An American in Scotland

Book 0: A Scottish Isle Mystery

by Lucy Connelly

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; International Crime & Mystery

Synopsis

The small idyllic town of Sea Isle, Scotland, harbors some dark secrets, and Dr. Emilia McRoy is determined to uncover all of them—no matter what the diagnosis in this charming cozy, sure to enchant fans of Sheila Connolly and Charlene O’Connor.

Sea Isle was supposed to be the fresh start Dr. Emilia McRoy dreamed of. Far from the busy emergency room across the Atlantic in Seattle, she hoped to settle down and begin this new chapter as a small-town doctor to the quirky residents who immediately welcomed her. When she stumbles across a dead body, she starts to think that she may not be as Scot free of the drama and intrigue as she initially thought.

Emilia soon learns she has bigger issues at hand. It starts with realizing she'll work closely with the less than helpful local constable, Laird Ewan Campbell. Her luck continues when she discovers that part of her new responsibilities includes being the coroner for the very body she found. Finally, when the body goes missing before she can even begin the autopsy, Emilia must convince the townspeople that a crime did, in fact, occur. The deeper she digs into the picturesque town, the more suspicious she becomes. And then there are her sleep issues. It may be due to the ever-growing list of suspects, a number of threatening letters, or the surprise visitor who breaks into her house at night. But she’s never backed down before, and she doesn’t intend to start now.

Someone doesn’t want this doctor to treat the ailments of Sea Isle, but Emilia McRoy is determined to find the murderer before they kilt again.

 

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Release date: April 4, 2023

Publisher: Crooked Lane Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Chapter One

Scotland was gorgeous—even more so than I’d imagined. Any last-minute doubts I’d had about moving across the pond, leaving everything and everyone behind at home in Seattle, were gone.

To the left was the sea and jagged cliffs; and the mountains, with their snow-capped peaks, loomed like stately soldiers to the right. The village ahead was a mix of pastel buildings that belonged on a postcard.

“I can’t believe I’m going to live here,” I said.

“And we are so happy to have you, Dr. Emilia McRoy,” Mr. Wilson said. The cheerful man had been my point of contact and helped me with the paperwork necessary for the move.

“You can call me Em.”

“It’ll be good to have a doctor in town again, especially with winter coming on. Would you like to stop at the pub for a bite to eat, or head on to your new home?”

I was starving, but the excitement about seeing where I’d be living outweighed the grumbling in my belly. “Home, please, Mr. Wilson.” I hadn’t been this excited about anything since graduating medical school a hundred years ago.

Okay, it hadn’t been quite that long, but it felt like it.

My family came from here. I’d known nothing about my heritage until a DNA test showed that I had roots in this area. It still boggled my mind.

When a recruiter called about a job in this part of Scotland, it was like the universe was shoving me out of my comfort zone and into the unknown. After fifteen years of being inside the stressful hamster wheel that was emergency medicine, I was ready for something new.

“Welcome to Sea Isle, lass,” Mr. Wilson said as we drove through the picturesque village. There were antique stores, tea shops, and a couple of boutiques. I couldn’t wait to explore everything the town had to offer.

“We’re coming up on your new home, just around the corner. But we’ll have to walk up the hill a bit. The streets are too narrow for the lorry.”

He turned the corner and then parked in a small gravel lot behind a row of stores and pubs. At least I’d be close to everything.

Mr. Wilson had to be pushing seventy, but he jumped out of the big truck like a young man ready for adventure. I, on the other hand, couldn’t figure out how the handle on the door worked.

There was a clicking sound, and it opened. Mr. Wilson offered a hand to help me down. Then he pulled my two large suitcases from the back.

The cobblestone path was lined with a mix of colorfully painted buildings and older stone ones. This street was just as quaint as the main one.

My cases weren’t light, and I ran to catch up with him. “Let me help you,” I said, breathless. In my defense, the hill was steep. Well, not that steep.

“Nae bother,” he said. “We’re here.”

Here was a stone church with a gated entry. There was an English garden in front, full of roses and small trees, and it was incredibly quaint. But I was confused.

From the emails, I’d thought I’d be living in a home above my office. “It’s a church,” I said.

