Murder at the Scottish Games

Book 7: Scottish Shire Mystery

by Traci Hall

Genres: Cozy Mystery; International Crime & Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

The Highland Games have taken over the quaint seaside village of Nairn, Scotland—and the life of sweater shop owner, knitting enthusiast, and busy single mom Paislee Shaw…especially when a killer enters the competition!

Paislee Shaw is no stranger to managing tricky tangles, but mid-August spins her world into more chaos than she ever could have imagined. Between her teenage son’s moody antics, friends making life-changing decisions, and the looming Nairn Highland Games, evenings with fellow crafters of the Knit and Sip crew are her one escape. But when she joins the games’ organizing committee, Paislee is instantly plunged into a whirlwind of clashing personalities and scandalous mishaps . . . 

The festivities unravel faster than a dropped stitch when heavy throwing competitor Artie Whittle is accused of cheating—and his ill-tempered father is found murdered the next day. With Artie unconscious and pegged as the prime suspect, Paislee and DI Zeffer team up to untangle the truth. Navigating a cast of unusual suspects—from jealous judges to grudge-holding locals—Paislee must weave together clues hidden amidst caber tosses, kilts, and a killer who only plays to win . . .

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Friday afternoon, Cashmere Crush was busy with tourists snapping up tams, scarves, or cardigans. Summer to others from warmer countries meant hot weather, but here in Nairn, it was sixty-five degrees on this August day. Toasty enough for Paislee Shaw’s coastal blood, but tourists were often chilled, and she had a selection of bespoke items to comfort them.

It was a boon to Paislee’s cash register to get her through the slower winter months in addition to her growing side business at Ramsey Castle where she sold luxury cashmere goods. She couldn’t keep the Grant tartan coin purses in stock.

With a thankful glance at the ceiling and the memory of her angelic Gran, Paislee bagged a wool cardigan vest, in gray, with pockets and wooden buttons, adding a crocheted flower keychain with the receipt, which had her business information printed on it.

“I’ve tried to knit, but I’m all thumbs. I just love everything in your shop.” The young woman’s accent was Canadian. Brunette, in her early twenties, she wore a Nairn putting stone T-shirt. The fabled stone had its own lore to rival the stone in Inverness.

“Thank you,” Paislee said. “You’re here for the Highland Games?”

“Yes. From Nova Scotia. My husband’s parents raved about a magical holiday they had in Nairn, so we came last year for our honeymoon, not realizing it was the same weekend as the games. We’ve decided to make it an annual tradition.”

“That’s splendid. Where did you stay?”

The woman grinned, brown eyes sparkling. “The Muthu Newton, of course. I’m Dania MacNeal.”

The hotel helped put Nairn on the map thanks to Charlie Chaplin’s family staying there for summer holidays where they rented the second floor. “Nice tae meet you. I’m Paislee Shaw.” They shook hands and Paislee walked with the woman toward the front door. “Happy anniversary.”

Dania left, holding the door open for a person Paislee knew well—her bestie, Lydia Barron-Smythe.

“Lyd!” Her best friend in the world was tall, gray-eyed, slim, and currently sporting silver hair in a shag style that Paislee could only envy and never pull off. She wore designer jeans in black, high-heeled silver boots, and a short-sleeved cashmere top Paislee had made for her several Christmases ago. They hugged and stepped back, smiling at one another. “And what are you doing here?”

They’d just spent the prior Thursday evening at her weekly Knit and Sip event. Lydia didn’t knit, but she loved to sip and create divine snacks. She kept the gossip going as well as the plates filled.

“What a welcome!” Rhona Smythe, Paislee’s newest hire, giggled. She was a Smythe cousin to Lydia’s husband Corbin and all of nineteen. Though wealthy, her parents had decided a dose of reality was in order after the teenager’s second speeding ticket. They’d garaged the car and insisted Rhona get a job to pay back the fines they’d paid for the tickets, since she wasn’t going to university.

