A Spirited Supper at Dundoon Castle

Book 2: Food and Spirits Mystery

by Darci Hannah

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

When chef Bridget “Bunny” MacBride got a role on the reality show Food & Spirits, she thought “spirits” meant cocktails. Instead, she’s cooking up dinners meant to tempt the departed to appear. And to her surprise, she’s discovered abilities to connect with the beyond—and crack murder cases . . .

Now that Bunny’s entrées come with a side of the Other Side, it comes in handy to have a grandma who’s friendly with the elderly owners of a haunted Scottish castle. During Bunny’s childhood she heard all about Dundoon’s bloody history and the “ghostly piper” who roamed the grounds—and soon she’ll be visiting the ancient place with her ghost hunter and psychic co-stars. The annual bagpipe competition in the late piper’s honor will make for some good footage as well. 

After Bunny serves a feast fit for a 17th century king, including lamb chops with plenty of fresh herbs, she heads outdoors for the ghost hunt. But in the dark, dense fog, someone fatally plunges from the clifftop over the loch. The sound that follows is a mournful, otherworldly bagpipe . . . and once the body of another perished piper is retrieved, Bunny is determined to solve this Highlands homicide—and prevent a killer from getting off scot-free . . .

Includes Delicious Recipes!

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

“We’re going to Scotland. Can ye believe it?” Bunny’s voice sounded a wee bit petulant, even to her own ears, as she spoke into the phone.

“Well, isn’t that … good?” Jane, the woman on the other end, floated. “I mean, you’re Scottish. You haven’t been home in a long while, and you’re always telling Ainsley and me how much you miss it.” Ainsley was Jane’s ten-year-old daughter, charged with taking care of Bunny’s beloved pet Holland lop rabbit, Mr. Wiggles, while she was away on business. Jane and Ainsley lived in Connecticut and were Bunny’s next-door neighbors. Jane also happened to be Bunny’s dearest friend.

“Aye, I suppose that’s true enough. But it’s complicated.”

Wasn’t that the truth, Bunny mused, rolling her green eyes at her reflection in the hotel mirror. She shook her head, smoothed a wayward, bright ginger curl back into place, and thought once again about the absurd string of events that had landed her here, in a budget London hotel room, thankfully not haunted, waiting for the airport shuttle to pick her and the lads up for their next misguided foodie, ghosty adventure. She was, after all, one of the hosts of a new reality television show scheduled to air on the Mealtime Network called Food & Spirits.

Just over three weeks ago, Bridget “Bunny” MacBride, had been happily working as a menu developer for Mary Stobart’s Memorable Meals, with a weekly five-minute segment called “Bunny’s Culinary Corner.” She was proud of her short but sweet segment. It had been a popular part of the show. In retrospect, perhaps a bit too popular for the aging foodie and lifestyle icon Mary Stobart. However, not long after Bunny refused to embrace the spookier side of the upcoming Halloween episode, purely due to her dislike of scary, spooky things, she found herself sitting in the big corner office with her boss, Mary Stobart, and Jerry Goldstein, a powerful network executive. To her great surprise, they had offered her the opportunity of a lifetime—her own travel cooking show with the engaging title Food & Spirits. She was to be the Food in the title, responsible for creating a delicious, authentic, locally sourced meal that was connected to the place they would travel to. She was told that the Spirits part of the show would be handled by someone else, which was fine by her. Bunny was by no means an expert when it came to mixing up fancy drinks. Deep down, Bunny had an inkling that the opportunity set before her was too good to be true. Yet the moment the pen was placed in her hand, she had signed the contract, filled with visions of traveling to sunny Caribbean Islands, eating exotic foods, cooking with exotic spices, and feasting her eyes on exotic, bare-chested men. Och! She couldn’t believe she had signed the contract without question. That was just the stupid type of thing people pleasers and optimists do. Bunny, admittedly, was a lot of both.

It wasn’t until a few days later, while attending her first production meeting, that she realized the Spirits part of the show wasn’t about mixology after all, but, well … spirits. As in ghosts, and specters, and whatnot. The trouble was, Bunny wasn’t a fan of ghosts. Not in the least. And she really disliked creepy old places too. Unfortunately, the show’s primary focus was all about haunted, creepy old places. Bunny, being an up-and-coming celebrity chef, was, as they say, along for the ride. And what a wild ride their first Food & Spirits adventure had been!

Jane was talking again, grabbing her attention while giving her a piece of friendly advice.