“’Twas,” he said as he pulled a massive key out of his pocket and put it in the keyhole of the ancient arched door. “For the last twenty or so years, it’s been the doctor’s office and his home. Now, i

t’s yours.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d made myself a promise not to stress about the little things. If there was a bed and the heat worked, I’d live. I’d been traveling the last twenty-two hours, and I was sure I’d be able to sort it all out, no matter how rustic it might be.

He had to shove a bit on the door, but then it opened with a loud creak. He held it for me to enter. The large vestibule had been turned into a quirky reception office, with a desk and file cabinets on one side and a row of leather chairs on the other.

After I went through, he rolled in the cases. “Your living quarters are in the back. Down the hallway, here are the exam rooms.”

“It’s very efficient,” I said, which was another way of saying I had no idea how I felt about working in an old church.

The previous doctor had died a few years ago. The place probably hadn’t been used since then, but at least it was clean.

Don’t be a snob. You wanted adventure.

It was the main reason I’d moved. My life for so long had been nothing but work, punctuated by personal tragedy. No one here knew what had happened with my husband, or even cared.

I’d wanted away from all of that, and here I was.

Being in Scotland, I’d be able to travel around Europe at the drop of a hat. I smiled again. I’d been doing that a lot the last hour or so, from the airport in Edinburgh.

The long hallway opened to a beautiful space. A large living and dining area replaced the altar and pews. The gothic stain-glassed windows only added to the charm. An eclectic mix of furniture blended so well; it was as if a designer had done it.

There were beautiful tapestries on the wall, and the fireplace was so big, I could have walked into it.

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “It’s lovely.” I meant those words. “So charming.”

He grinned. “Would you like me to take your cases to your bedroom?”

I shook my head. “I’ve got it from here but thank you.” Again, all of this was so much more than I’d imagined.

It was quiet here on the hill, and that’s what I’d needed. After working the last few years in a busy ER, I’d craved the life of a small-town country doctor and a peaceful place to live.

What’s more peaceful than a church?

“You’ll be hungry after your travels. Once you settle, come down to our pub around the corner. My missus is looking forward to meeting you, and our granddaughter has been talking about you for weeks.”

“I can’t wait to meet them. I’ll be down in just a bit.”

I followed him to the front door. “You’ll be needing this.” He pulled a large brass key from his pocket. “Works on the inside and the outside. The laird has a copy, but best not to lose this one. He’s busy, and we do

n’t like to bother him.”

The laird. The guy was probably a grumpy old Scotsman who hated Americans.

After Mr. Wilson left, I couldn’t resist checking out the whole place. The exam rooms were more extensive than I’d expected, and each one had a stained-glass window. Everything I might need was already there, and much of it looked new. The scent of disinfectant was everywhere. Someone had cleaned everything to the corners.

Thank you, whoever you are. That saves me loads of time.

Hmm. In my new living space, the leather couch was soft and worthy of naps. I’d need a few throws and some pillows, and it’d be perfect. A large-screen television was on the wall, and a vast iron and glass dining table sat near a large opening to another room.

“I wonder where the kitchen is?” I said aloud.

There was a door on the far left wall on the other side of the fireplace, but I turned right and found the kitchen. Instead of the wall-to-wall cabinets we were used to in America, there were individual furniture pieces. A few of the cupboards had tiny brass plates on them.

It was a deVOL kitchen. I’d watched the series more than once on television, to help me wind down after a tough shift. But I’d never thought I’d have one of their kitchens. The painted blue furniture was gorgeous, and there was an Aga stove worthy of a chef.

Maybe, I should learn how to cook?

Heating soup and making coffee were the only kitchen skills I had.

My face hurt from smiling so much. Over the charming farmhouse sink, I glanced out the window.

“No.” I gasped. Then I closed my eyes and opened them again. Yep. Still there.

“What am I going to

 Yep. Still there.

“What am I going to

 

Chapter Two

There is a cemetery in my backyard.

The headstones—I should say, statues—were beautiful, but still. I’d come to Scotland to get away from dead people. After working with trauma patients for so long, I’d come here to live a more peaceful life.

