The Ghillie Knot: Loch Lonach Scottish Mysteries, Book Six: Loch Lonach Scottish Mystery Series, #6

By Maggie Foster

Someone is hunting redheads. Ginny Mackenzie's red hair is unusual in the general population, but not among the Scots. Her long braid is also not that uncommon. Lots of women have long hair. Combined, though, she falls into a small subset of women with long red braids—and it just may get her killed.

 

Ginny can't help feeling just a wee bit nervous when Detective Tran shows her the body of a woman lashed to a rowan tree in Missouri. From behind, they could have been twins. It's not her problem, of course, until it becomes clear that the redhead this predator is hunting is Ginny.

 

All the missing women have long red braids and all have been taken from Scottish venues. Ginny volunteers to walk the Games grounds, wired for sound, and with a discreet police escort, hoping the criminal will show himself. The plan works, but instead of ending the threat, the killer now knows where to find Ginny when he's ready for her.

 

Set against the backdrop of the Celtic music community and the Highland Games circuit they play, The Ghillie Knot is a spine-tingling look at obsession and what can happen when someone gets what he thinks he wanted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maggies Mysteries
• Release date: Dec 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781735281773

Book preview

Praise for The Ghillie Knot

"From the very first line you get caught up in this story and stay on the edge of your seat till the very end. Following Ginny as she's set up as bait for the person kidnapping women with red hair in a long braid. Things move so fast you can hardly catch your breath. A great read!"

Rose M., Goodreads

"When I picked up your books and started reading, I was blown away. Finally, some books I can get into and it feels like the author put some thought into their brilliant work."

Marion C. posted on Facebook

"I love, love, love how Conner went out!"

Lisa F., ARC Reader

"I've just finished reading your first three books to my wife.  We both enjoyed them enormously. The Homestead communities sound fascinating."

James B., Clansman

"I have read all previous books in this series by Maggie Foster and am pleased to recommend them. If you missed any be sure and give them all a read. Ready for the next."

Gail L., Amazon Reader

"Thank you for your wonderful writing!"

Wendy D. Mystery Reader

The Ghillie Knot

ALSO BY MAGGIE FOSTER

The Loch Lonach Scottish Mysteries

The Arms of Death: Loch Lonach Scottish Mysteries, Book One

The Swick and the Dead: Loch Lonach Scottish Mysteries, Book Two

Viking Vengeance: Loch Lonach Scottish Mysteries, Book Three

Final Fling: Loch Lonach Scottish Mysteries, Book Four

Incarnadine: Loch Lonach Scottish Mysteries, Book Five

The Ghillie Knot: Loch Lonach Scottish Mysteries, Book Six

Loch Lonach Short Stories

Dead Easy

Duncan Died Dunkin’

The Aviemore Cabin Boy

Fifteen Minutes

Out on a Limb

Loch Lonach Men in Kilts Clean Romances

Sae Deep in Luv, Sinia and Chris

The Ghillie Knot

Loch Lonach Scottish Mysteries TM

Book Six

MAGGIE FOSTER

Maggie’s Mysteries

Dallas, Texas

THE GHILLIE KNOT: LOCH LONACH SCOTTISH MYSTERY SERIES, BOOK SIX. Copyright © 2022 by Maggie Foster. First edition. Printed in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner or form without prior written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. For information contact: Maggie Foster at [e-mail]

Cover design by M. Hollis Hutchinson

Logos and series phrases protected by U.S. trademark law.

Trademarked phrases:

Loch Lonach™

Loch Lonach Mysteries™

Loch Lonach Scottish Mysteries™

Loch Lonach Mystery Series™

Loch Lonach Scottish Mystery Series™

Loch Lonach Men in Kilts™

Loch Lonach Homestead™

Mysteries with a Scottish Slàinte™

Trademarked logos and images:

Tartan Texas™ (all versions)

Loch Lonach Homestead™ (all versions)

Foster, Maggie.

The ghillie knot: Loch Lonach Scottish mysteries, book six / Maggie Foster

ISBN-13: 978-1-7352817-8-0 (paperback)

ISBN-13: 978-1-7352817-7-3 (ebook)

Fonts used by permission/license.

DEDICATION

This work, the sixth in the series, is dedicated to the musicians who play for dancers and who have to forgo the joy of dancing to provide us with the music.

