Book Description:
A poisoned
hotel clerk, a ruined Scotland honeymoon, and a hidden Viking burial site,
Deadly Inheritance is the second book in the fast-paced Rim Country Mystery
series.
Rita and Cliff are together again, this time on a long-awaited honeymoon in Scotland, where Cliff also plans to meet his grandfather for the first time. While the newlyweds check into the honeymoon suite at a luxurious Scottish hotel, the reception clerk dies after opening a note meant for Cliff. The action shifts into high gear when a mysterious woman uses the hotel clerk’s car against Rita and Cliff.
The couple team up with Detective Ian MacDougal to discover who wants them dead and why. The search for answers takes them on a one-of-a-kind tour of Scotland.
Murder and a fistful of action combine to make Rita’s Scottish honeymoon something she didn’t envision!
Excerpt:
A swirl of damp chill startled me when I entered the jetway in Edinburgh,
Scotland. I snuggled against Cliff’s warmth, longed for the sweater in our
checked luggage, and blamed honeymoon jitters for my headache and upset
stomach.
An airline employee herded us onto a bus then told us to collect our
luggage before going to the Customs area. Cliff secured a cart and stacked our
luggage. I pulled out our sweaters.
We cleared Customs, found our way to the car rental counter, and approached
a thirty-something agent in an ill-fitting red company blazer. It took deep
concentration to understand his heavy accent as he retrieved our reservation
and described our rental. Despite his dialect, I was sure I’d never heard of
that make of car.
“Could we get something larger and with an automatic transmission?” Cliff
asked.
“We have no automatics available,” the agent said. “If ye get a larger
car, yu’ll have problems findin’ a place to park.”
Cliff nodded.
The agent flipped a map onto the counter and asked if we needed
directions to our hotel. Cliff said we could use the navigation app on our
cellphones. The agent cautioned that our app might not be accurate on some of
the rural roads along our route, that we may not have cell coverage in the
mountains, and that we should watch for sheep in the Highland countryside. With
a yellow highlighter, he traced our route to the Eagles Nest Hotel and Spa,
then he directed us to the “car park.”
The tightness around my head eased when we left the terminal and entered
the relative calm of the rental car parking lot. I wrapped my sweater tighter and
wished for a jacket while a twenty-something attendant with dark hair and a red
company blazer introduced himself. He gave us a short lesson on how to drive
our tiny red car.
“It looks more like a rollerskate than a car,” Cliff said.
The attendant offered a courteous smile, as if he had heard the rollerskate
joke a million times.
He described how to drive a stick shift from the right side of the car,
and on the left side of the road.
We looked at each other and nodded.
The attendant seemed skeptical. “I’ll just review th’ most important
highway codes with ye.” We listened politely and thanked the attendant for his
help.
Cliff opened the trunk and handed me the map. A wind gust ripped it away.
It swooped up, hovered for a second, and
landed in a puddle.
“We don’t need it, Rita.” Cliff gestured for me to get into the car.
Cliff didn’t have to tell me twice. I happily deposited myself onto the passenger
seat and blew into my hands to warm them while the attendant chased after the
map.
The attendant opened my door and handed me the map. “Yu’ll need this,
believe me.”
I tossed the soggy map onto the back floorboard.
The attendant closed my door and offered to help Cliff put our luggage “in
th’ boot.” When everything wouldn’t fit in the trunk, Cliff laid our garment
bags onto the backseat.
Cliff attempted to cram himself behind the steering wheel, gave up, and
suggested I drive. As I slid in, he entered the address to Perthshire’s
luxurious Eagles Nest Hotel and Spa into his cell. A welcome female voice with
an American accent said to turn east. Unfortunately, I was too disoriented to
know east from south. I shrugged at the attendant, who pointed toward the Exit sign.
Despite heavy traffic on the streets of Edinburgh, and rain like I’d never
seen in Rim Vista, Arizona, everything went well … until a large truck entered
the lane beside us in a busy roundabout. I felt like an insect about to get
crushed and drove as close to the center as possible. I forgot to downshift,
and the car stalled.
Horns blared behind us, sending my nerves into overdrive. I got the car
moving, and drove the front tire over the curb. The tiny vehicle felt like it
might tip over. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be driving on this part.” The
wobble in my voice seemed to alarm Cliff.
“Don’t panic,” he said in his calm detective’s voice. “Breathe.”
Bio:
A native of the southwestern U.S., Karen Randau has been writing and telling stories since elementary school. She holds a degree in journalism/public relations from The University of Texas at Austin and has enjoyed a long career in marketing communications.
After a short stint working in a psychiatric hospital, when she wrote three self-help books, Karen joined an international relief and development organization to use her skills to help people struggling with extreme poverty. She has traveled to numerous developing countries, witnessing famines, violence, and hopeful people working to overcome a generational cycle of poverty.
She loves to read and write fast-paced mysteries and thrillers, especially those with intricate plots, lots of action, and rollercoaster-like twists and turns.
After a short stint working in a psychiatric hospital, when she wrote three self-help books, Karen joined an international relief and development organization to use her skills to help people struggling with extreme poverty. She has traveled to numerous developing countries, witnessing famines, violence, and hopeful people working to overcome a generational cycle of poverty.
She loves to read and write fast-paced mysteries and thrillers, especially those with intricate plots, lots of action, and rollercoaster-like twists and turns.
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