USA Today bestselling author Traci Hall returns with the latest novel in a new cozy mystery series set in a charming seaside town in Scotland and featuring busy single mom Paislee Shaw, owner of a specialty sweater shop, knitting enthusiast, and reluctant sleuth who must untangle another murderous yarn!
All Paislee wants for Christmas is for her new home to be finished, but it looks like she’ll have to wait for New Year’s Day. Whether the paint on the walls has dried or not, she’ll host a feast for her twelve-year-old son Brody, Grandpa, their black Scottish terrier Wallace, and friends—including police station receptionist Amelia Henry and her brother McCormac, whose black locks can fulfill the Scottish first-footer tradition that a tall, dark-haired man should be the first person to enter your home on New Year’s to bring good luck.
But McCormac’s luck is about to run out. During Hogmanay—when the Scots welcome the New Year with dancing, bonfires, and midnight fireworks—he collapses as the sky brightens in a blaze of color. A shooter has used the noise of the fireworks to hide a gun’s blast. Amelia is inconsolable, and Paislee vows to do whatever she can to help DI Zeffer solve the murder—even if it puts her in the killer’s sights next . . .
Release date:
September 24, 2024
Publisher:
Kensington Books
Print pages:
320
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Paislee Shaw enjoyed the bounty that Christmas brought into Cashmere Crush, her specialty yarn and sweater shop, but if she had to listen to “Jingle Bells” one more time, she’d go completely mental. A cappella, pipes, fiddle, and every variation in between—Brody and Grandpa even did a rendition using spoons until Paislee had threatened to toss the silverware into the sea.
On November 25th, Nairn kicked off the holiday season with a festive Christmas tree lighting ceremony. Tourists mobbed their quaint Victorian shire, something Paislee and her bank account were grateful for, aye, but today, December 20th, she wasn’t prepared and out of sorts. She’d told Lydia that she wanted to be in her own home for Gran’s favorite time of year. Was it too much to ask?
It appeared so, as it hadn’t happened. Lydia warned her repeatedly to squelch her high hopes.
Cross, Paislee sipped her tea and scowled out the window of her bestie’s flat. It had all the amenities as well as a view of the Moray Firth. It was a lovely space but wasn’t theirs.
She, Grandpa, Brody, and their pup, Wallace, had been displaced from their home when the water pipes had burst over her head as she’d been about to kiss Hamish McCall. In truth, they had kissed, but she denied it and hadn’t let it happen again. She could take a hint from Above. She wasn’t done being a mum yet. Was it any wonder she was a wee bit moody?
“Mum!” Brody shouted from his bedroom. “Can I stay home today?”
“No, son.” It was Friday and he’d be off for holiday as of this afternoon. Paislee was closing the yarn shop from December 24th through January 3rd to spend time together. “You’ve got early dismissal after your party.” She winced as she remembered the manic excitement in the school halls the last day before winter break.
“Lame.”
“Enough sass, Brody, or you’ll be with me for the weekend instead of snowboarding.”
Silence. Brody’s best mate, Edwyn Maclean, had invited Brody to the mountains for Saturday and Sunday, and Christmas was on Wednesday. Paislee planned on using the time he was away to get his gifts together. As in, buy them.
There were only twenty-four hours in her day, blast it, or else she might not be last-minute shopping for his special trainers, new football, and video games, but between stocking luxury items at Ramsey Castle in the new gift shop, managing Cashmere Crush, Brody’s exams in school, and saying aye or nay to paint samples for her kitchen, which, please all the angels and saints, would be done for Christmas . . . she hadn’t had two seconds to buy presents.
It was enough to make her cry—but, she didn’t have time for that either.
“Grab your coat. You have your gift for Jenni?”
Two days ago, Brody’d asked Paislee to knit a scarf and slouchy cap in Jenni’s favorite bright green. He thought cashmere, though she countered with merino wool, which was just fine for the lass. A project like this normally would take eight hours, but Paislee had a scarf in that shade already completed so had stayed up late to create the matching cap.
