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Excerpt from Murder at a Scottish Castle:

Paislee was mildly surprised to see DI Zeffer’s blue SUV come through the open castle gates, beyond the field of parked cars, to the barn and the outdoor area. He parked before the barn next to the police cars.

Tall lights had been placed around the open-air seating area. Paislee and Wallace quickly returned to Grandpa, who was seated at the table with a fresh tumbler of whisky, and Nettie. About half of Clan MacTavish had gotten up to chat with other band members. A member dying during a competition was an awful first.

DI Zeffer shielded his eyes and narrowed them to the table where she sat. She braced her body as if she’d been caught misbehaving.

He strode toward her and stopped abruptly. “Paislee.”

“DI Zeffer!” She wasn’t sure that he’d be taking the cases around Nairn as his reason for being in Nairn was now drinking margaritas in the Keys. Wallace chuffed to see the DI. A hello?

His blue suit fit him to perfection. His eyes were the color of seafoam green, his hair russet and shiny, kept trimmed. “I heard that you’d called in the emergency for Jory Baxter.”

“I did.”

“I decided tae pick up the case.”

“It’s a homicide then?” Grandpa asked.

Clan MacTavish, those who’d heard Grandpa, gasped.

“No,” the DI assured them, smiling his white shark-tooth smile at them all. “It’s an unusual death, which means we have protocol tae follow. Questions tae ask. Dinnae fash, now, I doobt you’re in danger.”

Nettie blushed becomingly.

Grandpa swirled the liquid in his cup.

Paislee refrained from rolling her eyes.

“What happened tae poor Jory, then?” Nettie asked.

“We dinnae know. It’s under investigation.” Zeffer smoothed the lapels of his suit. The man had style no matter the emergency.

“Oh.” Nettie leaned forward to smile at him, batting her lashes. The sweet lass was a bit of a flirt.

“What can you tell me aboot what happened?” Zeffer tilted his head invitingly.

“Not much,” Nettie said. “We were all excited aboot performing at the castle. Everyone is always so nice. And it was thrilling tae see who would win of the top three. We arenae as experienced as the others. Just a Grade V. Amateur. The best is Grade I.”

Yep, Nettie was flirting with Zeffer all right. And Zeffer was encouraging it!

“Did you have a favorite?” Zeffer asked. “I hear the side bets are where people can make money.”

“I was hoping Jory would win, actually,” Nettie said.

“Is he a better piper than the others?” Zeffer asked.

“Who cares, right? He’s lovely tae look at.” Nettie grew serious. “Or, he was. Did he pass oot? Faint? I heard some of the others wonder if he was on drugs.”

“Drugs?” Zeffer alerted like Wallace tracking the red squirrel earlier that day. So much had happened since. “Do you know what kind, if he did them?”

“No! It’s just a rumor. Everyone’s curious how he died, that’s all,” Nettie said.

Zeffer pursed his lips. “There’s nothing I can tell you aboot that. Is there anything unusual you remember aboot Jory’s performance today?”

“No,” Clan MacTavish chorused.

“Was it as guid as last year?” Zeffer asked.

“I think so, though he didnae get a chance tae finish,” Nettie said.

Another member of Clan MacTavish spoke up. “I think Clan Grant might have won. Robert went all oot.”

This statement got many nods from the group.

“Thank you. If you think of something else, here is my card.” Zeffer placed it on the table and Nettie snatched it up.

Zeffer moved his gaze to Paislee. “Can I talk with you a second?”

“Sure.” She stood, not wanting to converse in front of his new gushing fans.

When they stepped away from the table, Wallace with Grandpa, Zeffer winked. “Miss me?”

“No,” Paislee said.

“I dinnae believe you.” Zeffer tucked his mobile into his slack’s pocket.

“You should.” Paislee sniffed. “What can I help you with?”

Zeffer slowed as they reached the end of the open-air room where the instruments had been stacked. The lattice partition acted as a wall and gave them a decent view of the crowd. “I’d like your take on what happened, since you called the emergency in. Who was there, and what they did.”