“Bunny, my friend, life is complicated. That’s the point of life. You can tiptoe around all the difficult bits, but you won’t be satisfied. You’ll be tiptoeing forever. And that’s no way to live for an adventurous and talented young woman like you. Whatever fear you have of going home, you must face it, embrace it, and get on with it. Besides, Granny Mac sounds like a gem, coming to your rescue when that body turned up at Bramsford Manor. That must have been utterly disturbing for you! Thank heaven for Granny Mac.”

“She’s the best,” Bunny admitted. Frowning a little, she added, “And sometimes a right rascal. She’s the reason we’re heading to Scotland today, and to my home, where we’re staying the night before heading to the castle. She made it sound innocent, like a spontaneous thought, but I think she planned this little homecoming visit the moment she realized I was back in the UK.”

“Castle?” Jane was stuck on the word. “You’re going to a Scottish castle? That sounds so romantic and dreamy, Bunny.”

“It might, if it wasn’t so haunted.” Much to her dismay, the word romantic sparked the image of hunky Brett Bloom, her cohost on the show. In the blink of an eye, her imagination was alive with his glorious, all-American good looks and knee-weakening smile. She was shocked at how willingly she welcomed these untimely mental intrusions. Sure, Brett could be ridiculous, difficult, and a right dunderhead at times, but, if she was being honest, working with Brett Bloom was one of the few perks the show offered, and quite possibly the reason she had decided to fulfill her contract and not tear it up, as she had every right to do. She thrust the tantalizing image aside.

“Right. Haunted,” Jane replied without any conviction. Then, choking down a bubble of mirth, she asked, “So, what ghost are you cooking for this time, Bunny?”

Sure, it sounded funny to the outsider, but it was no joke cooking for a ghost. Which, unfortunately, was her main job on the show. Bunny dearly wished that cooking was her only job, but thanks to Granny Mac and the untimely appearance of a ghostly white rabbit, her entire team began to realize that whipping up an impressive meal wasn’t her only valuable asset. Bunny had been, and still was, reluctant to face the truth of her unusual psychic gift, one she undoubtedly had inherited from Granny Mac. Quite simply put, Bunny was clairvoyant too. She had tried to run from it, to hide from it, to ignore it, yet it had always been there, a niggling little secret deeply suppressed in the shadow of her soul. It might have remained suppressed too, if it hadn’t been for their visit to Bramsford Manor and her encounter with the tragic, ghostly bride who had haunted it. Clairvoyance and pesky ghost rabbit aside, Bunny was an up-and-coming celebrity chef. It was her culinary skills that had brought her here, and that was the nugget of truth she would cling to. Jane repeated her question again. What ghost was she cooking for? Even to her own ears it sounded ridiculous. Bunny cleared her throat, and replied, “Och, some long-dead piper.” She brushed off the thought.

“Piper? Are you referring to a plumber?” Jane was confused.

“Not a plumber,” Bunny corrected. “A bagpiper, a musician. It’s a Scottish thing. Nearly every castle has one.”

“How fascinating.” Jane was hanging on her every word. “And you say this one’s dead?”

“As legend would have it, aye. My gran knows all about it. She’s friends with the castle owners. That’s how she ensnared the lads and our producer, Trig, back in the home office. He called the castle, talked with the owners, and now we’re off, quick as Bob’s your uncle. Gran is pleased as punch, and my mum’s so excited she’s cooking up a homecoming feast. It’s going to be awkward.”

“Awkward? Bunny, it’s going to be wonderful! The prodigal daughter is returning home, and your mother is preparing the proverbial fattened beast.”

“Quite literally, I’m afraid.” This was the truth. The MacBrides of Inverary, Scotland, not only raised the finest cattle; they also raised sheep, chickens, and a few pigs as well. From February to October, the river that ran through their property was thick with salmon, and the pond in the glen swarmed with trout. There were fruit trees, berry bushes, and honey from the bees that pollinated both. And if that wasn’t enough, her mum also had a remarkable kitchen garden and made the best jams in the parish. In short, the family farm was a cornucopia of culinary delights, and just like a musical maestro, Maggie MacBride knew how to select the perfect seasonal ingredients to highlight the fruits of their labor. Bunny’s culinary journey had started when she’d been a wee bairn, attached to her mother’s hip. She had learned from the best. It was a fact Bunny had always been proud of. However, what Bunny was not so proud of, and what she had failed to mention to Jane, was that her parents had no inkling of the true nature of her show, her burgeoning psychic abilities, or the fact that she had made contact with her dead brother, Braiden, her twin, in the form of a white rabbit. She was still grappling with all of this, so how on earth was she to explain it to those she loved most? The mere thought sparked a raging storm of anxiety within her.

