by Karen Kelly
“Are you sure?” asked Alice. “They use those poles for the weight throws too.” She peered at the bar, noting its height. “Hmm, it’s set pretty high. It probably is for the Sheaf Toss. The weight throws are quite a bit heavier than the sheaves. I doubt anyone could throw them so high.”
As if to prove her right, the next athlete strode up to the apparatus with a pitchfork in one hand and a stuffed burlap bag in the other. Glancing up at the horizontal bar, he positioned himself between the two upright posts. Satisfied with his placement, he tossed the bag onto the ground.
“And here comes Jonno Forbes, attempting a personal best of thirty-five feet and three inches,” the announcer’s voice boomed with enthusiasm. The crowd cheered encouragement as the man stabbed the pitchfork into the bag and took a few deliberate steps away from the posts. His back to the bar, Jonno paused, took a deep breath, and then swung the bag sideways three times before jerking the fork upward and behind him to release the sheaf. It launched into the air. The women from Stony Point cheered with the rest of the crowd as the sheath arced perfectly over the bar with inches to spare.
As the man ran under the bar, his fisted hands raised in triumph, Annie turned to Peggy and said, “I can see why Wally didn’t want to miss this. How fun to watch!”
“What you might not be able to tell from here is how heavy those sheaves are,” Alice told her. “They weigh twenty pounds!”
Peggy’s mouth formed an O. “That takes some serious muscle! Over thirty-five feet!”
“Did you see how he had room to spare?” Alice shook her head in wonder. “They could have set the bar even higher, and it still would have made it.”
Familiar voices came from behind them. “Did you see that?” Wally blurted, too excited to bother with a greeting.
“Daddy, do they always toss the sheaf from behind their backs like he did?” Emily asked, hugging her father.
Wally wrapped his arms around his daughter. “Mr. Mayor and I have watched several so far, and they’ve all done it the same way.”
“I’m glad we got here in time to experience it,” said Annie. “Is Hep competing in this?” She looked first at Wally and then at Ian.
Peggy added, “Yeah—did you talk to him?”
The two men glanced at one another and broke into laughter. “No, Hep doesn’t do the sheaf toss,” Ian gasped in between guffaws.
Wally composed himself long enough to answer his wife’s question. “Yes, we talked to Hep.” He struggled to keep from more laughter.
The women stared at the two men as they let their laughter play out. Once the level of hilarity had lowered to the point of silly grins, all four females spoke in one unified voice.
“WHAT?”
14
“Sorry about that,” said Wally, looking genuinely contrite. “Hep is a really funny guy.”
“A funny guy who should probably make the switch to stand-up comedy and stay away from hefting heavy objects,” Ian added. The puzzled female faces around him made Ian continue. “We’d better tell you the whole story.”
Alice crossed her arms. “We would appreciate that.” A collective and sympathetic groan sounded from the crowd around them as the bar fell off its perch, falling to the ground along with the sheaf. Shoulders slumping and pitchfork dragging the ground, the competitor slunk over to pick up the burlap bag.
“We might want to move away from the action,” Ian suggested.
Wally surveyed their surroundings and then gestured behind Ian. “How about under those trees back there?” The friends relocated before taking up their discussion again.
“So Hep is funny but … ?” Alice prompted the men to continue their story.
Wally nodded. “We have some information from guys who have known him since he was a little kid. The funny part we could figure out for ourselves after talking with the man for a while.”
“We’ll take your word on the funny part, unless Hep uses it to disarm folks—put them off their guard, you know.” Annie pondered the possibility. “After all, it’s pretty clear some of the folks here haven’t exactly been forthcoming with their information. Some have probably outright lied.”
Peggy set her bag down by her feet, where it slumped as though tired from the day’s activities. “Yeah, like Mr. MacTavish. He seemed so nice, but he didn’t say anything about the ferrule having a custom design.” She paused. “Unless it was the vendor at Kit and Caboodle who wasn’t telling the truth.”