Jenni had hinted that she’d gotten something for him too and her son had been surprisingly astute, knowing he’d need to reciprocate.
“It’s in my backpack.” Brody was growing out his auburn locks, which Paislee thought messy, but not worth the argument. “Should I bring Edwyn’s?”
“Nah. Keep it for tomorrow.”
Wallace raced from Brody to Grandpa sitting at the kitchen counter, to Paislee. The dog had just been groomed and sported a jolly red collar around his neck. His near-black eyes sparkled.
“I’ll take Wallace doon,” Grandpa said, noting the clock, which could be her mortal enemy. “You’d best hurry. Traffic has been crazy with all the tourists.”
“Thanks, Grandpa!” Brody patted Wallace and tossed the pup a treat shaped like a snowman.
“Thank you!” Paislee slipped on her coat and grabbed her handbag, studying her grandfather who hadn’t dressed yet for his part-time shift at Cashmere Crush. His silver-gray hair had turned lighter in the last few months, matching his beard, but his tall frame was straight, his color excellent. He adjusted his black-framed glasses and blinked at her like a sleepy cat. “Call me if you want a ride tae the shop. It’s supposed tae snow over the next few days.”
“I can walk.” Grandpa tied the belt of his flannel robe.
Paislee shook her head—if she was stubborn, Grandpa was the source. “Fine! Text me before you leave.”
“Dinnae fash,” Grandpa said, shuffling across the floor to the kitchen and the electric kettle.
Was there ever a sentence more annoying than don’t worry? Paislee and Brody rode the elevator to the lobby, nodding at the security guard, Max, who opened the door leading to the car park.
“Happy holidays,” Max said.
“And tae you,” Paislee replied.
Brody didn’t answer so she bopped him lightly on the back of the head.
Her son grinned at Max. “Happy Christmas!”
The security guard handed over a candy cane that Brody stuffed into his pocket. “Ta.”
The air had a crispness to it as they walked to the Juke. Though chilly the sky was a clear blue. She drove Brody to secondary school, the radio on low playing Christmas classics. Lights of red, green, blue, and gold adorned the roof and windows, which added to the holiday atmosphere.
Despite his original protest, Brody fidgeted with happiness on the passenger seat as she stopped in the drop-off queue, and he spotted his mates. “Have a good day, hon!”
“You too, Mum.” Brody waved and hurried toward his friends huddled by the front door. Shrieks of joy wafted toward her.
Smiling, Paislee headed toward the shop, prioritizing her list. She was currently working on three projects in various stages of completeness; the thick vest in navy blue should be at the top as it was scheduled for pick up this afternoon. She’d made progress on two others last night at her Thursday evening Knit and Sip and would call her customers to let them know as soon as she finished, possibly tomorrow.
The ladies had all been in a festive frame of mind as they’d laughed and enjoyed time with each other before the holiday. Her best friend, Lydia Barron-Smythe, didn’t knit but she created amazing appetizers and kept the conversation rolling.
Though it was out of her way, Paislee decided to drive by her house. It was a standalone two-story building of stone, and she missed it with a pang. Several work lorries were in front, the door ajar. Ladders and buckets cluttered the brown grass.
Once there, her plan to get out of the Juke and check the progress for herself was thwarted by a call from Grandpa. She answered via Bluetooth. “Hi!”
“Hello, lass. I hate tae whinge but I think ye’d better come back.”
“Are you all right?” Paislee pulled away from her home with a sorrowful glance in the rearview. All she wanted for Christmas was her house. To bake Gran’s cakes and pies in her own kitchen. In the ceiling debacle, Gran’s index cards of recipes had gotten damp, but she could still decipher the neat block print—no sloppy scrawl for her schoolteacher granny.
“Elspeth called and she and Susan both have colds. She cannae come in today. I’ll help oot.”