I’d never been the sort of doctor who could let go of death quickly. My psychiatrist, Dr. Hartford, used to tell me: “Put them in a bubble on a shelf, and don’t think of them. Eventually, they’ll float away.”

Dr. Hartford had never been in the trenches like I had.

It’s an old Scottish cemetery. Get over it. I didn’t believe in ghosts, and I’d just look at it as unusual European art. Yes. That was the plan.

Double doors with stained-glass panels led out to a side yard, where the stone hedge surrounded the graveyard.

I’ll explore that another day. I wonder where the bedroom is.

A figure ran past the window.

“Ack!” I yelped.

An older man sneered at me through the window.

“Yikes.” My hand flew hard into my chest, and then I laughed. I glanced out again. No one was there. “Enough. I’m exhausted from traveling. And now I’m talking out loud to myself.”

Creepy as it was, I ran out to the graveyard.

No one was there.

Maybe, I’m more tired than I thought?

My stomach growled.

As I passed through the kitchen, I explored it. There was a small fridge in the bottom of one of the cupboards and then another metal door at the far end of the kitchen. I opened it and found a giant walk-in freezer. I’d read winters were brutal in Scotland, so they probably had to stock up on food and staples to last through spring.

After checking around the sanctuary, I found a door, off the living area, that opened to a narrow—as in I had to turn sideways to get up it—stairway. But the second floor was worth it.

It was loft-like, with worn wooden floors and an enormous stained-glass window filled with sunlight. The dark four-poster bed was huge, with plush linens. My predecessor, it seemed, had had exquisite taste.

My stomach growled again. As much as I wanted to unpack and sleep, it had been hours since my last meal.

The unpacking could wait.

---

I left the church—well, my new home—and went in search of food.

As I reached the end of the cobblestone road, to turn the corner, several routes shot off to the left. There were rows of houses through the trees, some of them with thatched roofs and everything painted with the same pastels as the seafront businesses.

The salty air filled my lungs, and I smiled.

I loved it already.

The Pig & Whistle was painted seafoam green, with a charming sign of a pig blowing a whistle over the door.

Once I went inside, I blinked a few times as my eyes adjusted to the dark interior. The scent of stew and beer felt like a warm hug. My shoulders dropped a good inch.

The rich scent of the food made me want to eat the air.

The walls were a moody green and mixed with the dark wood of the tables. I’d never been to a Scottish pub, but this should have been the model for all of t

hem.

It was probably close to happy hour, though my jet-lagged brain was confused about that.

The place was packed and silent.

Everyone stared at me.

Awkward.

A gray-haired woman in a dark green apron came toward me with her arms out. “Blessed soul. Dr. McRoy, we’re so glad you’ve arrived.”

At least, I think that’s what she said. Her charming Scottish accent, mixed with the incredible speed with which she spoke, made it difficult to understand.

She squeezed me tightly to her. I wasn’t against hugging. It created serotonin in the brain and made people feel better. But doing it with strangers added an extra layer of anxiety for me.

“Hi.” I found it hard to breathe.

“Let her go, Gran. The poor woman needs oxygen.” A slim woman with a towel over her shoulder gently pried her grandmother away from me. Then, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Mara,” she said. “This is Gran, also known as Mary Wilson. You met my granddad earlier.”

“Oh.” I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. And Mara, you’re the granddaughter Mr. Wilson told me about, right?” With oxygen back in my lungs, my brain was able to make the connections.

“I am.”

I shook hands with her. She looked to be about my age, maybe a little younger. Her auburn hair was piled on top of her head in a riot of curls that made me jealous.

My dirty-blonde locks, which were beginning to turn white, were straight and couldn’t be coerced into any other style.

“Let’s get you fed,” Mary said. “You must be starving.”

“I can’t believe Granddad didn’t stop on the way to get you something,” Mara added.

“It’s not his fault.” They guided me to the bar at the back of the pub. “I was in a rush to see my new home.”

“Take a seat, luv. I made you a meat pie,” Mary said.

“That sounds delicious.” I sat down on the smooth wooden stool. The bar had a brass kick plate, and the beautiful wood was worn and highly polished.

I glanced around. There were hints of a green plaid on the seat covers and curtains.

I love this place.

