The Low Road by Jo A. Hiestand
The McLaren Mysteries
British mystery
Date Published: Sept 19, 2022
Former police detective Michael McLaren arrives in Scotland, ready to immerse himself in the fun of the Highland Games and to enjoy a holiday with Melanie. But the old saying of plans oft going awry rears its ugly head: Simon Shaw, a member of McLaren's folk group, dies. Murdered a year to the day following his uncle's death.
McLaren is determined to find out who killed Simon. Needing justice for his friend is only half of his incentive. He also needs to appease his guilt for suggesting the group sing there in the first place.
As McLaren becomes immersed in the investigation, he wonders if the two deaths are linked, or have to do with the family or their clan. Perhaps Simon's former wife killed him, bent on revenge more powerful than mere divorce. Or was the killing tied to an old hunt for diamonds? After all, diamonds aren't only a girl's best friend. Sometimes they birth greed and murder. And entrap the innocent.
Excerpt:
Mike, would you do me a favor?"
"If I can, of course. What?"
"Take the day off."
"The day off?"
Melanie poured some milk into her tea and stirred it. The spoon made soft clinking sounds as it tapped against the china. "We could walk up the hill in Balquhidder, the one that's associated with your clan. I'd love to see that. Or we could go into Callander, if you'd rather play the tourist. It's also drowning in history. Or," she added, her voice growing excited, "we could drive up to the Holy Pool. I'd very much like to see that. Maybe take a sack lunch and then drive north to Glencoe." She hesitated, looking as if she shouldn't have made the suggestions.
"I'd love to do those things with you."
She smiled, grabbing his hand.
"But just not now. We'll do our sightseeing when I've nabbed my friend's killer."
Melanie withdrew her hand, her smile fading. Nodding, she shifted her gaze and concentrated on her meal.
"I'll be back today for tea. We can talk then. We'll map out what we want to do...afterwards." He cleared his throat, sensing things weren't going too well between them. "After breakfast, you can think of things for us to do, and we'll spend the evening together."
She picked up her fork.
"I'm sorry, Melanie. I didn't plan on our time up here to be like this. When I suggested coming to the Games I thought we would be spending the entire week together. I thought we would have a dinner with Nick, Colin and Simon, maybe drive over to Loch Lomond or up to Loch Ness, perhaps take in a concert or art exhibit in Stirling..." His voice broke off as she attacked the fish and hacked it into chunks. "Give me another day or two. I should be finished in two days...tops. Then we'll do whatever you would like. A drive up the Great Glen road or take a boat to the Hebrides. You'll love the islands." He eyed her. She still didn't look at him. "Please understand, De¾" He paused, catching himself in time. He had nearly called her Dear Heart. He took a breath, finishing with, "Please understand. I urged Simon to come here. I wish to hell I hadn't, that I hadn't accepted the performance invitation in the first place, but I did. And look what happened."
She laid down the utensils and looked at him. "Mike¾"
"I know the police are working on it but that's not enough for me. It's too slow. The nerk might get away." He wadded up the table napkin, his fingers practically strangling it. "It's my fault he came. If he'd stayed home..." He took a breath, a vein in his neck throbbing. "I'm responsible for his death. I have to solve this, to avenge his passing." His voice had risen, emphasizing his need and emotions. "Please don't be cross. I... I couldn't stand it if you were angry with me."
She looked up, giving him a faint smile. "I'm not cross, Mike. I'm just...disappointed. Mainly in myself. I do this all the time. I envision something in the future, have myself convinced whatever it is will be exactly as I assume it will be, and then I'm frustrated and let down that it hasn't turned out like my vision. It's no one's problem but mine. I shouldn't do this, but I do. It's as natural as breathing to me." She slid her hand around his neck and pulled him close to her so that their faces were just inches apart. "We'll have years yet of playing tourists together. I understand you need to find Simon's killer. You won't be fit to live with until you've caught him."
"I'm sorry, Melanie. It's the way I am. I can't change. If I see someone in trouble, some injustice¾"
"I know. That's one of the things I like about you. Now." She touched his cheek. "Go on."
He laid his fingers beneath her chin, tilted her face up, and kissed her on the forehead. He grabbed his leather jacket and left without looking back.
Fighting back the tears, she laid down her napkin and ran up the stairs to her room.
About the Author
Jo A. Hiestand grew up on regular doses of music, books, and Girl Scout camping. She gravitated toward writing in her post-high school years and finally did something sensible about it, graduating from Webster University with a BA degree in English and departmental honors. She writes a British mystery series (the McLaren Mysteries)—of which three books have garnered the prestigious N.N. Light’s Book Heaven ‘Best Mystery Novel’ three years straight. She also writes a Missouri-based cozy mystery series (The Cookies & Kilts Mysteries, of which "A Trifling Murder" is the second book) that is grounded in places associated with her camping haunts. The camping is a thing of the past, for the most part, but the music stayed with her in the form of playing guitar and harpsichord, and singing in a folk group. Jo carves jack o’ lanterns badly and sings loudly. She loves barbecue sauce and ice cream (separately, not together), kilts (especially if men wear them), clouds and stormy skies, and the music of G.F. Handel. You can usually find her pulling mystery plots out of scenery—whether from photographs or the real thing.
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