Paislee was cautious with her older part-time helpers to make sure they didn’t overdo or work too hard. Elspeth Booth had retired from her office position at the church with Father Dixon and excelled in needlepoint. Her sister Susan, blind, had been matched with a guide dog around Thanksgiving. This meant a full eight-hour shift for her grandfather rather than just four.
“Will it be too much, Grandpa?”
“Dinnae be daft,” he replied, reminding her of his grumpy moods when vexed.
“On my way.” Paislee ended the call and dialed Lydia.
“Lydia here,” her friend answered in a cheery tone.
“Lyd, I just drove by the house. There are still ladders and trucks, and—”
“I advised you tae be patient! You promised tae wait.” Her best friend sounded peeved. “The foreman is trying for Hogmanay, but it might be February.”
New Year’s Eve? Her eyes stung and her throat tickled. “I need tae make Gran’s cakes! Her pies. Father Dixon is expecting a dozen assorted pastries for Christmas Eve dinner at the church, not tae mention three hundred mini black buns.” Her pulse raced as she considered all she had to do that wasn’t even shopping for Brody.
Paislee knew what she wanted to buy for Grandpa too—a fishing pole and hooks—and had been paying monthly toward a getaway for Lydia and Corbin to Italy at an exclusive spa for a week of their choosing, since Lydia wouldn’t accept rent for the flat, insisting rather that Paislee put her money into the new kitchen.
“You can bake those cakes at my flat just fine,” Lydia said with heat. “Why so many of them?”
“Father Dixon hands them out as gifts after Christmas Eve and Christmas morning mass, so that each of his parishioners will have a treat. The older ones, especially without family, look forward tae it.”
“That is sweet,” Lydia agreed, settling down. “And you just stepped intae the role?”
How could Paislee say no to Father Dixon? “I enjoy it, and it connects me tae the community, like Gran always wanted.” Baking her granny’s recipes as she would have done also brought her closer to the grandmother she loved so much.
“How long does it take?”
“I have two tins that bake ten buns at a time. This weekend Brody will be away with the Macleans at the mountain tae snowboard, so I’ll get it done then.”
“Perfect.” Lydia cleared her throat. “So, since you see the reality of your kitchen, please have Christmas with me and Corbin.”
“At Smythe Manor? No, thank you.” Paislee’d had enough of the wealthy Smythes at Lydia’s wedding to last a lifetime.
“Actually, because we must have Hogmanay with his family, we’re going tae be with mine in Edinburgh. Talk aboot magical. The castle is covered with lights and Brody would have a jolly time. Please?”
“Sorry, Lyd.” She hadn’t been a total scrooge and had decorated a Christmas tree in Lydia’s spacious lounge, for Brody’s sake. “I’m holding out for my place. If that doesn’t happen, the Shaws will celebrate Christmas at the Muthu Newton Hotel. Hamish suggested it and sent over the menu. They have a lovely prix fixe dinner that would be something different tae keep me from pouting.”
“At least you’re owning it, Ms. Moody,” Lydia said. “I think the hotel is a grand idea. I’ve eaten there before with the agency, and the food was verra tasty. Would Hamish join you?”
Paislee blushed. “We talked about that, aye.”
“And I’m just now hearing of it?”
Lydia wanted Paislee knee-deep in romance; Paislee was careful what she shared so as not to get Lydia’s hopes up, or Hamish’s for that matter. “We’ve been texting for the past few weeks. Poor man feels terrible for what happened, but he wasn’t responsible.” No, the collapse of the ceiling had been nobody’s fault, just the dubious charm of an old home.
“This is wonderful strides forward, Paislee. I feared you’d permanently pushed him away. Nope, he cares for you.”
Paislee understood how special Hamish was to “date” at her speed. “I’d invited him for Christmas but my house refuses tae get finished, Lydia.”
“Home projects tend tae drag. I dinnae think they’ve even begun painting, but I’m not tae blame.”
