{"id":18091,"date":"2026-05-31T00:01:37","date_gmt":"2026-05-31T04:01:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/melanierobertson-king.com\/wp02\/?p=18091"},"modified":"2026-05-30T15:20:28","modified_gmt":"2026-05-30T19:20:28","slug":"death-in-a-shetland-family-by-marsali-taylor-deathinashetlandfamily","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/melanierobertson-king.com\/wp02\/?p=18091","title":{"rendered":"Death in a Shetland Family by Marsali Taylor #DEATHINASHETLANDFAMILY"},"content":{"rendered":"

Today on Celtic Connexions, I’m welcoming back Marsali Taylor and her latest novel, Death in a Shetland Family.<\/p>\n

\"Death\"<\/p>\n

Blurb<\/h2>\n

Shetland sailing sleuth Cass Lynch is definitely out of her comfort zone when she helps round up a prize-winning stallion escaped from the renowned Klaufister stud. She’s even less impressed by its owner, Keith Arthurson, a returned city slicker who’s already made enemies in his community.<\/p>\n

\"Death\"<\/p>\n

Buy Links<\/h2>\n

PAPERBACK<\/strong> – https:\/\/www.amazon.co.uk\/Death-Shetland-Family-Marsali-Taylor\/dp\/1035436272<\/span><\/p>\n

KINDLE<\/strong> – https:\/\/www.amazon.co.uk\/Death-Shetland-Family-Marsali-Taylor-ebook\/dp\/B0G3GZ59XW<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>Excerpt<\/h2>\n

Excerpt: from Chapter 4<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>In the end, it wasn\u2019t too bad. We had four\u00a0<\/span><\/span>metres<\/span><\/span>\u00a0depth of channel and another\u00a0<\/span><\/span>metre<\/span><\/span>\u00a0of flooding tide, so we bisected the smooth water between the Green Point of\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Vementry<\/span><\/span>\u00a0and the Green Holm, passed the end of the three lines of mussel buoys, with the inevitable scarfs sitting on the top of them, and came in good order into the enclosed waters of\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Clousta<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Voe<\/span><\/span>.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The houses were all round the South\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Voe<\/span><\/span>. There was a cluster here<\/span><\/span>, then<\/span><\/span>\u00a0the ruins of several stone-built houses along the headland, then another new house opposite, one of the big double ones, with picture windows looking out on a\u00a0<\/span><\/span>spectacular view seawards<\/span><\/span>\u00a0over the channel. A flock of\u00a0<\/span><\/span>coloured<\/span><\/span>\u00a0sheep watched with interest as we came past them.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Now we were chugging between cliffs towards\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Clousta<\/span><\/span>proper. The channel ended in a pool of water between grazed green hills with jagged lines of rock poking like bones through the cropped turf. A curve of houses ran along the shore and in a line up on the north hill, and every one of them had windows facing seawards. Suddenly I felt most horribly exposed.\u00a0<\/span><\/span>It<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span>was\u00a0<\/span><\/span>like we were about to park in somebody\u2019s back garden. Every spyglass in the place would be on us as we ate our lunch. There were probably photos on Facebook already, asking who we were.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Unhelpfully, my larger-scale chart stopped at the north\u00a0<\/span><\/span>voe<\/span><\/span>, but the smaller scale one showed a couple of isolated rocks on the outside of the little island. I looked at the depth gauge. We had four\u00a0<\/span><\/span>metres<\/span><\/span>\u00a0of water still, and there was a long bay to starboard, with only a couple of houses on it, and a rectangular floating pontoon stretching out from them. From my memory of the map, that had to be\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Klaufister<\/span><\/span>. Twenty\u00a0<\/span><\/span>metres<\/span><\/span>\u00a0in there would take us behind the headland, where we could struggle with the\u00a0<\/span><\/span>geneker<\/span><\/span>\u00a0without having every retired seaman in the place saying how much better he\u2019d have done it. After that, we\u2019d eat lunch in this peaceful green\u00a0<\/span><\/span>corrie<\/span><\/span>, then I was getting us out of here, back into safe waters.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