Paislee nodded. “Jerry McFadden was a hero and acted right away. Jory collapsed and Jerry was prepared tae do CPR if needed.”

Zeffer lost all teasing. “Who else?”

“Meri McVie, the competition judge. She asked everyone tae stay back and give Jory some air. Jerry moved Jory’s bagpipes tae keep them from being trampled.”

“Where are they now?” Zeffer asked.

“I don’t know,” Paislee said. “Jerry would make sure the instrument was safe. He told me before the competition started that Clyde Cunningham, the Clan Cunningham pipe major, had argued with Jory.” She raised her hand. “I have no clue about what.”

Zeffer scanned the room of musicians. “Where is he?”

“Jerry or the director? One of the other constables already talked with Clyde, anyway,” Paislee said.

Zeffer crossed his arms to study her in the dim light. “Let’s start with Jerry. Do you play?”

“God, no.” Paislee shuddered. “You?”

“Not a note.” Zeffer half-smiled. “Lead the way tae Jerry!”

Paislee maneuvered around the tables. The crowd was drinking but not eating as much, which meant that folks were loud and boisterous.

Jerry wasn’t happy when Paislee arrived at the table that he shared with the nine other Clan Campbell members and raked a hand through his hair. They were unique among the kilts as their tartan was predominantly green, blue, and black.

She noticed that the bands had stuck together during the meal with no crossover of mates sitting with a competing band.

“Hiya, Jerry,” Paislee said. “Remember Detective Inspector Zeffer?”

Jerry cupped his tumbler of whisky. “Hey, DI Zeffer. How are ye?”

Zeffer nodded to those at the table, then returned his gaze to Jerry. “I was wondering if you could tell me what happened today?”

Jerry clenched his jaw and then mumbled, “Aye.”

“Should we stay?” Mattias Campbell asked. His copper hair was in all directions as if he’d been tugging at it.

“I dinnae mind if ye do,” Jerry said. Clan Campbell murmured their agreement. He turned to the DI.

“You gave CPR tae Jory Baxter?” Zeffer asked.

“No. I was closest tae Jory when he fell,” Jerry admitted with a shaky breath. “He never stopped breathing, but he wasnae with it, ye ken?”

“He was conscious the whole time?” Zeffer asked.

“I guess.” Jerry’s jaw clenched.

Zeffer pursed his lip. “Did he say anything?”

“No.”

“So, Jory was just playing the bagpipes and then he passed oot,” Zeffer said. “What happened tae the instrument?”

“I moved it oot of the way.” Jerry scowled. “Folks were jostling around the field withoot a care. I tried tae give it tae his director, but Clyde was oblivious—on the phone.” Jerry looked over his shoulder to Clyde, at the Cunningham table. “I thought he was calling for an ambulance, but Paislee did that. Why would Clyde take a call instead of check on Jory, his star piper?”

Paislee thought Jerry had an excellent point. They’d all been asked to silence their cellphones for the performances.

“Where are the bagpipes now?” Zeffer asked.

“I tucked them oot of the way.” Jerry hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Clyde hasnae asked aboot them once. Not a top leader in my opinion. Mibbe I’m being petty, with Jory dead now.”

Paislee felt sorry for her friend.

“It does seem strange,” Zeffer said. “Why dinnae you show me?”

“Aye.” Jerry got up and frowned at Paislee as if she’d ratted him out for something. She’d have to explain that it hadn’t been like that.

They walked to the corner of the area away from the fires and food where many other instruments in a variety of cases were stacked.

Jerry searched the array, then shook his head, befuddled. “It’s a soft backpack style with his initials, JB, on the handle. It isnae here anymore!”

*** Excerpt from Murder at a Scottish Castle by Traci Hall. Copyright 2024 by Traci Hall. Reproduced with permission from Neil Albert. All rights reserved.