The teen was a bubbly addition to the crew. Grandpa worked alternate afternoons and some Saturdays, and Amelia Henry, currently away at Tulliallan for police officer training, normally filled in on Saturdays. Cashmere Crush was closed on Sundays.

“Bumped intae Meri, completely overwhelmed, at the petrol station. She gave me tasks.” Lydia’s lips twitched as she held back laughter. Their mutual friend Meri McVie was a judge for the annual bagpipe contest in September and had joined their knitting group on Thursdays. She believed in taking part in her community. Like many leaders, she could be … assertive. This year Meri was chairman of the board for the Nairn Highland Games, which trickled down to Paislee also being on the volunteer committee. Lydia and her husband had been in Germany, studying wine. “I have another thing for you too.”

“What is it?” Paislee had sponsored the eight-hundred-meter sprint because Brody was running in the race, though he was giving her grief about going. He’d turned thirteen and was taller now than her and almost to Grandpa’s six feet. Grandpa teased that his shoes could be used for canoes, his feet had grown so big.

Paislee and Lydia stepped to the side as another customer entered the yarn shop. Rhona greeted them with an enthusiastic hello.

“Something tae do with the new dog-herding event.” Lydia scrolled through her mobile. “She asked if Brody might help. And how is my godson?”

Paislee shrugged. For Brody, the summer break from school had brought with it the news that Jenni just wanted to be friends and Edwyn Maclean, Brody’s best mate, was quitting football. Change was a four-letter word in the Shaw household these days.

“Could be better.” Brody’s summer had been split between playing video games, football camp, and dog-sitting Snowball, a white Pomeranian, for Amelia at their house. He spent a lot of time in the back garden perfecting his football skills with Wallace, their black Scottish terrier. Dogs were a boy’s best friend and Snowball fit right in, though she was a mere eight pounds to Wallace’s sturdy eighteen.

Paislee tried to be encouraging but missed the days of easy hugs. Especially, when compared to living with the prickly young man with acne who didn’t understand that this teenage awkwardness would pass. Had she ever thought so when puberty had hit her? She longed to help, but she was the last person her son wanted around. “You remember how awful it was tae be thirteen.”

Lydia shuddered. “I do.”

“We had your mum, at least, who was easy tae talk tae.”

“And each other. How’s Angus?” Lydia glanced around the shop, but the only silver head belonged to Elspeth Booth, her other part-timer, a few years beyond seventy and retired from her clerical position for Father Dixon at the church. She and Grandpa had a sweet flirtation, though Grandpa’s heart belonged to Paislee’s granny. Elspeth was also frustrated by Grandpa’s lack of care regarding his cough from his fall in the River Nairn almost three weeks before.

“He’s a stubborn Scot and won’t go tae the doctor.” Grandpa and Brody loved to fish, which was how her grandfather had slipped into the river, where he’d caught a cold instead of haddock. He insisted his cough would pass. Nothing sleep and a whisky couldn’t cure. It hurt Paislee physically to hear him cough.

“Puir man,” Lydia said with concern, before she brightened. “What does he ken aboot herding sheep?”

“He’s never mentioned it, but I’ll ask him. Why?”

“A judge Meri had contacted for sheepherding is a mibbe. She’s anxious that something will go wrong and she’ll end up with egg on her face.”

One of the committee members had pushed back against the new event, but Meri had stood her ground, believing it would broaden the opportunities for competitors and add to the entrance fees, which brought in money for the shire. “It’s her first time being in charge so I don’t blame her.” Paislee scanned the busy shop. “I can’t think of anyone tae step in.”

Rhona rang up the customer she’d been chatting with, adding the flower keychain with interlocking letter Cs for Cashmere Crush and purchase receipt for a tam and matching scarf. Elspeth straightened skeins on the shelves, turning toward the door when it opened again.

Paislee loved summer in Nairn and all the wonderful tourists!