“In this instance, you might be,” Paislee said. Lydia had ordered premier appliances within Paislee’s budget, and Paislee knew that Lydia had put in more besides, but the refrigerator had been on back order for a month. Over thirty days in flux, wondering if they’d have to find something else, and how much time that would tack on. There’d been a shortage of manual laborers, and then the company her insurance had hired had quit, so they’d had to scramble, and here it was four months later, and she still was out of her home. February? Och.
“I want you tae have the best,” Lydia said. “I’m absolutely chuffed for you tae see it all finished. I’ve chosen everything with you in mind.”
Paislee had given Lydia artistic free rein and promised not to peek until it was put together and complete. This morning she’d been beyond tempted.
She pulled up in front of the modern condominium and stopped. Grandpa exited the lobby and climbed in. “Heya. You’re right. Smells like it might finally snow,” he said. It had been too cold for the white stuff though the mountains were covered.
Lydia, on speaker, greeted Grandpa with her customary enthusiasm. “Angus! You’re working early?”
“Aye, Lydia, lass. Elspeth and Susan both have colds, and the shop is bursting with people wanting tae buy scarves, jumpers, cardigans, tams, gloves . . . Paislee needs me.”
“I hope they feel better,” Lydia said. “Selfishly, I hope we dinnae get sick but ’tis the season, eh?”
Grandpa chuckled. “Nothing a dram with honey cannae fix.”
“It’s a little early, Grandpa,” Paislee teased, heading toward Cashmere Crush.
“Come tae a party on Saturday at our house,” Lydia said. “Both of you, since Brody will be with Edwyn.”
“I can’t! I’ll be baking all night and Sunday too.”
“I adore Agnes’s black bun puddings,” her bestie said. “Will you save me one?”
“Promise. I was hoping tae see you Christmas Day, but it will keep.” Paislee would bake extra for all that Lydia had done.
“We’ll be back on Boxing Day—after a morning of serious power shopping. Mum and I load up on the best deals.”
The day after Christmas was full of sales. “We’ll be here. If I don’t see you before . . .”
“That would be too strange,” Lydia declared. “But tonight, we have dinner with Corbin’s friends, Saturday you’re busy, and Sunday we’re hitting the road tae my parents’. I love the holidays and I hate the holidays.”
Grandpa chuckled. Paislee arrived at Market Street, turning slowly into the alley. She passed the corner ice cream parlor which didn’t open until eleven, the office supply store, the medical center, the dry cleaner, and the leather repair shop. Cashmere Crush was located at the far end of the block and just over two miles from Lydia’s condo. “I hear you! So—we’ll celebrate together the evening of the twenty-sixth.”
“Just wait until Brody sees what we got him for Christmas,” Lydia said. “He’ll be the envy of all his mates.”
“Lydia, you’ve done so much already!” Paislee turned off the engine.
“Hey, Brody is my family. Corbin having so many nephews and nieces really opens my eyes for available prezzies.”
“You spoil him. And us—thank you.” It was a losing battle, so Paislee didn’t fight. “Bye for now!” She ended the call.
Paislee and Grandpa exited the Juke, climbed the cement steps where she fumbled to get the key into the lock because her hands were cold, then hurried into the shop. It smelled like pine, balsam, and peppermint. She flicked on the light and despite her Christmas music fatigue, the red, green, white, and gold decorations everywhere lifted her spirits. Battery-operated candles glimmered on the two high-top tables, in baskets of fresh evergreen and pinecones. She’d knitted holiday wreaths for sale that flew off the rack.
Grandpa switched on the electric kettle in the storage room. “I didnae get a chance tae finish my second cup of tea. Maybe I’ll add some whisky.” He glanced at Paislee as if to see her response.
He was a grown man in perfect health, so if he wanted a splash to warm his bones, she wasn’t going to judge.
“I’d love a cup, straight up tea.” Paislee shrugged out of her coat and hung it on a hook in back where customers couldn’t see it, along with her scarf. Her hat was next, her fine hair springing with static electricity.
Grandpa prepared their tea and Paislee walked to the front door, peering out the frosted glass window.