We crept in cautiously, and dropped the lightweight kedge anchor on a short chain. I took a couple of\u00a0<\/span><\/span>meids<\/span><\/span>, to make sure we weren\u2019t drifting, then went below to dump my jacket and set the kettle on to boil. It was bonny, looking out through the windows at the shore: the sweep of green hill down to where it ended abruptly in the\u00a0<\/span><\/span>metre<\/span><\/span>-high banks of the shore.\u00a0<\/span><\/span>There were geese on the hill, a great flock of them, maybe a hundred or more, and a clump of them on the water: one of the problems of warming temperatures. They no longer flew south, but overwintered here, and destroyed the grazing they\u00a0<\/span><\/span>colonised<\/span><\/span>. There was\u00a0<\/span><\/span>an oilskin jacket and trousers<\/span><\/span>\u00a0hung on a scarecrow frame, but they were paying no attention to it.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A\u00a0<\/span><\/span>young\u00a0<\/span><\/span>woman came into view,\u00a0<\/span><\/span>walking from the house,\u00a0<\/span><\/span>a\u00a0<\/span><\/span>rope\u00a0<\/span><\/span>branks<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span>in<\/span><\/span>\u00a0one hand<\/span><\/span>, a bucket swinging from the other<\/span><\/span>. She called upwards, and a herd of\u00a0<\/span><\/span>horses<\/span><\/span>\u00a0came thundering over\u00a0<\/span><\/span>the hill, short legs going like pistons, manes flying<\/span><\/span>. The geese scattered with alarmed honking and a rattle of wings<\/span><\/span>. There was a black one leading the charge: Ebony. The woman put the bridle on him, then tipped a bucketful of\u00a0<\/span><\/span>tattie<\/span><\/span>\u00a0peelings in a line along the grass, and\u00a0<\/span><\/span>presided<\/span><\/span>\u00a0as they shoved each other to get at them.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The two houses of the map were diagonally in front of us. I peered ahead as I waited for the kettle to boil.\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Klaufister<\/span><\/span>\u00a0had been a bigger place once, and better cared for \u2013 though, I reminded myself, they\u2019d had a tragedy here, and now they had one man gone, another not coping, and the wife injured and not yet able to look to things. There was a litter of blue plastic drums in a hollow on the shore, and bigger containers further up, orange and grey, in front of the ruins of an older, larger house, the length of two houses, with a substantial gable and most of the front still standing. A pile of rubble suggested someone was working on it, and the front was fenced, as if it was used to\u00a0<\/span><\/span>hold<\/span><\/span>sheep and early lambs during the coldest weather. The nearest of the lived<\/span><\/span>–<\/span><\/span>in houses was a small cottage above the pontoon, a simple but-and-ben, in reasonable repair, but with flaking whitewash and a moss-spotted felt roof. I saw someone shift behind the glass, then move to stand by the window, looking out at us: a man. The son who drank?\u00a0<\/span><\/span>I<\/span><\/span>t didn\u2019t look like a house with small children; there were no toddler toys around it, and no washing line of miniature onesies wafting in the light breeze<\/span><\/span>\u00a0\u2013 then I remembered Dad had said his wife had left him<\/span><\/span>.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The second house, past the pontoon, was a newer build, and in better repair. It was square, with two windows in each side of it, a pitched roof running up to a short ridge from each wall, a felt roof, recently tarred. A trickle of smoke came from one\u00a0<\/span><\/span>chimney<\/span><\/span>, and there was a peat stack by the door.\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Hens<\/span><\/span>\u00a0pecked around the short track le<\/span><\/span>a<\/span><\/span>d<\/span><\/span>ing<\/span><\/span>\u00a0down to the shore. \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The kettle began to whistle. I brought the tea up, and went forward to see what had gone wrong with the\u00a0<\/span><\/span>geneker<\/span><\/span>. We\u2019d want it for going home again, so I was loathe to put it away altogether, but I could drop it, sort out whatever had snagged it, and secure it on the deck with bungees, ready to hoist again. \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I\u00a0<\/span><\/span>uncleated<\/span><\/span>\u00a0the rope and began to drop the sail. I mustn\u2019t have had a good enough grip on the rope, for it began to slither quicker than I meant, and before I knew it the heavy bronze\u00a0<\/span><\/span>furler<\/span><\/span>\u00a0at its head was hurtling downwards towards me. I ducked away from it, too late, and felt a hard blow on my head, then the guard rail caught the back of my legs and put me off balance, and then for what seemed like a long moment I was falling backwards, hands stretched back towards the boat, legs flailing in the air. I hit the water back on with a splash that echoed round the whole\u00a0<\/span><\/span>voe<\/span><\/span>. I went under, scrabbled my way back up and trod water<\/span><\/span>,<\/span><\/span>\u00a0gasping for breath. The cold hit me as the water seeped through my gansey. Above me, Anders was trying not to laugh as he threw down the end of one jib-sheet for me to catch. \u2018What happened there?\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