“I don’t think Hep’s like that,” Wally declared. He looked at Ian for collaboration.
Ian wiped his forehead. “In politics you either learn to read people, or you can’t serve them. My gut instinct agrees with Wally about Hep. Especially after hearing stories from some of the other athletes.”
“What did they say?” asked Alice.
Before answering, Ian asked if they would all like to sit down. Peggy answered, “Nah, we sat at the kilt demo and at the harpers’ building, and we have the ride home. I’d rather stand.” The other women showed their agreement with Peggy, and since Emily was always moving, her preference was a given.
“Harpers’ tent?” Ian’s eyebrows raised.
Annie waved off the mayor’s question. “We’ll tell you about that later. Finish telling us about Hep first.”
Wally picked up the story. “When Ian and I first got to the field, the Heavy Weight for Distance contest was just about to begin. As we looked around, we saw the entire perimeter completely covered with people.” He looked around at the ladies. “Remember how the whole corner was free when we went to watch the Hammer Throw event?”
“How could we forget?” Alice snorted. “Our choice to watch from that area sure made for an eventful morning.”
“While we were wedging ourselves into the only space we could find,” Wally continued. “It was about the size of a toolbox, and Ian made a comment about the wide open space we’d found at the Hammer Throw. A couple of guys standing to the left of us heard us and started laughing.”
A small scowl creased Peggy’s forehead. “Laughing before they knew what had happened? It wasn’t funny thinking my friend might have been mowed down by that hammer.”
Wally drew his arm around his wife’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Peg, they weren’t at the Hammer Throw round. They were doing one of the other events, so they didn’t know what had happened. But they did know Hep real well.”
Ian continued the story. “One of the men trains at the same club that Hep does. Apparently, Hep has a beautiful hammer throw almost year-round … until he steps on the field for the Highland Games. For the last five years, Hep has choked and released the hammer too soon.” He paused to clear his throat. “Seems Hep always launches at that particular corner, so the folks who are regulars don’t stand near there.”
“Why don’t they put a sign up or something, so newcomers aren’t put at risk?” Alice demanded, putting her hands on her hips. “I can’t imagine it being good for business if someone got hurt.”
Wally rushed to explain. “Bart—that’s the training buddy of Hep’s—told us the regulars like Hep so much they don’t want to risk making him even more nervous by blocking off the area. They fear it might make Hep up and quit completely, and they want to see him finally succeed some year.”
“When we told them about what happened to Annie, they were appalled,” Ian inserted. “Both of them promised to work with the organizers and come up with a solution before next year so it doesn’t happen again.”
As the story gained momentum, the two men alternated information. “Hep worked his way through the crowd to stand next to his training buddy and recognized us,” added Wally.
“He apologized to us again,” said Ian. “He asked if you were still feeling all right after your fall.”
“You mean after her being flattened by her bodyguard,” Peggy corrected him, grinning.
Annie blushed softly and wagged a finger at her friend. “And what would have happened to me if Ian hadn’t flattene
d me?” She shuddered. “I have too many vegetables that need tending to waste time with a concussion or broken bone.”
Giving his wife a swift look to see if she was about to reply, Wally took over. “The weird thing is that Hep started talking to us about his hammer trouble at the Games, and he has it all analyzed down to the exact degree angle he was off on his release this morning. It’s like he’s a trigonometry major or engineer.”
“After talking to Hep, I’m looking forward to coming next summer and cheering him on,” said Ian. “Just from a different vantage point.”
Alice stood, quietly turning over the facts in her mind. “Did you happen to find out if Hep is from the Gunn or Rose clan?”
Both men looked her way with puzzled faces. “Rose?” they asked in unison. Ian added a question. “Because of the rose on the ferrule?”
“No,” Annie answered. “Because we discovered the singer’s name when we stopped at the harpers’ building after the kilt demonstration. You know, Ian. The flirty singer from earlier today.”
