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Murder at a Scottish Castle: A Scottish Cozy Mystery
(A Scottish Shire Mystery) by Traci Hall
Murder at a Scottish Castle: A Scottish Cozy Mystery (A Scottish Shire Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
5th in Series
Setting – Nairn, Scotland
Kensington Cozies (January 23, 2024)
Paperback : 304 pages
ISBN-10 : 1496744373
ISBN-13 : 978-1496744371
Digital ASIN : B0C3WTZYGT
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USA Today bestselling author returns with the latest novel in a Scottish seaside cozy knitting mystery series featuring busy single mom Paislee Shaw, owner of a specialty sweater shop, knitting enthusiast, and reluctant sleuth who must untangle another murderous yarn!
With the summer days getting shorter in the seaside village of Nairn, the annual bagpiping competition at Ramsey Castle promises to be quite the end-of-season blowout. Paisley has snagged a special invitation from the Dowager Countess, who wants to showcase her cashmere goods in the castle gift shop, and she’s brought her son Brody, Grandpa, and their black Scottish terrier Wallace.
There’s a fierce rivalry between Robert Grant, the Earl of Lyon, and last year’s winner Jory Baxter, with Grant loudly vowing to show up the blowhard Baxter and claim clan bragging rights. But the reigning champion has barely put the reed to his lips when he turns red and collapses, soon to take his dying breath. DI Zeffer confirms foul play, suspecting the reed may have been poisoned.
With a murderer in their midst, the rest of Nairn won’t breathe easy until Paisley applies her sleuthing skills to make sure justice is served and the killer pays the piper . . .
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Enjoy this peek inside:
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Character Guest Post
Great Escapes Blog Tour Angus Shaw (Grandpa)
Murder at a Scottish Castle by Traci Hall
Five quick questions for Angus Shaw
- Profession?
- Clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. Retired fisherman. Now I work with me granddaughter, Paislee, at Cashmere Crush. She needs me.
- Married or single?
- I was married to the love of me life, Agnes Monroe Shaw. Willnae marry another.
- Greatest achievement?
- Me bairns, though two are now dead. It’s cruel to outlive your children.
- Greatest regret?
- The misunderstanding between me and Agnes, though I dinnae blame her for booting me out. Let this be a word of caution—take care ye dinnae get pished on your stag night.
- Life goals?
- At 76, it’s tae live long enough tae help Paislee with Brody. I’m in the best of health.
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Excerpt from Murder at a Scottish Castle:
The Shaws followed the non-melodic fits and starts of instruments being tuned to the left of the castle and a gigantic expanse of green lawn. Brody and Grandpa were on either side of her. Wallace, on her naughty list for chasing the squirrel, didn’t once tug against the lead in Brody’s hand.
They reached the edge of the field and Paislee paused in wonder at the explosion of bright hues. The sun broke from behind a cloud to shine on brass and metal fittings. Twelve bands were to compete, between eight and ten players, each with matching kilts in a variety of tartans.
“Well, isnae that something,” Grandpa said with amazement in his tone.
“It’s impressive.” Paislee smiled at a few familiar faces. Bagpipers, drummers, and the band directors gathered in clusters. Each group was here to perform their best.
Three stands had been erected for spectators and the band members who would sit and watch the others when they weren’t playing.
“Hey—there’s Jerry.” Grandpa stepped toward Jerry McFadden, member of Clan Campbell, sporting a kilt in green, blue, and black. When Jerry wasn’t delivering her yarn, he rocked the bagpipes. His light brown hair matched his thick mustache.
Jerry saw them and lowered his bagpipe. “Bonny day after all for the competition,” he said as they neared him. “I was a wee bit worried during the downpour this morning.”
“God’s way of giving the cows a bath,” Grandpa said sagely. “How are you part of the Campbell clan?”
Jerry placed his pipes at his shiny black brogues. “My mother is a Campbell cousin. Why do you ask?”
“Sorcha told us it was a rule,” Grandpa said.
“Sorcha, is it?” Jerry teased.
Paislee laughed when Grandpa turned red.
“She gave us a tour,” Brody said. “Mum’s got her cashmere in the gift shop.”
“Well, that is nice,” Jerry said.
“I hope it means I’ll need tae increase my order of cashmere.” Paislee smiled. “We’ll see. But today is not about that—today is about you and the competition. How are you feeling regarding the outcome?”
