Page 1 of Death on a Scottish Train

Chapter One

I frowned at the beautiful silvery, sequined dress hanging in my wardrobe. After a long day of seeing patients, the last thing I wanted to do was pull on my Spanx and dress up in 1930s’ garb for a Friday-night party on a train. Most of my Friday nights were spent on the couch watching UK mysteries. I preferred it that way.

We were at the end of tourist season in the small town of Sea Isle, Scotland, and with the increase of tourist injuring themselves in surfing and boating accidents, it was the busiest time of year for the practice.

Guilt edged its way into my brain. I’d promised my friends I’d be there for them, and I didn’t want to let them down. That, and I had spent a small fortune on my outfit.

Come on, Em. Let’s do this.

After dressing and taking a quick look in the mirror, I went downstairs. I lived and worked in a 400-year-old church and while it had its quirks, I’d grown to love it.

I headed to the kitchen to make myself a quick espresso. Nothing like a jolt of caffeine to get me through the evening.

My phone dinged with a message from my bestie, Mara. She ran the Pig & Whistle pub with her grandparents just down the hill on the corner. And she was the main reason I’d been rooked into participating in tonight’s festivities on the newly refurbished Scottish Storytellers’ Train.

The locomotive hadn’t run in the last fifty years, but Mara and a group of volunteers had helped to refurbish it, and it would be a newconnection between Sea Isle and Edinburgh twice daily. I liked the idea of that, so I didn’t have to drive on the wrong side of the road in the city.

It was one thing to handle a car on Scottish country roads here in town. Quite another in a bustling metropolis like Edinburgh.

Tonight was the big launch of the train and a chance to show off their hard work.

Mara’s text stated the shuttle would be ready in twenty minutes to take us up the mountain to the refurbished station.

I texted back that I’d be there.

I sipped my espresso and stared out the back window in the kitchen, which had a lovely view of the cemetery in my yard. Over the past year, since I’d moved to Sea Isle, I’d come to appreciate the history and beauty of the church, even if it was sometimes a bit drafty in the cold Scottish winters.

By the time I finished my coffee and put my hair in a messy bun at the nape of my neck, I only had five minutes to make it to the shuttle.

When I opened the front door, I nearly slammed into my assistant, Abigail. There was no way I would have survived my first year in town without her. She helped at the practice and kept my world running.

“You look gorgeous,” I said. Her beautiful, heart-shaped face was framed by red ringlets, and she wore a black-sequined dress that showcased her petite figure.

Her cheeks turned a rosy shade. After growing up in a rather difficult environment, she was beyond shy and never knew how to take a compliment. She was amazing, though. In addition to everything she did for me, she looked after her adorable brother, Tommy, who was on the spectrum and absolutely brilliant.

“Thank you,” she said shyly. “You, too, Doc Em.”

“Did you get Tommy sorted?”

“Aye, he’s with Ewan’s housekeeper making cookies. Then she’s going to play one of his video games with him. That woman is a saint.”

Ewan Campbell was the laird, local assistant chief constable, and mayor; he looked after Abigail and Tommy like they were family. He and I butted heads more often than not, but even I had to admit he wasa decent guy. And he cared about the people in Sea Isle like they were all related.

“We should get to the pub,” she said.

I picked up a lacy shawl that matched my silver dress. Even though it was summer, Scotland nights were chilly.

Sea Isle had two parts of the town. There were the beachside pubs and stores, and then up the mountain a mile or so, was another quaint part of the town with more shops and restaurants.

I’d grown to love the place and the people, even though the winter had been harsher than anything I could have imagined. Everyone promised I’d become accustomed to the constant grayness and bone-chilling cold. That hadn’t happened yet.

By the time we made it down the half-block to the shuttle, the van was nearly full.

“Yay, you’re here,” Mara said as she checked our names off a clipboard.

“You look gorgeous,” I said. She was dressed in a red fringed dress that was more 1920s than 1930s, but it fit her figure perfectly.

“Same to you, my friend. What is it you Americans say? We clean up well.”