“It sounds delightful! You’re going to have a wonderful time.”

Was she, now? Doubtful, Bunny thought, but she kept those feelings to herself. However, on a brighter note, Jane’s sunny voice and misguided optimism were just the things she needed now that her own natural optimism had taken a downturn at the thought of family. Knowing that optimism, like a heartfelt smile, could be contagious, Bunny leaned into the uplifting words as Jane continued. “Look, you have nothing to worry about. Ainsley is doting on Mr. Wiggles, and from what I can tell, he’s enjoying all the attention and extra treats. Let your parents dote on you for a while, Bunny. You deserve as much. Then, after being fortified by the love of your family, go out there and storm that haunted castle. You can do this, Bridget MacBride!”

“I can. I will. I’ve got this!” Bunny responded with renewed gusto. She then locked eyes with her reflection in the mirror and forced a bright smile. I’m going home, she thought. I’m finally going home. She liked the sound of that. Then, with a painful flinch, her smile faded, chased away by a series of rapid-fire knocks on her door.

“Bunny, darling, are you ready?” The perky voice of Gifford McGrady, the third host on the show, called from the hallway. “We’re off in five. Chop-chop. I can’t wait to meet the fam!”

“Be right there,” she called out, fighting a new wave of prickling nerves. Who was she kidding? Going home was going to be more painful than wonderful, and she really didn’t know what terrified her more, confronting her parents, confronting her inner demons, or making otherworldly contact with a ghostly piper? Surprisingly, the scales were tipping in the piper’s favor.

“Thanks for the chat, Jane, but I’ve got to run. We’re on our way to the airport. Give Ainsley and Mr. Wiggles a hug from me.” Bunny ended the call. With one last fleeting glance at her reflection, she picked up her bags and headed for the door.

After an hour spent navigating the intricacies of Heathrow Airport, the ninety-minute flight to Glasgow, and yet more time retrieving luggage, organizing video equipment, and renting two vehicles, Bunny found herself once again behind the wheel of a saloon, or sedan, as they say in the States, with Gifford “Giff” McGrady firmly buckled into the seat next to her and cameraman Ed Franco lounging in the back seat. Crivens, how travel tried the patience! Bunny, however, was back on home turf, a fact she celebrated by peeling out of the car-rental parking lot, heading for the M8 motorway going northwest. A quick glance in the rearview mirror told her that Brett, Mike, Cody, and all their bloody ghost-hunting equipment in the van were attempting to keep pace. A fleeting thought occurred to her, one that suggested she should have given them their own set of directions in case they got separated. Too late now, she mused, and focused on the task at hand, driving in heavy traffic.

Interestingly enough, air travel had never bothered Bunny. In fact, she rather enjoyed flying. She found that, once up in the clouds, with the miniature world passing slowly below like an endless patchwork quilt, it was easy to relax. Traveling at such great heights minimized her worries, making them seem as distant as the terra firma below. The fact that Brett had sat next to her on the flight and bought her a glass of in-flight wine further worked in her favor. Brett, adorable, fluffy-headed Brett, had wanted to talk about haunted Scottish castles, bagpipers, and ghosts. While not her favorite subjects, she happily engaged in the conversation because of … well, Brett. Tall, blond, and distractingly handsome, she especially loved the way his bright blue eyes sparkled when he talked of ghosts. At first, she had found his enthusiasm disturbing, but now, for her own selfish reasons, she encouraged him. All she had to do was drop a comment or two about spookies, sit back, and watch the magic happen. Brett, and a glass of wine, had chased all her cares away. The flight from London to Glasgow had been no problem at all.

Unfortunately, the drive from Glasgow to her family farm in Inverary was proving to be a little more difficult. As Bunny guided the saloon farther north, the traffic thinned, and the familiar and often breathtaking roads of Scotland pecked at her brain until at last the floodgates had been breached. It was what she had feared; it was what she had run from, and now, as she gripped the steering wheel of the Ford, she had no choice but to face them. She felt a burst of unconditional love from her parents, the radiating joys of a beautiful childhood, the haunting darkness and pain of losing her twin, and the very real shame of how she had hardened her heart and left her family behind to forge a new life for herself. As Bunny navigated a roundabout a tad too fast, passing slower vehicles on the inside lane before aggressively merging onto the road once again, she thought, youth is selfish. It must be, she reasoned. Youth is for growth and self-discovery, which, by its very nature, is selfish. How was one supposed to know who they are or what they like if they weren’t a little selfish? While justifying the self-centered actions of her youth with some hefty mental gymnastics, Bunny suddenly found herself on the crest of a windswept hill, with the western shore of Loch Lomond unraveling below her like a silky blue ribbon. Crivens! She had nearly forgotten about the loch. The mere sight of it knocked the breath from her.