“Verra well.” Jerry leaned toward them. “We’ve mastered a new tune tae land the number one spot. I was voted by my mates tae be our soloist this year.”
“What aboot the other bands?” Grandpa asked. He gestured with his head to the musicians around them.
“The Grants will come oot strong too, due tae old-fashioned practice, but I think Clan Cunningham is rattled.” Jerry nodded to the stand at their right. “Jory Baxter and Clyde Cunningham were arguing over something.”
“Who is Clyde?” Grandpa asked.
Brody was jerked to the side as Wallace saw another dog—also on a lead, thank heaven. Paislee put her hand on Brody’s shoulder and arched her brow.
“Clyde Cunningham is the pipe major, or band director. He organizes the group and keeps tempo. He’s responsible for turning in the program tae the judges, and also the liaison between the band and the GHB, Great Highland Bagpipe, Council.” Jerry dipped his head toward a short man with copper hair in the Campbell tartan. “That’s Mattias Campbell, our pipe major. Keeps us in line. Though they dinnae play a physical instrument during competition they are crucial tae the performance.”
Brody couldn’t hide his eagerness to explore, so Paislee tapped Jerry on the arm. “Good luck tae you. Where will you be sitting? We’ll cheer you on.”
“This stand behind us. If you’ve a mind tae place a wager, I think we’ve got a guid chance at the win. Thanks!” Jerry picked up his pipes and joined the group around Mattias.
Paislee and Brody, with Wallace, went to the stands and scored a seat on the second row, near the end. There were three stands surrounding a circular field, with enough seating for two hundred.
“Can I go play, Mum?” Brody pointed to a group of other kids his age kicking a football around in the barren field, well within her eyesight.
“Sure. But leave Wallace here, please.”
Brody reluctantly handed her Wallace’s lead.
“Maybe you can take him later,” Paislee said.
“Okay!” Brody ran off.
Wallace chuffed as his boy joined the others and sat with his furry back to the bands. A protest? Paislee opened her handbag and dug around for a dog treat. “Here you go.”
Wallace snapped up the biscuit and swallowed, then returned to his vigil. She poured water into a popup water bowl and placed it in the grass for the dog along with a chew toy. She returned to her seat next to Grandpa, content that Wallace would alert her if anything happened to Brody and focused on the circular field.
At noon on the dot, judge Meri McVie stepped into the center field. She had a sharp, foxlike face and naturally orange hair, with brown eyes behind silver-framed glasses that gazed at the spectators steadily. White shirt beneath a black jacket, a blue and light-green kilt, and a badge attached to a ribbon around her neck proclaimed her position.
Meri blew her whistle to get everyone’s attention, though the competitors were ready to go. Each clan sat grouped together. The Campbells were on the first two rows below Paislee and Grandpa, along with Clan Buchan, Clan Lincoln, and Clan MacTavish.
Across from Paislee, Clan Grant took an entire two rows, and above them sat Sorcha and Cinda. Sorcha had changed her clothes and now wore a Grant tartan blazer over navy-blue slacks. Clan Douglas, Clan Sinclair, and Clan McKinley waited their turn. On the third stand was Clan Cunningham, Clan Cameron, Clan Graham, and Clan Fraser.
“Hello!” Meri said in clear voice. “Welcome tae this year’s Ramsey Castle Competition.”
Applause sounded.
The kids had come to the stands to see the beginning. Paislee gave Brody his water bottle and offered a granola bar that he declined.
“Let me go over the rules.” Meri read from a clipboard she held. “Each band will play for fifteen minutes or less, but no more. The songs must match what has been turned in to the judges. Myself, and Connor Armington.” The second judge was much older, seventy to Meri’s fifty, and his jacket didn’t quite button over his belly. “If they dinnae match that team will be disqualified.”
Murmurs could be heard on the benches.
“Last year’s champion will be the final act of the day. Clan Grant will perform second tae last, and Clan Campbell third.” Meri raised her pointed chin and lowered the clipboard. “This is my tenth year of judging this competition. Each year the talent gets better and better. It is my privilege tae announce the first of our twelve bands, Clan MacTavish!”
The clapping was loud as Meri left the grass to stand on the edge of the circle, her posture perfect. Connor also had a clipboard. The judges walked around as the band played and made various marks. The MacTavish kilts were red with sky blue and black, the shirts white, the jackets sky blue. They were a newer band and so had placed at the bottom to start.
