When Murder Comes Home

Ten guests, two murders, one inn. Who is responsible?

Aileen Mackinnon ditched spreadsheets and a steady salary for the adventurous shores of Loch Fuar in the Scottish Highlands. Now she's an amateur innkeeper to ten guests. But when one is murdered in his bed and an heirloom goes missing, can Aileen save the inn?

Detective Inspector Callan Cameron won't have her nosing about, but with another body he has little choice in the matter.

Tension sizzles as Aileen and Callan step into a world of murders, deceit and heists. They might not always see eye to eye, but can they agree whodunnit?

‘Have you seen the looks of that place? If it wasn’t for Siobhan, the police would’ve shut the place a long time ago!’
Goosebumps appeared on Aileen’s hand when the door jingled. A woman, barely five feet tall, walked in.
As if it was the actual police, Aileen! She rebuked herself.
The woman’s cat-like green eyes twinkled with unfiltered exuberance, her cheeks flushed pink, and an aura of energy beamed from her and settled throughout the bakery. Her smile was brighter than the sun.
‘I heard but… Aileen Mackinnon in the flesh!’ She rocked enthusiastically in place.
Aileen’s heart palpitated. She wasn’t yet used to how gossip worked in Loch Fuar.
At Aileen’s confused look, the woman bobbed her head and continued, ‘Your gran always spoke about you. She doted on you, showed me all the pictures too. Are you back to fix the old inn?’
‘Um, aye…’ Aileen was unsure what to say, but she didn’t get a chance to offer anything more before the lady spoke again.
‘The innkeeper is a rude nut! Hope you fired her.’
When Aileen shook her head solemnly, the woman turned an exasperated set of eyes on her. ‘Well, you should! What are you waiting for?’
Swatting a hand at the air, she continued, not waiting for a response, ‘Don’t worry a bit now, love. You see this entire town has your back. Say the word and we’ll all be down there, mopping and cleaning up the place. Siobhan is ours. She treated my husband and his friends like hers when they were bairns.’
Aileen grinned, her fondness for her grandmother shining through. Siobhan was a grandmotherly woman when she wanted to be. But Aileen remembered that one time an awry guest had tried to sneak out an old bedside lamp. Her grandmother’s wrath had been enough to scare the ghosts from all the Scottish castles combined!
‘My grandmother is that sort of a woman. The bed rest the doctor suggested makes her restless—more so day after day,’ Aileen managed finally.
It looked like the lady had run out of steam. She panted for a while, sucking in gulps of air, giving Aileen the chance to study her. With her wild red hair and pink cheeks, she looked similar to the lad behind the counter, though she was older—in her mid-thirties.
Having finally caught her breath, she flashed an energetic smile at Aileen—then, before Aileen could deflect, the woman engulfed her in a ferocious hug.
‘Isla McIntyre,’ she announced finally. ‘I forgot to introduce myself! I’m so excited to meet you.’
Aileen filled her lungs with much-needed air when the woman let her go. It had been a tight hug! Random conversation and now hugs? Aileen shivered slightly. She’d never get used to this friendliness!
‘Isla, have you—’ a gruff voice approached with slow heavy footsteps.
‘Ah, the talk of the town.’ The tall yet broad man pointed a finger at Aileen. ‘Mackinnon, the loved yet absent grandwean.’
Aileen groaned internally. Was there one person who didn’t know who she was?
His heavy footsteps thudded on the stone floor, and Aileen noticed that, despite his sure footing, his gait wasn’t regular.
A pair of eyes—electric blue mixed with some grey—assessed her. He wore black trousers with a black leather coat. His equally soot-black hair was neatly trimmed, almost in a military cut.
Holding out a calloused hand, he gripped hers and flashed a smile that felt almost mocking. ‘Callan Cameron, I’m the detective inspector.’ Pointing a finger at the door, he raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you got a licence plate under all that…?’ He frowned at her car through the shop window. ‘Muck?’
Isla chirped in, ‘Oh, Callan, don’t scare the lass.’ She turned to Aileen. ‘He’s a regular, here for a cup of coffee and a pastry. Why you can show her around sometime. There’s no crime in Loch Fuar…’ she teased Callan.
He flashed another smile. ‘Now that’s stretching it a bit too far. Only this morning Ms McHugh was complaining about her neighbour helping himself to some apples from her tree.’
‘Oh, that old woman—always complaining she is!’
Callan tapped his card at the till and plucked his pastry and go-cup. ‘Have a good day. You find your licence plate through all that mud. Stay safe, especially you Lowland folk,’ he dismissed Aileen.
That got Aileen’s blood boiling. She wasn’t from the Lowlands! She’d grown up in the Highlands!
‘I’m not…’ she flustered but the annoyingly rude inspector was already gone.