DISCLAIMER

Dear Readers:

This is a work of fiction. That means it is full of lies, half-truths, mistakes, and opinions. Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, is unintended and purely coincidental.

Similarly, the businesses, organizations, and political bodies are mere figments of the author’s overactive imagination and are not in any way intended to represent any actual business, organization, group, etc.

Some of the locations mentioned actually exist, but the reader is warned that the author has re-shaped Heaven and Earth and all the mysteries of God to suit herself and begs the reader, for the sake of the story, to overlook any discrepancies in fact.

There seems to me to be absolutely no limit to the inanity and credulity of the human race. Homo Sapiens! Homo idioticus!

The Land of Mist (1926)

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Loch Lonach is a Scottish community established before Texas became a Republic in the geographic region that would become Dallas. It has retained its culture and identity. Loch Lonach boasts its own schools, police force, churches, and other civic institutions. The head of the community is the Laird, currently Angus Mackenzie.

Chapter 1

Tuesday afternoon

Brochaber

The body stood with its back against a tree, rope encircling her waist, thighs, and chest. Her hands had been pulled behind the trunk and secured, as if to prevent escape, but there was no sign she had tried. Her head lolled to one side and it was possible to see bruises in the pallid flesh around her throat. Streaks of crusted blood led from her nose to her upper lip. Her mouth was pulled back in a sort of rictus, displaying perfect white teeth. But it was her eyes that sent shivers down Ginny’s spine. Green, edged in silver, they stared directly into the camera. If you hadn’t known what you were looking at, you would have sworn the corpse was smiling.

Where did they find her? Ginny Mackenzie was quite certain she didn’t want to know, but it seemed polite to ask.

Outside an abandoned Presbyterian church in River Bend, Missouri, just east of Kansas City. The tree is located at the entrance to the cemetery. The body was spotted by the caretaker who keeps an eye on the grounds. The medical examiner estimated she had been dead approximately eight hours. Here is a picture of the site.

There was an arch over the entrance to the graveyard. Ginny read the inscription wrought in twisted iron. It had to be iron. Cold iron kept the souls of the dead inside the cemetery, to protect the living.

St. Andrews Presbyterian Kirk Cemetery, Established 1854. She looked up. An abandoned kirk suggests the Scots that settled there either died out or moved on.

There are twa Homesteads in Kansas, Angus said. Salt Mines, near Wichita, an’ Fort Scott, south o’ Kansas City. No much there, an’ mayhap ‘twill no be there much longer.

Detective Tran nodded. Because of the Scottish connection, I have brought this to you to see if you can shed any light on what may have taken place. She brought out a third photograph. It was an enlargement of the dead girl’s neck and showed a dark, vaguely familiar line running from her neck up the trunk of the tree.

Was she hanged? This from Jim.

No. The autopsy is still pending, but the physical evidence indicates she died first, then was positioned in this manner.

Jim picked up the image and peered at it. Is that what I think it is?

Perhaps you can tell me.

Jim lifted an eyebrow at the detective, then passed the picture to Angus. Himself looked carefully at the dark line, his brow descending. ’Tis a ghillie knot.

Here are additional images, taken before the scene was touched.

Ginny accepted the printout Tran handed to her and looked at it. There was no doubt in her mind. She had seen too many Scots pull the long laces of their ghillie brogues up, twist the strands six times, wrap the laces around the calf of the leg, and secure them with a bow at the top to be confused. The custom was a distinctive and very specific part of the modern kilt costume. She looked up from the image. This isn’t a shoe lace.

No. It is Type III paracord. Nor was it used to extinguish life. The bruising is insufficient and in a pattern that rules out strangulation. This is a signature.

Wow. Ginny breathed the word.

The local police have been unable to identify the girl or whoever positioned her in this way. They have dozens of DNA samples, but none that seem to indicate a struggle. The assailant could have worn protective clothing, of course.

Ginny nodded. What modern murderer didn’t know how to prevent DNA transfer and how to clean up a crime scene? The instructions were available online. She set down the image and looked at Detective Tran.

How can we help you?

This killer is sending a message. I would like to know more about the—ghillie knot, I think you called it—its history, meaning, why and how it is employed. The location, too, seems to have been a deliberate choice. It may mean something to the killer. The routine forensics analysis of the materials found at the scene can be left in the hands of the local authorities. It is the message conveyed by this killer I would like to understand.