“We have stew, if you’d prefer,” Mara said. “Or a salad. You’re from the West Coast. Maybe you don’t eat meat?”

As a doctor, I probably should have watched my diet a bit more, but I was always on my feet. By the time I reached home, I either ordered out or popped something in the microwave. “I’ll have a chance to try the whole menu at some point, but for now, the meat pie sounds great.”

“What can I get you

 to drink?” Mara asked.

“A black and tan and some water.”

“A woman who knows her ales.” Mara filled a massive glass mug with light and dark beer. “You’ll be popular around here. The men like a woman who knows how to order.”

I laughed aloud. Part of it might have been exhaustion, and the other part nerves.

She stared at me with a strange look on her face.

“I think I’ll be busy with my medical practice,” I said. “I won’t have time for that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?” Mary asked as she sat a steaming pie in front of me. The whole meal was in a large bowl, and the crust on top was a golden brown. My mouth watered.

“Men,” Mara answered for me. She handed me the beer. I took a sip and sighed. My friends back home had been right about the beer here. It was warm, but it was also good. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but my husband had taught me the love of good ale.

“I don’t know, Doc—it’s cold in the winter. You might want someone to help keep you warm.” Mara winked and then laughed.

I poked a few holes in the pie, to let it cool a bit. The scent was so rich. It was as if I was already eating it.

“She’s only just arrived,” Mary scolded. “Let her get settled.” Then she grinned. “But my granddaughter’s not wrong.”

We all laughed.

“How do you like the church?” Mara asked.

“It’s gorgeous. Truly. I couldn’t have imagined anywhere more beautiful.”

They smiled. “You’re going to fit right in,” Mara said. “Is there anything you need to know?”

“I saw a man in the graveyard at the church.”

Mara shook her head. “Aye. That might take some getting used to.”

“What?”

“Strangers in your backyard. Many of our ancestors are buried there, and it’s considered community property. We use the back entrance, though, so no one should disturb you.”

The pub door opened, and I turned to see the man with the white beard enter. Like me, he blinked a few times and then sneered when he focused in on me.

“Who are you?” he growled.

The pub went silent again. Pointing a finger at me, he shuffled forward.

I held out my hand. “Dr. Emilia McRoy,” I said.

He glanced down at my hand, and then took a step back. “McRoy, you say?”

“Yes,” I replied calmly. I was used to dealing with sick, grumpy patients.

He spit on the floor. “Bunch o’ lying, cheating, thieves, the lot of you.” He spat the words like a curse.

“I’m the new doctor

in town,” I said.

“You won’t be here for long,” he threatened.

“Smithy. If you want your whiskey, you’ll apologize to the doctor now,” Mary said. “She’s only just arrived, and she’s perfectly lovely.”

“I’ll not drink in a pub that serves a McRoy,” he grumbled. Then he left.

“Grumpy old fool.” Mary laughed and then headed back to the kitchen.

Everyone stared at me again, and I focused on my food.

“I’m sorry about him,” Mara whispered.

“He seemed to take offense when I mentioned my name.”

She rolled her eyes. “Smithy doesn’t like anyone. I promise.”

Mary came back out of the kitchen with a tray of food and handed it to her granddaughter.

“Gran, Smithy didn’t seem to like her name. Do you know why?”

Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “I’m sorry he bothered you,” she said. “Pay him no mind. Truly.”

“I’m used to grumpy patients, but now I wonder what one of the McRoys did to him.”

She smiled. “Luv, it was nearly fifty years ago. I think the story was that Smithy lost the pub to my beloved in a card game. And in that same game, lost his cottage and fishing boat to the last McRoy, who lived in town. I believe he was a vicar or a priest.”

“Really?” There hadn’t been a great deal of time to research my family’s background before I arrived.

“Aye. He died mysteriously not long after that. I think the police thought Smithy might have had something to do with it, but there was no proof.”

Wait. That man had possibly murdered my great- … whatever he was?

“Smithy got his cottage and boat back. But he’s still mad about the pub. He comes here to give us a hard time. My husband is the only one who can stand to be around him for more than five minutes,” Mary said, and then continued, “Pay him no mind, luv. You’ll find our people are kind and very excited you’re here.