Amelia, her Saturday helper who was full-time at the Nairn Police Station as a receptionist, had painted a chubby snowman with a knitted scarf and matching tam. Green elves frolicked with roly-poly puppies in holly leaves around the edge of the window and they’d gotten many compliments on how festive it was—it surely drew folks in. Amelia had confessed to dabbling in comics as a teen.
Paislee unlocked the door, though it was only half past nine and they didn’t officially open until ten. She returned to the register counter and pulled her most immediate project from the shelf, a navy-blue fisherman’s pattern vest with thick braids.
“You should make an ugly sweater,” Grandpa said, putting her mug down on a cocktail napkin from the previous night’s Knit and Sip, with pretty snowflakes on a silver background.
“What?” Paislee prided herself on quality bespoke items.
“You know what I mean. They have contests and everythin’.” With a wince, Grandpa stretched out his back, and then blew on his hot tea. The mug he’d chosen had a very jolly Santa playing drinking games with his reindeer.
Paislee, perched on a stool, settled the vest in her lap and gathered her needles and yarn. “I am not joining the ugly sweater craze. It’s a fad I hope will disappear.”
“I wouldnae be so sure of that. James thinks they’re a riot. Told his grandkids that’s what tae buy him for Christmas.”
James Young was the leather repair shop owner next to her prime position on the corner of Market Street. She’d had the opportunity to switch to the opposite end of the block, where the bakery used to be, but had stuck with her instincts and stayed to sock away money for her house expenses. Even with her insurance, and Lydia’s bargaining, it cost a pretty penny.
Now there was an ice cream shop there called Scoops, which always had customers, despite the cold weather. The owner was a man in his forties who had retired from the military and spent his days making people happy. He had a dozen homemade flavors, and hand-rolled his own cones. Paislee’s favorite so far was one called Holly Berry, which had huge pieces of real raspberries. With a fudge drizzle? Well, it was the holidays.
“Grandpa,” Paislee said as she knitted the not-ugly-if-she-could-help-it vest, “Lydia is really being a stickler and not letting me see inside our house. I’m ready tae sneak down the chimney.”
“I’ve got the key, lass. No need tae risk your neck.” Grandpa raised his mug to her as he reclined on a high-back chair in front of a tall shelf with beige, brown, and orange yarn. “I’d hold the ladder for you, if you wanted tae do it anyway.”
“Thanks.” Paislee grinned at him, this unexpected gift of a grandparent. “I promised Lydia I wouldn’t peek inside, but I really want tae have Christmas dinner there. Just us, and Hamish agreed tae be our first-footer for good luck, but she told me this morning that they haven’t even started painting.”
“Ah.” Grandpa slurped his tea. “So, is that why ye’ve been so crabbit?”
“Oh!” Paislee blinked at his assessment. “Have I been?”
“A wee bit grumpy,” Grandpa confirmed. “I figured it was because ye’ve been so busy.”
“We have been, true, but I know a slump will come in January. It’s the season, and not anything tae worry about.” Paislee continued with the next row, remembering her first years in business and how she’d fretted, learning to save for a rainy day, or an unexpected business expense. “Gran taught me that.”
“She was a wise woman.”
“Aye. I miss her.” Paislee’s nose stung but she didn’t cry, sniffing the tears away.
Grandpa peered at her over his mug. “Agnes was a one for Christmas.” His gaze softened with memories. “I was raised Church of Scotland, Agnes was Catholic tae her core. Her family celebrated proudly and openly since the law changed in 1958. We Protestants observed in a similar fashion, but yer granny was just a touch extra aboot it all.”
Paislee laughed and sipped her tea. “Extra is a brilliant word for it. Christmas carols, fruit pies, wreaths, blankets, cakes, her famous black bun pudding. If there was a place tae put some tinsel and evergreen boughs, she found it.”
“That she did.” Grandpa chuckled and settled back in his chair. “Workin’ with the weans at school encouraged her holiday creativity.”
“What did Gran’s parents think about you being Protestant, since they were Catholic?”