She paused and looked at each of them in turn. I have been assigned to explore that aspect of the case, and report back with whatever I am able to find.

Ginny nodded. Detective Tran was a member of the Crimes Against Persons branch of the Dallas Police and had been officially assigned as liaison to the clan after the Up Helly Aa incident. She and Ginny had worked together before. May I see those pictures again, please? The detective handed them over and Ginny looked carefully at each one. Here’s something.

What hae ye found, lass? Angus asked.

This tree. Do you see how small the trunk is? Her arms almost touch behind it. The other three nodded. But it’s clearly full grown. Look at the canopy. Again, nods all around. It’s hard to tell from this image, but it may be a rowan tree. She turned to Detective Tran. Can we get a closer look?

Tran nodded. Is it significant?

It may be symbolic. The rowan is supposed to have magical properties. Ginny pulled her talisman out of her shirt and showed it to the detective. It protects the bearer.

The carved wooden disc had been made for one of her ancestors, after a rowan tree which had stood on the grounds of Castle Forbes for over a hundred years was brought down in a windstorm. The Highlanders used to plant them to ward off witches.

Ginny’s workin’ on a display fer the museum tha’ will tell th’ auld stories tae th’ visitors.

Detective Tran’s mouth twitched. I look forward to hearing more.

Ginny nodded, then noticed Tran was still looking at her, the faint smile fading. Is there more?

There is one other thing. Tran reached into her folder and brought out a final picture. I have saved this for last, but it was this detail that persuaded me to come to you. She handed the image to Ginny, who stared at it in dismay.

What is it, Ginny? Jim’s voice penetrated the shock. She looked up into his face, then held out the picture. He took it from her and looked at it, his pupils dilating, then passed it to Angus.

Och! I see yer point.

All of the other images had shown the girl still attached to the tree. This one showed her being lowered to the ground. They could see her back for the first time. Flowing down from a clasp in her red hair hung a long braid. It reached from her scalp to her tailbone.

Detective Tran nodded, then turned to face Ginny. From the back, she looks like you.

* * *

When Detective Tran had gone, the three Mackenzies looked at one another in silence. Ginny recovered first.

It’s a coincidence. I’m sure when they identify her we’ll find she had an enemy, someone who wanted to make an example of her. Something like that. The other two nodded. And I have to take Jim home so I can feed him before sending him off to work.

Jim nodded, then took leave of his grandfather. Angus accompanied them to the car.

Dinna fash yersel’, lass. ‘Tis a long way fra’ here tae Kansas City.

Ginny nodded, her brow furrowed. But not as long as it was an hour ago.

* * *

Tuesday evening

Mackenzie residence

Ginny shut her mind to the dead girl and busied herself with helping her husband get ready for work. While he was changing clothes, she took down the big wall calendar and spread it out on the kitchen table. Juggling both schedules had become a challenge and they needed to get organized so nothing fell through the cracks. She was color-coding the entries: blue for Homestead appointments, red for hospital shifts, green for social events, and so forth.

Jim came up behind her and leaned over her shoulder. How’s it going?

Do you realize we’ll be out of town for the next eight weekends?

He nodded, kissing the side of her neck. Not only had I noticed, I’ve been working extras to make up for the fact.

I know. So had she.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. It’s going to be fun. The honeymoon we didn’t get.

In eight individually wrapped pieces! She turned in his arms. I suppose you’ll be in meetings most of the time.

They’ll have to trot me out to make public appearances on the grandstand, and we are invited to the receptions and tartan balls, but, yes, there will be planning sessions. Which will give you plenty of time to wander the grounds and get into as much trouble as you like.

She went up on tiptoe to kiss him. I would like to spend the time with my husband.

You knew when you married me there would be strings.

She sighed. Yes.

Are you worried?

Ginny already knew her husband well enough to know he was no longer talking about the schedule.

About the fact that the dead woman had hair like mine? Ginny shivered. I suppose so. On some level it feels personal. Detective Tran certainly thinks so. She looked as if she expected me to pull the solution to the mystery out of my hair clip.

Jim hugged her tightly. I’ll never be more than a phone call away, and you won’t be alone. Not at a Games.

I know. But—

"But what?’