Emily had been watching two birds in the tree above them, but the mention of the singer reclaimed her attention, and she jumped into the conversation. “Her name is McKenna Rose! I think her name is as pretty as her dress!”
“Her name also tells us she might be connected to whoever had those ferrules engraved,” Ian said, putting the pieces of information together, “which makes her behavior earlier a little more understandable—perhaps.”
Emily wasn’t done yet. “Mr. Mayor, we also saw Eli and Linley!” The sparkle in her eyes broadcasted her joy at the fact.
“Eli and Linley?” Ian squinted at her, puzzled. “Who are they?”
Peggy answered, “They’re two cute teenagers in a budding romance.” Her eyes flickered between the mayor and Annie. “Em and I first saw them in one of the kilt accessory tents, which Linley’s parents own. Then they showed up at the harpers’ building … but we couldn’t stay long enough to see what happened between them.” She drew in a breath and let it out in an exaggerated sigh to her daughter’s delight.
Wally turned to his wife. “Are these kids a part of any families who might be involved in the mystery?”
She shrugged. “We never heard any last names. We’re not exactly in the Victorian age anymore, you know. Kids don’t address each other as Miss This or Mister That.”
“Peggy, do you remember the name on the vendor’s tent?” asked Alice.
“It was a punny one, so yeah, I remember it,” answered Peggy. “It’s called Dress to Kilt.” She paused. “I’m trying to remember if there were any signs inside the tent about the owners or any permanent shop they run but … .” She raised her hands and then let them drop in helplessness.
“We do know Eli’s aunt is one of the harpists,” said Annie, sending a compassionate glance to Peggy.
“And possibly the leader, as she was the one who introduced McKenna when she sang that one song with them,” Peggy added. “It never occurred to me the kids or the harpist might be connected to the mystery, so I never tried to find out her name.”
The two men stood silent for a time, taking in the new information. Then Ian asked, “Did you try to talk to McKenna? Or did she run off again when she saw you?” A mighty cheering rose up from the spectators watching the event behind them.
“We tried really hard to be inconspicuous,” Annie told the men. “After what happened at the food tent—once we knew her name—we figured the best thing to do was just to watch.”
Peggy finished the tale. “But she did glide right out of the tent as soon as she finished the song—no sticking around until the end of the set. Can’t figure out if she’s socially inept, a diva, or one of those whackadoo creative folks.”
“We may never figure out the reasons behind her behavior, but we’re certainly going to try,” Alice declared. “That will be considerably easier since we now have her name.”
“Sure, we might be able to find her address,” Wally said, “but that doesn’t mean she’ll ever answer the phone or letter or email or whatever else we use.”
“I agree that attempting direct contact might not be the most effective method,” Ian said. “Using some messenger she likely knows, or at least would be less likely to shun might work better.”
Annie thought about Ian’s suggestion. “Sounds like a good idea to me, but how do we know who she actually knows? There were those two burly guys stationed at the exit of the dining tent where she was singing at noon, but I can’t see them playing currier.”
“How about Eli’s aunt, for a start?” said Peggy.
“It must have been either Mr. MacTavish or the woman at Kilt and Caboodle who tipped off McKenna and the falconer,” Alice reminded them. “If we leave a message with either of them, do you think there’s any chance it will go anywhere but in the trash?”
The group grew quiet, each one thinking over the situation, and Emily’s attention went back to the birds and their nest.
Ian shrugged. “I don’t see that we have any choice but to try it. McKenna may never get it, but then again she might. All we’re wasting is a bit of paper and time. That’s a minimal investment from my point of view.”
The rest of the adults agreed with the mayor’s idea, and Annie pulled out her notebook and pen to write the note.
“OK, so I’ll write something like: ‘Dear Ms. Rose, I have come into possession of a sealskin sporran and silver bagpipe ferrules engraved with a hawk and rose design. I believe they may belong to someone from either the Gunn or Rose family, and I want to return them to their rightful owner. If you know who that may be, please forward my contact information to the appropriate person or people. My address is —’”
Ian held up a hand. “Annie, I don’t want you to give your home address or number and open yourself up to the possibility of harm. Please let me be the contact at Town Hall.” He glanced around the group for their reactions to his plea. Annie paused in her writing to gauge the response of her friends.
