By M. C. Beaton
Unique booklet: 1987
When Priscilla Halburton-Smythe brings her London playwright fiancé domestic to Lochdubh, every body on the town is thrilled . . . apart from love-smitten Constable Hamish Macbeth. but his affairs of the center must wait. Vile, boorish Captain Bartlett, one of many site visitors at Priscilla's engagement celebration, has simply been discovered murdered-shot whereas on a grouse hunt. Now with many titled occasion site visitors because the leading suspects, each one with a cause of snuffing out the despicable captain, Hamish needs to soft ruffled feathers as he investigates the case. while the hidden perpetrator moves back, Hamish will locate himself attempting to store Priscilla from a depressing marriage-and seize a killer sooner than he flies the coop.
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Extra resources for Death of a Cad (Hamish Macbeth, Book 2)
Something a bit out of the ordinary: curious happenings on the Cornish coast, himself ensconced for the duration in some picturesque seaside hotel, with Keith Floyd presiding over the kitchen, wineglass in hand, burbling happily about fresh English ingredients lovingly prepared. More to the point, he had badly needed a break from the usual day-to-day drudgery and domestic turmoil. He had already decided with considerable reluctance to forgo his annual salmon fishing holiday in Scotland with his old Scottish mate and colleague, Alex Barrett.
Powell smiled thinly. Sergeant Black would no doubt appreciate Shelley's sentiment. The Sands gradually petered out and the beach became rockier in character where the cliffs pinched in toward the sea before soaring to the summit of Towey Head. Beneath the promontory, a seashore clutter of bungalows lined the little cove that formed the southwest corner of Penrick Bay. Most were still boarded up for the season. An elderly man pottered about with an outboard engine near a small shed beside one of the cottages.
I'm sorry,” Powell murmured. “Ah, well, Chief Superintendent, the grim reaper is no stranger to either of us. ” After Harris had returned with their glasses replenished, he continued, “I sold everything about ten years ago, the Dulcinea, my practice, and leased this place. It's quite nice, really. Penrick is fairly quiet most of the year. It gets a bit hectic during the summer months, but nothing like St. Ives or Perranporth. It's a pleasant enough life; I do a bit of gardening to pass the time …” He suddenly looked very tired.