revisit that thought in say ten years or so. What are you going to do with the fabric?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes, in this bag here? That’s the blue from the Reid tartan. I assume you already have a sash and a family pin.”

  “I do…”

  “So I’m going to go home and whip us up some comely bar wench dresses. I have us some black bustier thingies that make our waists look thin and our boobies look delicious. Yummy breasts always bring the men to the tent for a little look-see and a drink.”

  “I’ve never known the whiskey tent to have problems staying busy at a Celtic Festival. But sure, if you want to make us costumes, I’ll wear it. Are you sure you have time before tomorrow?”

  “This here’s an easy pattern. I’m not going to enhance it the way I normally do with all the sequins and bling. We’ll be more pastoral. Speaking of pastoral…” Delight nodded her head toward a woman heading our way, “do you know Meadow?”

  When I shook my head, Delight grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the wood gallery tent. She snatched up the closest bowl and said, “Here, rub this on your cheek.”

  I closed my eyes and felt the silken smoothness of the wooden bowl as I painted it over my skin. “Lovely. Soft.” It was surprisingly grounding. I felt the stress melting away. When I opened my
eyes, a woman was standing in front of me with a serene smile on her face.

  “This here is Meadow Bush Wacker,” Delight said.

  “Bushwalker,” she corrected. “Just call me Meadow.”

  “Look at her dress, isn’t it wonderful? It looks like she’s straight out of a fairy tale or something.”

  It was true, Meadow was wearing a linen blouse and skirt that looked like they were hand made. The shirt was a light yellow, the skirt was a darker mauve. I had done an experiment with dying natural fabrics back in Girl Scouts, and this looked like what you’d get from steeping the shirt fabric in yellow onion skins and skirt fabric in crushed beets. I’d never seen it done up as a whole outfit before. I’d also never seen anyone walk around wearing a wreath of braided twigs still clinging to their colored leaves before. I’d readily admit, it looked festive in her dark mahogany hair. I had to agree with Delight, Meadow could well be painted into a book of fairy tales and be right at home.

  Her outfit matched the theme of her gallery. It was a powerful marketing tool. Kudos to her. And it made me think that Delight was right to want to do up bar wench dresses for us to add atmosphere.

  “Hi. I’m BJ from Hooch’s.” I pointed at the tent wall. “I’m your neighbor. We’re doing whiskey tasting and a kissing booth. I’m behind schedule and just getting in. It looks like you’re all set up already.”

  “Yes, I got here last night. It was quite the walk.”

  “Walk?” I asked.

  “From the glen to here is about thirty miles.”

  “And you walked? With your bowls?” I looked toward the back of the tent and saw a cot that was neatly tucked into the corner covered in a hand-stitched quilt.

  “And her staffs,” Delight added. “I’m gonna get me one of these here staffs, Meadow, since you top them with antlers and all. I just found out my family crest features a stag in the center of a leather belt. This will be perfect for my outfit I’m putting together for tomorrow.”