"It’s not our Games. I’ll be a stranger, an outsider, with no job to do."

He looked down at her, his eyes softening. Your job right now is to be my wife.

Ginny felt her cheeks flush. Hardly anybody knew, but she was in the family way and Jim was taking the situation seriously.

"And my job, he continued, includes keeping you safe, something I’m not willing to delegate to others, though I may need to enlist an aide or two."

Ginny smiled up at him. Don’t worry, my darling. I won’t do anything stupid.

You’d better not, or Dr. Berry will have something to say about it!

She snuggled into his arms, wishing she didn’t have to sleep without him tonight, but duty called. She put on her brightest smile. I’m fine, Jim. Healthy as a horse, and we’re not going into the desert. There will be medical facilities close by, if needed.

Cold comfort! Promise me you won’t do any heavy lifting.

She wrinkled her nose at him. Like caber tossing?

Or carrying boxes across the grounds. Leave that for the hosts.

Yes, sir.

He kissed her, twice, then released her. I have to go.

Eleven!

He paused and turned back to look at her. What?

Eleven more night shifts, including tonight. After that you’ll be a normal person again. She grinned at him.

Says the woman who will be at the hospital’s beck and call for the next six months!

Yes, but I won’t be working twelve-hour nights any more. I’ll go in early or stay late to catch the night shift, and new hires will have to come to me. It’ll be a challenge, but I’ll get it all worked out.

I know you will, and I know better than to get in your way. Just let me know if I can help.

Count on it!

* * *

With her husband out of the house, Ginny settled down to make lists. The easiest were the packing lists. She started with the formal wear, his and hers, then added day-time kilt outfits, then travel clothes. They would fly both directions for most of the weekends and that meant long waits at the airport, which required comfortable shoes. Packing light wasn’t really possible. They would have to have evening as well as day wear outfits. She reached over and added dry cleaners to the calendar on the Monday after each of the eight trips. Neither of them had two of everything. It was a good thing the Homestead cleaners were used to kilts.

In order, the Games they would be attending were 1) Grandfather Mountain 2) Loch Lomond, 3) Shenandoah, 4) Gulf Coast, 5) Longs Peak, 6) Hill Country, 7) Middle Tennessee, and 8) Capital District. Some of those venues would require wraps. Even in July and August, the higher elevations could be cool at night. She added jackets to her list.

The next list covered the dances scheduled to be included on each ball program. This took some time. The programs had to be looked up, then the dance briefs located, and the less-familiar dances set aside for study. All of the dance organizers had included old favorites and there was some duplication, which would help. Ginny added dance ghillies to her packing list.

She paused for a moment, remembering the dead girl. It was hard to imagine why whoever had tied her to that tree had used a ghillie knot. It was instantly recognizable and should narrow the search. Tran was probably right that the killer was using it to send a message. But what message?

The shoes worn with kilts came in two varieties. Walking shoes tended to be sturdy. Dancing shoes were lighter, more flexible. Both versions sported the long laces and the fancy knot. Women wore ghillies too, though the women’s shoes, and those worn by male Highland dancers, looked more like ballet slippers. How one tied the laces was either specified—if it was part of a uniform (as in the case of the Pipe Bands)—or left up to the wearer. The female dancers often wrapped the laces around the arch of the foot and tied them around the ankle. Ginny preferred to wrap hers around her calf and finish with a flourish at the top.

The brogues and long laces had no special significance. None. They were the result of leather footwear evolving through the sandal and boot stages in a country known for mud. The term ghillie meant servant, and the stout outdoor bròg—Gaelic for shoe—was well adapted to the wet climate of Scotland. The pierced top of the shoe allowed it to dry faster and wrapping the laces (originally leather thongs) around the ankle, then up the calf to just below the knee, held the shoe to the foot securely while it was being withdrawn from the occasional bog. The twists were said to make the laces stronger and less likely to break under tension.

Ginny shook her head, then turned back to her calendar. It could display only one month at a time, but that would be enough to start with. She added the four out-of-town trips, then put the calendar and lists aside, got herself a glass of water, and settled down to think.

If Tran was looking for a deeper meaning in the positioning of the body, the tree was more likely than the knot. Ginny knew a fair amount about the rowan tree and the stories that surrounded it.