“I second the motion!” Alice said, immediately giving her approval to the idea, while Wally and Peggy both nodded with enthusiasm.
Annie surrendered to the common sense of her friends. “I see your point, Ian, and appreciate your willingness.” She drew a line through the last sentence she had started and exchanged Ian’s name, position, address, and the phone number of Town Hall. “Did I leave anything out?”
Peggy ticked off the necessities with her fingers. “One: sporran, two: ferrules with hawk and rose, three: Gunn or Rose family, four: plea to give the information to owners, five: Mr. Mayor’s address and phone number—sounds like everything important to me.”
“How many copies of the request should Annie write?” asked Alice. “I think one should go to Leathan Gunn.”
“And one to Finley the falconer,” added Wally, “even if we don’t know his last name. What happened after lunch makes it pretty obvious he’s involved somehow.” He turned to Ian. “Maybe it would be easier to get it to Brooke and ask her to deliver it to Finley.”
Ian nodded his agreement with the idea. “If he’s trying to keep things under wraps, I should think Brooke would be more effective as a messenger than any of us.”
When Emily noticed Annie writing her notes, she ran over to Peggy and added, “Mom, I should write the note to Kyla now. We can’t forget about her shoes!”
“Sure, Em.” Peggy rummaged around her bag and found the pad of drawing paper she had brought in case her daughter got bored during the car ride. “After we write the message, we’ll figure out how to get it to her uncle.”
Emily’s face brightened. “What should we write?” She sat down with the pad and pen, her mother at her side in case she needed help with the note.
Annie finished the three messages. “I’m going to write two more messages—one for Mr. MacTavish and the other for the vendor at Kilt and Caboodle, in case there’s someone else who needs the information, someone we may not know about yet.” She flipped to the next page and st
arted writing again.
“If we don’t hear from anyone, at least we’ll know we did our best,” Alice said. She moved over next to Emily, who had finished the note to Kyla and now had colored pencils for illustrating it—first adding some purple and pink lupines, and then with black shoes, en pointe between the blooms. “That’s really pretty, Em,” Alice said.
Emily’s tongue slipped between her lips as she completed the ribbons on the shoes, just so. She looked over her artwork, and then nodded in satisfaction. “Thanks, Miss Alice. I hope Kyla likes it too.” She handed the paper to Peggy.
“How could she not?” said her mother, smiling over the words and pictures. “She’ll be thrilled to have her shoes back too.” She carefully folded the note into a tidy rectangle small enough to slip into the shoes. Pulling one of the black shoes out of her bag, she tucked the paper inside before settling it back into its nest.
Annie signed the last of the notes. “There! All done.” She bent over the notebook as she tore the papers out along the perforated lines. Handing them to Alice, she proceeded to pack away the book and pen.
While the ladies had been focused on the note writing and decorating, Wally had been keeping an eye on the Sheaf Toss competition. He jerked a thumb toward the field. “Hey, if you’re all done with the notes, we should probably start back to the vendors. It looks like the last couple of guys are doing their final toss, and there will be a stampede from here in a couple minutes.”
Alice quickly folded the last note. “Let’s go then.” The six friends walked out from under the shade of the trees and followed the path toward the main thoroughfare.
When they reached the Highlanders encampment, Emily pointed out her favorite hat to Wally. “Daddy, see the hat with the red feather? It’s called a tam-o’-shanter, all because of Robert Burns.” She waved at the man, who lifted his gun and saluted the young girl with it.
“That Robert Burns guy sure did get around,” said Wally, grinning down at his daughter. He drew his eyes back to the men at the encampment. “Gotta feel a little sorry for the guys with the heavy wool uniforms. They must get mighty hot some days, standing out in the summer sun.”