“Isn’t that, right?” she said to the group.

The pub patrons raised their glasses. “Aye,” they said in unison.

I smiled—a bit embarrassed that they’d been listening in.

“Let her eat, and then introduce yourselves. We don’t want her judging us because of old Smithy,” Mara said.

The meat pie was delicious.

“I’ve got to head out on some errands, but come back tomorrow morning for breakfast, and let’s chat,” Mara said.

I smiled. “I’ll do that.”

The talking had started again in the pub, and I honestly only understood a few words. I hadn’t thought about there being any language barrier here. Maybe I needed a dictionary and to rewatch some of my fav

orite Scottish detective shows.

After the meal, my eyelids were heavy, but my internal clock would never be sorted if I went to bed so early.

My departure was delayed as, one by one, the pub patrons came up to say hello. The first was a pregnant young woman with strawberry-blonde hair.

“I’m Caitlin,” she said. “I’m so happy you’re here. The idea of possibly having this baby in the lorry because we couldn’t get to the hospital in time has scared me to death.”

“How far along are you?”

“Seven months, but feels like one hundred,” she said. She rubbed her belly.

I would have guessed closer to nine. “Did they do a sonogram at your doctor’s appointment?”

“Nae,” she said.

“I’m opening the office. Why don’t you come by, and let’s chat? I just want to make sure I’m familiar with your medical history.”

“Thank you.”

Several more people came up, and all of them had various ailments. I’d be busy, but I looked forward to it. These people were so grateful and kind. It was going to be a joy to serve them.

After speaking to the last customer in the pub, I said my goodbyes and headed back up the hill.

My mind danced over everything I’d learned in such a short time.

Had Smithy killed one of my ancestors? I shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. That man had been menacing.

I continued up the cobblestone path and stopped to study the church.

Curious when it had been built, I circled around the side. There was a path leading up a hill. I needed a walk to clear my head, and I was grateful to find it was dirt, and not cobblestones like the streets in town.

I wonder how many twisted ankles come in a week? I smiled. It was August, but the air was brisk. I shivered a bit.

I’ll just go a little farther up the mountain.

Everything from the past few months rolled around in my brain. A hint of anxiety slithered across my skin. My husband’s face flashed through my head.

I forced myself to walk faster.

Don’t think.

I was out of breath when the first raindrop plopped hard on my face.

I glanced up at the sky that had been filled with sunshine just a short bit ago. There were angry black clouds and rain so heavy I could barely see in front of me. I took a few steps to go back down the hill, but I slipped. I’d end up breaking an arm—or worse, a leg—if I tried to go down to the church.

Ahead of me, I could barely see the outline of a house. Moving off the slippery dirt, I st

tepped onto the grass, where I had a bit more traction.

I finally made it to the doorway.

No time like the present to meet the neighbors.

I hoped they were nice. I already felt like the dumb American who hadn’t been paying attention to the weather.

I knocked hard on the rickety door. No one answered. Maybe nobody was home. The stinging rain hurt, and the temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees.

I tried the door, and it opened.

“Hello? I’m Emilia. Is anyone here?”

Silence.

I tried to find a light switch, but there wasn’t one. I fumbled to get my cell out of the pocket of my sweater, but it slipped and clattered to the stone floor.

“Darn. Don’t be broken.”

My hands were so wet and slippery, and wiping them on my soaked clothes was no help.

The coppery scent of blood filled my nose.

It’s a deserted house—probably a dead animal or something.

I rubbed my hands together, and the friction helped dry them. I bent down and picked up my phone.

It still took a few tries to get the flashlight app to work. The room was so dark, the light didn’t help much, but at least I could see a few feet around me. The windows were as dirty as the stone walls. Dust flew up under my feet with each step.

A couple of wooden rocking chairs sat in front of an old fireplace that had seen better days.

From the enormous spiderwebs on the walls and chairs, the person who lived here hadn’t been around much.

Good.

I flashed the light through the doorway of a side room. A figure sat on the bed.

“Ack.” I dropped my phone again. “I’m sorry to intrude,” I said. “I’m new here, and I was trying to find a place to get out of the rain. ...