“Welcome,” Elspeth said, while Rhona waved goodbye to the customer she’d just rung up.

“There’s more tae Meri’s list,” Lydia said. “She wants us tae be there at six in the morning. As you ken, I am allergic tae six in the morning on a Saturday.”

Paislee shared an understanding laugh with Lydia. “Why six? I thought the volunteers didn’t have tae be there until eight.”

“Right? The participants dinnae need tae be at the park until nine tae check in.” Rhona joined them at the tail end of the conversation. The teen watched three customers browsing, ready to jump in if anybody needed assistance. Paislee didn’t subscribe to the hovering salesperson style.

“The parade with the marching band starts at ten and will reach the arena at ten thirty. Lord Cawdor will announce the games at eleven, and the first events start at eleven fifteen.” Paislee had the schedule memorized.

Meri had a whiteboard on the wall at the town hall meeting room and wasn’t afraid to use it.

“Meri noticed my, em, lack of enthusiasm, and offered tae pick you up so Angus can have the Juke, since we’d planned tae carpool.” Lydia touched her wedding ring. “Corbin loves tae make breakfast in bed for us.”

They were the perfect pair—Lydia baked like a dream and created phenomenal appetizers but didn’t cook. Corbin had almost as much skill in the kitchen as Grandpa.

“That’s fine with me. What else is on Meri’s list?” Paislee asked.

Lydia tapped the screen on her phone and pulled up her notes app. “Ask aboot sheepherding—check. Early morning, check. Meri wants us tae pick up the placement ribbons from the printer, and since I willnae be getting up at the crack of dawn, I’ll bring them at a reasonable hour of eight.”

Rhona looked at Lydia with admiration in her deep brown eyes. The Smythe clan had a tendency toward brown eyes and velvety brown hair. The Smythe nose, which could be termed as strong, wasn’t present on her oval face. “I’m coming with Mum and Da at nine. I tried tae convince them tae let me have my car back early so they dinnae have tae stay all day.” Her shoulders slumped.

“How’s that going?” Lydia had a lead foot of her own, so could relate.

The first time, the police officer had given Rhona a verbal warning. The second time, a ticket and a fine, and the third, an even larger fine, to a total of five thousand pounds. Her folks had paid the fines to keep her from going to court, and Paislee was impressed that they’d taken the car away until the fines were paid off.

Rhona happened to be a hard worker—a girl couldn’t keep up her dance schedule and her studies without proper effort—but the cute sportscar she’d gotten for completion of secondary had given her freedom previously untasted on the Highland roads.

“Slow,” Rhona lamented. “I cannae help it—me and Aibreann adore shopping. I’m afraid I’ll be working for Paislee forever.”

Paislee placed her hand on the teen’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind, but I think you’re destined for greater things. The thrill of your own paycheck will wear off eventually.”

“I want tae be a professional dancer someday and specialize in the Highland Fling,” Rhona said. “I’ll need tae join a troupe in order tae make decent money. Right now, I just want tae have fun. Artie says he doesnae mind driving me around, and I always have my bike.”

“Artie is a sweetie,” Lydia said.

“He is!” Rhona sighed besottedly, as she thought of her boyfriend of six months. They’d met at the golf course, where Artie worked as a caddy and Rhona had been playing a round of golf with her dad, McDermot Smythe. Paislee had no interest in the sport, and Brody, so far, was settled on football.

“Is Artie ready for tomorrow’s games?” Paislee asked.

Rhona scrunched her nose. “He’s verra confident aboot the hammer throw but nervous that the caber he’s worked so hard on, training for the caber toss, will somehow fail. I dinnae see how, with all of his practice. He wants tae make his da proud.”

Lydia exuded empathy. Artie’s older brother, Cam, on his way to being a professional strongman, had died in a car accident two years back. “Artie doesnae enjoy it for himself?”