“Whoa!” Giff breathed in awe. “That’s stunning.”

“I agree,” Ed said, peering out the window. “What lake is that, Bunny?”

“Lomond,” she told them. “Loch Lomond.” As the great body of water came into view, Bunny was hit with a startlingly strong vision of the last time she had sailed on that loch. It was as if she were back there again, sitting in the little sailboat with her twin, Braiden, working the sails as the boat cut through the chilly water. They had been racing in a regatta, and they were in the lead. She heard the motor of a boat, but never saw it, not until it hit them with such force that both she and Braiden had been tossed far from the boat. She felt the rising panic of being underwater, of not knowing where she was or if she would ever fill her burning lungs with air again. And then she felt the hands gripping her ankles, pushing her to the surface just as she was about to pass out. By some miracle she had survived. Braiden hadn’t been so lucky. The great big hole in her heart left by the death of her deceased twin still ached as if it had happened yesterday.

“Loch Lomond?” Giff questioned, staring pointedly at her.

His searching look pulled her back to her senses. Bunny noted that he had a white-knuckle hold on the grab handle above the door. For some reason, her driving unnerved him.

“Oh! Lomond!” he exclaimed, suddenly recalling the loch and Bunny’s connection to it. He then inhaled sharply. “That’s … the site of your boating accident.” He cast her a tentative look, curling his body ever so slightly in the seat as he did so. He thought her eyes looked a bit red at the edges.

“I’m perfectly fine,” she snapped. “It was a long time ago. I’ve moved past it.”

Giff looked in the back seat at Ed, flashing him a deer-in-headlights look. Ed vigorously shook his head, mouthing, Drop it! But Giff wouldn’t drop it. Instead, he turned to Bunny and suggested, “Why don’t you slow down there a bit, Bun-bun, and let’s talk about it? Talking’s good. It’s cathartic. I’m sure you have fond memories of him. Umm, Brandon, was it? Tell us about Brandon. What did he look like?”

“Braiden,” she corrected through gritted teeth. “His name was Braiden.”

“Ooo, sorry. My bad. I’ll file that name away in here,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “Won’t forget it. Now, what did Braiden look like?”

Bunny let out a little growl. “I didn’t come to Scotland to talk about it, Gifford. If you’ll recall, we’re here to drum up a dead piper.” Although her nerves were raging, she cleared her throat and attempted to be civil. “I’m to make a feast to coax a long dead piper back to the table, and I’m scunnered by the thought. I don’t even know what pipers like to eat.”

“But you’re Scottish,” Ed reasoned, poking his head into the front seat. “You grew up here. These are your people.”

Bunny found his convoluted reasoning infuriating. She was about to say so, when Giff offered another unhelpful suggestion.

“You could just ask him. You know, connect with him psychically and float some menu ideas by him.”

Bunny couldn’t believe the eejet drivel she was hearing from the lads. Taking her eyes off the road to stare at them, she said, “Are you two mental? I’m not contacting a long-dead piper to ask him what he’d like to eat. In fact, Mr. Man, I’m not contacting him at all. That’s your job.”

“You forget, I just play a medium on the show,” Giff defended. “Forgive me for thinking that fortune-telling and channeling the dead are pure chicanery.” If Giff was being honest with himself, which he seldom was, he was slightly jealous of Bunny’s psychic gifts, but he loved her so much, he barely showed it.

“For the record, we have to drive past the loch. It’s on the way to the farm.”

“And the fam,” Giff inappropriately reminded her. “Can’t wait to meet them.” He couldn’t help himself. He had no filter. As a former ad man, he was cursed with a quick wit, a snappy turn of phrase, and the ability to recall every annoying jingle he’d ever heard.

The mere mention of her family caused Bunny’s nerves to spring so tightly, they sparked a red brain flare-up. A growl escaped her again as she gritted her teeth and brought her focus back to the road. The moment she did, she inhaled sharply and slammed on the brakes so hard the car bucked and skidded off the road, narrowly missing a thick hedge and the white rabbit that had shot out right in front of the car.