To begin with, the rowan is actually a member of the rose family. In the Scottish Highlands it grows above the tree line where no other deciduous tree will and in the clefts of rock where there is no obvious soil or water supply. That alone was enough to give the tree a reputation for supernatural powers.

The berries are bright red, which is usually a warning not to eat them, but instead of being poisonous, the rowan berries are chock full of vitamin C and other nutrients. This led to them being used to treat any medical problem that came along, sometimes successfully. Jellies made of the berries were believed to protect infants and expectant mothers. In addition, on the bottom of each berry was a five-point star, a symbol of magic dating back to at least 4000 B.C.

Ancient people believed that trees had spirits living in them, spirits that could either help or harm a human being. This included the rowan. Travelers used to take two twigs of the wood and make a cross of them, held together by red thread. With this talisman in their pockets or sewn into their clothing, they believed the rowan would keep them from losing their way.

More importantly, the rowan had protective powers. Rowans were planted near gates and doors, to keep witches and fairies away. Objects made of rowan could ward off evil. Cradles were often carved from its wood.

At this point Ginny paused, fingering her talisman. She usually wore the carved rowan wood pendant when at work in the hospital and while traveling. Here was another reason to wear it.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She was a scientist, a modern woman, and not often given to flights of fancy. But she was also a Scot. And it wasn’t just the Scots who had superstitions. Even today people touched wood, tongue planted firmly in cheek, attempting to enlist the aid of a sympathetic dryad.

Ginny drew in a deep breath. People have always looked for causation, a way to explain why something did or didn’t happen, and not all the associations with the earth magic were benign.

In Scotland, the rowan tree was believed to be a Portal Tree, a threshold between the ordinary and the otherworld. Rowans were often planted in front of cemeteries, and pallbearers would rest coffins under the rowan trees on the way to the graveyard, to assist the soul of the deceased to find his or her way to its proper destination. Disrespect the rowan and you might find a portal to hell opening in your front yard.

Ginny blinked. Here was the question Detective Tran had not asked. Why had the killer transported his victim to a Scottish churchyard, one with a rowan out front, and affixed her to the tree, standing up, looking out at the world she was leaving? Maybe, if Ginny could figure that out, it would help to catch the guilty party.

She frowned to herself. Superstitious or not, the Scots were generally pretty level-headed about not getting caught in criminal behavior. The killer must have had a very strong motive for positioning his victim that way, in that place. Which raised another question. Could someone compelled to do that—to kill, then display his kill—be considered sane?

Ginny felt a shiver travel down her spine, along the line that her long, red braid took, from the nape of her neck to the top of her tailbone. She rose, set the problem aside, locked up the house, and retired to bed wondering whether a rowan tree in the front yard would ward off psychopaths, and how long it would take to get one delivered and planted.

* * *

Chapter 2

Thursday Afternoon

Dallas Police substation

It was Thursday afternoon before Ginny could turn her attention to the dead girl again. Jim was asleep, having worked his third twelve-hour night shift this week. Ginny knew he was banking goodwill with the ER staff, but worried he would be too tired to enjoy their trips to the Games. She would have to do everything in her power to make the tours as easy on him as possible.

On Tuesday night, Ginny had typed up the ghillie knot and rowan tree discussion points and sent the file to Detective Tran. On Wednesday she had followed up with a list of questions for the Kansas City police. Both documents now lay on the desk between her and the detective.

I was most interested to hear about the Portal Tree concept, Tran said. Are you suggesting the perpetrator may be showing remorse?

It’s possible. Have they finished the autopsy?

Yes.

Ginny waited for a beat. And?

There are finger marks on the deceased girl’s throat, of a size and location indicating a man’s hand—the right—was around her neck at some point. But the hyoid bone was not broken. Nor was the disfigurement in keeping with strangulation.

What about suffocation? Or aspiration?

The lungs held no foreign matter and there was no petechial hemorrhaging.

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. Sometimes she thought Tran was testing her, making her come up with answers on her own rather than sharing freely. She took a breath and reminded herself they were on the same team.

So what killed her?

The Cause of Death was a cerebral vascular accident secondary to a basilar artery aneurysm.

Oh!

Aneurysms were ticking time bombs. A weakness in the wall of an artery could rupture at any moment causing massive blood loss and sudden death. Many were present at birth and asymptomatic. Some were the result of