“It’s complicated,” the teen announced. Then a woman glanced around with an armful of yarn, and Rhona stepped her way. “Och, let me help you with that.”

“Thanks,” the woman said. Together they carried the skeins to the counter. “I’m making an infinity scarf.” She held the yarn to her cheek. “This is so soft. Is it cashmere?”

“Nah—this is a blend of Merino and Shetland wool Paislee’s been trying because of its texture.”

“I’m curious tae see how it will hold up,” the woman said.

“You live around here?” Rhona deposited the yarn on the counter.

“I do. Well, in Elgin, anyway, so near enough. Why do you ask?”

“Paislee hosts a Thursday night Knit and Sip group with likeminded knitters if you’re interested?”

“Too bad! I work on Thursdays until nine. Great idea, though.”

“She’s brilliant,” Rhona assured the woman.

Paislee blushed and hoped that Rhona wouldn’t introduce her, but it was too late, and Rhona pointed to the high-top counter where Paislee and Lydia stood. Her bestie chuckled.

“And right there!” Rhona rang up the woman. “Do you have everythin’ you need? I hate when I get home and dinnae have all my supplies.”

The woman waved at Paislee and then nodded at Rhona. “I need a sewing needle, actually. I dinnae suppose …”

“We carry a selection on the side of the counter.” Rhona walked around and pointed to an assortment of needles, scissors, sewing tape, and thimbles, as well as knitting needles or crochet hooks. There even were hoops and fabric for needlepoint projects.

“I’m glad you mentioned it—and I’d better get another pair of scissors too. I swear my sofa eats them.”

Paislee smiled as Rhona then walked with the woman toward the exit.

“Are you sairy you gave Rhona a chance?” Lydia asked.

Paislee had been hesitant when Lydia asked her to employ one of Corbin’s cousins for a favor, but Rhona was a true gem. “Not even a little bit. I don’t know how I’ll replace her when she realizes she can do better than stock yarn here.”

“You pay Rhona over minimum wage, and she’s learning a valuable skill, so she’s lucky tae have the opportunity. She’s not keen on university and wants tae dance for her career.”

“From Rhona’s videos she’s shown me, she’s very good. I’m worried about Artie though—that caber is twice the size he is,” Paislee murmured. His muscles were the lean variety, rather than bulky. She’d met him when he’d come in to pick Rhona up after work. She also knew Aibreann Laird, Rhona’s best friend. She was twenty to Rhona’s nineteen and had an added maturity that grounded Rhona.

“It’s only recently that Rhona decided she didnae want tae dance as a hobby. I think graduation came as a surprise—she did her schoolwork well, and her dance, and now what?” Lydia sighed. “She’d be a wonderful salesperson but isnae interested in real estate. I asked.”

“She should be ‘interested’ in paying her bills,” Paislee remarked without heat. “Then again, we had tae do so, which puts us in a different category.” Lydia was wealthy now, of her own accord—before marrying uber rich Corbin Smythe—but hadn’t been born to riches.

“True.” Lydia read the notes on her phone again. “Last item. Meri needs someone at the toddler race.”

“What about Blaise? I don’t think Meri has tapped the O’Connors with anything besides sponsorship for a grand prize.” Blaise and Shep O’Connor had moved to Nairn from Inverness, and had a daughter Suzannah, who was nine. Shep was the golf pro at Nairn Golf Course, and Blaise part of their Knit and Sip group.

“They’re hosting the local craftsman beer tent,” Lydia said. “The Smythes are sponsoring one of the whisky tents.”

Paislee shook her head as she imagined the cost. “I know what I paid for a single event—it’s nice of you tae do a whole tent with alcohol.”

“It’s in the Smythe budget, so no worries.” Lydia noted the time. “And Shep’s backed by the Nairn golf course. I cannae believe it’s four already. I have a closing at five, so I must run. Will you text Meri and let her ken that we’re all on the same page?”

“I will. See you tomorrow!”