Clan Fraser played next. The band’s kilts were a robin’s egg blue with red and gray, the jacket gray over a white shirt. It seemed that each outfit would have to be custom-made to fit the person and Paislee wanted a closer look at the way the arms fit for ease of movement, whether at the drums or the bagpipes. The horizontal and vertical patterns allowed for a large variety in the tartan.
The difference between a plaid and a tartan was the replicated pattern in the fabric at the vertical and horizontal ends tied to a specific clan, whereas plaid described a crisscross of any sizes or colors.
Finally, it was time for Clan Campbell: Jerry’s team. So far Meri hadn’t called anyone out for breaking the rules, though Paislee wouldn’t know. She thought everyone sounded wonderful, and her hands were sore from applauding so enthusiastically.
In the last four hours, Brody had come for water or snacks but mostly had stayed with his new mates. She admired how he could make friends like that. She’d always been shy.
Grandpa finished his water. “Shouldae brought me flask,” he said, smacking his lips. “Dinnae suppose you have anything stashed in that bag of yours?”
“I do not have whisky, Grandpa. That would be correct.” Paislee didn’t mind the occasional dram but wasn’t much of a drinker. Her vice was chocolate.
“That handbag is big enough for a whole keg,” he remarked.
She glanced at him, then back at the field. “I have an extra water bottle, if you’d like that.”
“No thanks. I’ll wait for the good stuff.” Grandpa scratched his bearded chin. “There will be the good stuff, eh?”
“Drinks will be served with the meat afterward, aye.” In years past, an outdoor eating area had been set up next to several large barbecues. There were kegs of beer and whisky both. Tea as well as coffee, and of course, cases of Irn-Bru, Scotland’s number one soft drink.
“I’d expect no less at a castle,” Grandpa said.
“Did you ever play the bagpipes, Grandpa?”
“A wee bit.” Grandpa touched the brim of this tam. “Enough tae know it’s best left tae the professionals.”
“Jerry called it a GHB.”
“Aye.” Grandpa pointed to Jerry as he took his position on the field with his bandmates. “The Great Highland Bagpipe. The leather bag collects air, they each have two tenor drones—the shorter pipes there, and the big one over Jerry’s shoulder is called a great drone.”
“I don’t see the reeds Sorcha was talking about,” Paislee said.
“Oh, you wouldnae,” Grandpa said. “They’re inside the instrument.”
“I had tae learn the recorder in primary, and so did Brody. P3.” Paislee smiled at Grandpa as she remembered the awful noise her son had made, and she’d been no better. “You’re lucky you weren’t with us then. It was a racket.”
Grandpa chuckled. “Do you think he’ll really want tae learn the drums?”
“I’m praying he’ll forget when he’s playing football next weekend,” Paislee said.
“That’s the way of it,” Grandpa agreed. “Lads have short memories.”
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About Traci Hall
From cozy mysteries to seaside romance, USA Today bestselling author Traci Hall writes stories that captivate her readers. As a hybrid author with over sixty published works, Ms. Hall has a favorite tale for everyone.
Mystery lovers, check out her Scottish Shire series, set in the seaside town of Nairn, or the Salem B&B Mystery series, co-written as Traci Wilton. Her latest project is an Irish Castle cozy as Ellie Brannigan. Whether it’s her ever-popular By the Sea romances, an Appletree Cove sweet romance, or a fun who-done-it, Traci finds her inspiration in sunny South Florida, living right near the ocean.
Traci wants to hear from you!
Traci@TraciHall.com
Author Links: Facebook / Goodreads / Twitter-X / BookBub / Instagram / Website
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Along with Jessica Fletcher, Terrie Farley Moran co-writes the Murder She Wrote mystery series including Murder, She Wrote: Killer on the Court. She is the author of the Read ‘Em and Eat cozy mystery series and also co-writes the Scrapbooking Mysteries with Laura Childs. Recipient of both the Agatha and the Derringer Awards, Moran has published numerous mystery short stories. The only thing Terrie enjoys more than wrangling mystery plots into submission is hanging out with any or all of her seven grandchildren.
I have spent my life in the study of story from riveting novels to the slam-bang action-packed world of comics to the examination of film history, I have spent a lifetime learning and examining the elements that make a story incredible. This steadfast dedication has led me to write stories of my own.