The lads cried in unison as the car skidded to a halt. Their faces were covered as they braced for impact.

Bunny’s heart was still racing at the sight when a loud horn, seemingly coming from inside the saloon, kicked it into triple-time. A split second later, a large truck burst from the dense greenery of the hedge, passing a mere three feet in front of their car. It wasn’t a hedge, but a side road, and Bunny never saw it. With a sinking heart, she realized that the lorry had the right-of-way. She had missed the stop sign, almost getting them killed. If her nerves had been raging before, they were now ready to leap out of her skin.

Breathing heavily, she addressed the lads. “Are … ye both alright? Is anyone hurt? I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, tears springing to her eyes. The truth of what happened sprang upon her. If it wasn’t for the white rabbit … She couldn’t even think of it.

“Shaken and stirred, I’m afraid, but still alive,” Giff remarked. His face had gone white as a ghost’s.

“I’m okay,” Ed reported from the back seat. “Thank God the car stopped in time.”

“Yes, thank God,” she agreed. Then, venturing into darker territory, she asked, “Did anyone happen to see the rabbit—the one that jumped from the verge and ran in front of the car?” For the sake of her sanity, she didn’t dare state its color.

“Rabbit?” A muscle in Giff’s jaw twitched as his eyes grew wide as saucers. “I never saw a rabbit. Is … that why you stopped?”

His genuine look of terrified disbelief frightened her even more. Although Giff refrained from saying another word about the rabbit, she knew that he understood what she was asking. As if touched by a hot poker, he unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door.

“Bunny, I hate to do this, but I’m taking the wheel from here.”

“But … you don’t know how to drive on the left-hand side of the road,” she protested.

“I’ll learn. You can be my copilot and keep me on course.” As Bunny stepped out of the car, Brett, driving the cargo van, pulled off the side of the road behind them. Bunny had been driving so aggressively that they had fallen behind. Giff walked Bunny to the passenger side and opened the door for her. “We’re in Scotland,” he told her gently. “Silly us, we didn’t realize that this might be difficult for you. Sit back and relax. Everything is going to be fine. The Giffster won’t let anything bad happen to you. None of us will. I promise.” Before Bunny could protest, he shut the car door.

Although she knew Giff meant what he said, she doubted that he or any of the dear lads could protect her from the storm she felt brewing in the marrow of her bones. She prayed she was wrong, but she knew, as she had always known, that although they faced this journey together, there were just some forbidden places that only she could go. She prayed that when the time came, she would have the courage to do so. Resigned to her demoted position as copilot, she bucked up and held her breath.

The moment the grand, two-story fieldstone farmhouse at the end of the long drive came into view, Bunny heaved a sigh of relief. It was as beautiful as she remembered, even more so when enveloped in the enchanting colors of autumn. The well-tended garden of shrubs, plants, flowers, and trees that adorned the front of the old house had already shed the bright blooms of summer in favor of the deep greens, bright reds, muted purples, and luminescent oranges and yellows of autumn. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, certainly not this sudden rush of nostalgia and excitement mingled with pride. The original farmhouse, which had been renovated many times over the years, dated from the early eighteen-hundreds. Long, one-story wings sprouted from each side of the main house. Bunny knew they continued perpendicular to the house, creating a lovely, protected courtyard out back, with the farmhouse standing tall in the center. Just beyond the house were more outbuildings necessary for a working farm, including the original stable constructed to match the house. Surrounding the farm was a myriad of colorful fields ready to be harvested. Some were divided by stone fences. Others were bound by thick hedges. There was even a large swath of forest that covered the hillside, providing shelter for the red deer. There was a large pond in the glen behind the house, and a cool, peaty river that bisected the forest and ran all the way to Loch Fyne. Although she was nervous, her heart soared at the sight of her home.

“This is a farm?” Giff asked, eyeing the large stone house before him. He shook his head. “Looks more like a grand estate. I can’t believe you grew up here.”

“I did,” Bunny told him. “’Tis been in the family for four generations. My brother Angus will inherit next.”

“Whoa,” Ed remarked from the back seat. “Four generations. That’s a long time. I bet it’s haunted.”

Bunny turned and glared at him in the back seat. “No, it’s not haunted, Ed. Remember, Granny Mac lives here too. She wouldn’t abide a lingering spirit.”

“Good point,” he conceded, adding an appreciative nod.

“Park over there,” she told Giff, who was finally getting the hang of driving on the left-hand side of the road. She had a lead foot, Giff had a tendency t. . .