Elspeth went home at six, and Rhona at six thirty. The teen cleaned as Paislee counted the money in the register and put it in the small safe, setting up the cash for the next day. Artie dashed inside to pick up Rhona.

“Hi, Paislee!” Artie’s friendly features split into a smile that reached his blue eyes. A lock of shaggy dark blond hair flopped over his forehead. “Ready, Rhona?” He picked Rhona up as if she weighed nothing and lifted her over his head. He was much stronger than he looked.

“Put me doon!” Rhona squeaked, not actually upset. She patted his broad shoulders and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “What’s the plan?”

“We’re meeting with Foster at his flat tae grill steaks.” Artie patted his flat stomach. “Gotta feed the tank for tomorrow.”

“Can we invite Aibreann?” Rhona asked. Her best friend had a wee crush on Artie’s best friend, but Foster was oblivious.

“Let’s call her from the truck,” Artie suggested.

“Okay—bye, Paislee. See you tomorrow!” Rhona said, dancing out the back door and down the steps.

Artie waved at Paislee and followed Rhona, equally besotted.

Paislee then stayed until seven, taking inventory of the sweaters and accessories she’d have to replace. Another grand day.

Before leaving, she texted Grandpa to ask if he needed anything from the market. He answered right away that a casserole was in the oven and ready to eat when she got there. She sent a quick thankyou message back.

Singing along to her favorite song on the radio, Paislee reached home and parked under the carport. Though after seven, the evening sky was a light subdued blue. Once the song was over, she turned off the engine and exited the Juke.

She went inside, where Wallace and Snowball greeted her with excitement. The back door was open and the telly on in the living room. Spices wafted down the hall.

“Hey, family!” Paislee put her handbag on the hook by the door and her keys in a small ceramic dish Brody had made last year in one of his electives. She loved it, even if it had an uneven rim.

Grandpa, an oven mitt on his hand, leaned out of the kitchen. His black-framed glasses were fogged with steam, his silver hair mussed.

Paislee hurried toward him. “How can I help?”

“I’ve got this!” Grandpa said, using his hip to close the oven door. “Brody, lad, time tae eat.”

“Finally. I’m starvin’,” Brody said from the living area. Lydia had redesigned the interior space so well that it felt like a brandnew home.

Stainless-steel appliances, the washer-dryer combo tucked out of sight behind a door under a long counter, and best of all, the new window over the sink that allowed the daylight in. Soft ivory paint, gray accents, and her round table refinished and polished to last another hundred years. The “wall” of plants by the back door created a partition without darkness. The couch was re-covered, the armchairs by the fire inviting. Of course, the telly was the center of the lounge, but they all enjoyed their movie nights.

Brody shuffled toward her, his face morphing before her eyes into that of the man he would become. His auburn hair was darkening, his brown eyes flashed with golden hues surrounded by thick lashes. His smile, when he bothered to use it, was broad and filled with strong white teeth. Yes, he had some acne, but that would pass with time. Hormones wreaked havoc with complexions. He seemed to be embarrassed by it, and Paislee was at a loss on how to handle it.

Answers for everything could be found on the Internet, and one site she followed suggested open communication. She and Brody had a relationship based on honesty, so when he moped and complained about the acne, even though it might be painful, she replied with facts and solutions, like buying special face wash. Grandpa helped immensely, reiterating that it was part of growing up and didn’t last forever.

“How was your day?” Paislee asked. She would love her son until her last breath, even if he was crabbit.

“My last day of freedom before school starts again?” Brody asked on a squeak. His voice was changing as well.

“You have Monday off too,” Paislee replied. “After six weeks of holiday. But aye. How was it?”

“Boring,” Brody said.

Grandpa placed the casserole in the center of the round table. “I asked if you, me lad, wanted tae go tae the movies, but you said no.”

Brody sat down at the table. Wallace paced nearby, sniffing the air. Snowball stayed near Grandpa. The casserole had cheesy potatoes and crumbled sausage, smelling divine.