Grandpa’s brown eyes twinkled behind the lenses of his glasses. “Her dad had died young, and I think your great-grandmother was so glad Agnes had deigned tae marry after bein’ a staunch supporter of women’s rights that she welcomed me with open arms. Agnes had her degree from university in London and had seen the world. Now, her sister wasnae as welcoming.” He shrugged. “Besides, I converted. I’m not a stickler for the details. I know what I believe.”
Paislee had been raised Catholic, though Da hadn’t been strict with it, nor her mother. The main differences between the religions were that Catholics believed in Saints, and in Mary, Mother of God. They thought a priest should be celibate and that the Host became the Body and Blood of Christ when consecrated, and non-Catholics couldn’t take the Host. Protestants believed that the Bible was the ultimate Word of God.
Like Grandpa, she didn’t care so much about the particulars of people’s religion but was a definite fan of being kind. “Gran would say tae just be nice,” Paislee said. She tugged on the ball of yarn, which had stuck.
“That she did,” Grandpa said. “And she was the first tae offer help—it wasnae just talk with her.”
“Father Dixon is a true pillar in our community, which reminds me! We have blankets for some of the families at church. Let’s drop them off after work today.”
“Blankets and black buns? Just like yer granny.” Grandpa drained his tea and stood, rubbing his hands. “I’m ready. I know it’s not what you wanted, but should we make a wee Christmas dinner at Lydia’s?”
Paislee focused on her knitting project, the wool smooth beneath her fingers. How to explain that it would feel like settling? “Well, since it looks like we really can’t have dinner at our house, it might be a treat tae eat at the Muthu Newton Hotel.”
“Fancy!” Grandpa grinned. “Ye’ve been spendin’ too much time around Ramsey Castle and the Leery Estate—wantin’ posh Christmas dinner at a hotel.”
Paislee rolled her eyes, her mouth twitching. “It was actually Hamish’s idea.”
Grandpa reached for the shop phone. “I’ll make reservations, if it’s not too late. How many?”
“If Hamish comes, that would be four.” Paislee lowered her vest and needles. “I don’t need another thing tae add tae our list, like braving the market for a ham. A dinner out will be nice. You realize I haven’t shopped for Brody yet?”
Grandpa exchanged the landline for his mobile and typed in the name of the hotel as Paislee didn’t have a physical business directory. He called but there was no answer.
“That’s the way of things when yer a parent, Paislee. Your gran would be up tae the wee hours makin’ sure every last package was wrapped just right. Come midnight, I’d eat a bite oot of Santa’s biscuits tae prove the man in red had stopped by. Your da and auntie always checked the plate.”
A steady stream of customers halted conversation, laughing and cheery people eager to enjoy the holiday.
As it turned out, Grandpa’s sniffer was right, and the gray sky brightened with snow, which fell in huge fluffy flakes.
Amelia Henry popped in during her lunch break at the police station, red-cheeked from her walk. “Paislee! Angus . . .” The blue yarn of her cap matched her eyes and snow fell from the brim. “It’s spectacular, eh?”
“There’s something special about the first big snow of the year,” Paislee agreed.
“Last night you’d mentioned that you’re still shopping for Brody,” Amelia said. “My brother McCormac just came tae town from Belfast. If he’d told us, Mum and Da wouldnae have gone tae Glasgow tae be with Michael. He’s never been the best communicator. Anyway, he’s got a friend who knows someone with the sweetest little puppies!”
“A puppy?” Paislee asked, alarmed. Puppies required a lot of work.
“Look!” Amelia whipped out her mobile to show a selection of tiny pups with assorted red or green bows. Fur shades ranged from white to sable to black.
“They are adorable,” Paislee said, thinking of how often a puppy, even a cute one, needed to go outside or be trained on the potty pad.
“McCormac can get a deal fer ye, if you want one for Brody.” Amelia pocketed her phone. “Breeding certificate and everything.”
“That’s okay, Amelia. I’ll stick with the trainers—they only cost a hundred pounds.”
Amelia laughed. “F. . .
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