“You turned down going tae the movies?” Paislee asked in surprise.

Brody shrugged. “I was playing video games with Sam and Ryan.”

Edwyn had spent the summer with his grandparents in London, so wasn’t around to hang out. Sam and Ryan were both on the same recreational football team as Brody while Edwyn took a break from the sport.

“Your choice,” Grandpa said. His cheeks were ruddy, and his chest wheezed.

Not wanting to nag, Paislee washed up. “Everyone have something tae drink?” She scanned the table. Grandpa had set out glasses of water for them all and a side of steamed green beans to go with the casserole. “We were so busy that my lunch wore off hours ago.”

They said a prayer of thanks before digging in. Paislee couldn’t stop a smile at Grandpa as Brody went for seconds. Meals around this old table with loved ones were worth all the heartache of this kitchen.

“What’s the plan for later?” Brody asked after he’d slowed down.

“Tomorrow is going tae be a big day so we should rest.” Paislee had rarely missed attending the Nairn Highland Games throughout the years, but this was her first time behind the scenes. “Don’t suppose either of you know anything about sheepherding?”

Grandpa snorted. “No. Dinnae they require a special dog or something?”

“Nope.” Brody laughed. “Why?”

“Meri added dog-herding tae encourage more participants and one of the judges might not make it. Grandpa, I know you and Elspeth are working, but Brody, maybe you could help with the toddler race instead? It’s the cutest.”

“I dinnae want tae go, Mum. I told you.”

“You already signed up, so you don’t get tae quit. If you don’t want tae participate next year, that’s fine but we don’t back out on our commitments.”

“You made me do it. I dinnae want tae volunteer either.”

Paislee locked eyes with her son. “It’s important tae give back tae our community—you know this. Coach Harris will be there.”

Brody’s eyes flicked with angst. “I didnae ask him tae come.”

“He’s competing in the half marathon, so will be there anyway.” Brody’s event was a sprint rather than a longer run. “Would you prefer tae do that next year? Now that you’re thirteen, this is the last time you’ll compete in this category.”

“I ken how old I am, Mum.” His voice cracked. “This is so embarrassing.”

That last sentence broke her heart, and she reached across the table to pat his hand. “Hey, is there something besides the race going on? You can talk tae me.”

Brody stood and scooted back from the table, knocking the chair over. His cheeks flushed red. “I just dinnae feel guid.” He ran outside, Wallace at his heels. Snowball stayed where the food was likely to fall by the table.

Paislee looked at Grandpa. “I don’t know what tae do. Is this normal guy stuff?”

“It is. Best thing for him tae do is stay active,” Grandpa said. “Give the lad some slack—he doesnae ken what end is up.”

Paislee rose and righted the chair. Brody had climbed the tall chestnut tree and had his back to the house. “How long?” Months, or worse, a year?

“Until he’s eighteen?” Grandpa laughed at her crestfallen expression. “Just kidding. He’ll discover girls and cars long before then.”

“Not helping.” Paislee gathered the dishes and rinsed them, keeping an eye on Brody as he climbed even higher. She sensed that if she told him to come down it would be an argument. “I’ll keep Doc Whyte on speed dial.”

“Guid idea.” Grandpa rose too quickly and started to cough.

“You can see him too,” Paislee said.

“Isnae he a pediatrician?”

“Yes, but he might make an exception for you—acting like a child afraid of a jab at the clinic.” Paislee loaded the dishes into the dishwasher and turned to face her grandfather. His skin was flushed from the effort of trying to control his cough.

“No thanks.” Grandpa shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“I’m dealing with two stubborn Scots.” Paislee pressed the start button on the heavenly machine.

“I’m going tae watch telly,” Grandpa said. “Join me?”

“I will later.” Paislee flipped on the electric kettle for tea and then pulled a stool from under t. . .