My head was spinning and for a moment I saw two ropes. I fumbled for the nearest one and let it take my weight. My best sailing boots were pulling me downwards, but I wasn\u2019t going to kick them off unless I had to. \u2018There\u2019s a rope ladder in the aft locker, with a loop to go round the jib cleat.\u2019 \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Anders moved quickly<\/span><\/span>\u00a0to hang it over the side while\u00a0<\/span><\/span>I\u00a0<\/span><\/span>sploshed<\/span><\/span>\u00a0over, the weight of the water making my movements uncoordinated. There were a couple of rungs below the water, and with the help of the jib-sheet wound round my hand, I managed to get one foot on the bottom one and shove myself unsteadily upwards until Anders grabbed under my\u00a0<\/span><\/span>oxters<\/span><\/span>\u00a0and hauled me over the guard rail. I sat down on the cockpit bench, dripping, and bent forwards to haul my boots off and tip the water out. \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018You\u2019re bleeding,\u2019 Anders said.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I put my hand up to my head. It came away red.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019ll get a cloth,\u2019 Anders said, and clattered below.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Hey!\u2019 the woman onshore called, her voice carrying clearly over the water. \u2018Are you okay?\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I turned around to look. She was only fifty\u00a0<\/span><\/span>metres<\/span><\/span>\u00a0away now, at the edge of the land, Ebony\u2019s rope grasped with one hand, and\u00a0<\/span><\/span>older<\/span><\/span>\u00a0than I\u2019d thought,\u00a0<\/span><\/span>twenty-six or seven<\/span><\/span>, with short dark hair and dark eyes in a thin, tanned face. The movement brought a fresh gush of blood. I clapped my hand to it, and grasped the kitchen cloth Anders held out from the doorway. I pressed where it hurt and felt the blood trickling into it and dripping from my fingers. A red pool was forming on the light blue paint of my cockpit floor. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The woman gestured towards the jetty. \u2018My mother\u2019s a nurse. You could come and let her look at it.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Heads always bleed,\u2019 I called back. All the same, professional help was tempting. I could sit still in this wavering world and let her deal with it. \u2018How deep is the water at your pontoon?\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Two\u00a0<\/span><\/span>metres<\/span><\/span>.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Two\u00a0<\/span><\/span>metres<\/span><\/span>?\u2019 Anders was looking ahead at the pontoon. It was a rectangle of walkway on orange floats, similar to the marina pontoons, and it would certainly hold\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Khalida<\/span><\/span>\u00a0in this wind, so long as it really had two\u00a0<\/span><\/span>metres<\/span><\/span>\u00a0of water, with another\u00a0<\/span><\/span>metre<\/span><\/span>\u00a0to flow in over the next three\u00a0<\/span><\/span>hours.Then<\/span><\/span>\u00a0he looked at my scarlet hand clutching the cloth to my brow, and went back for a basin of cold water, and another cloth.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I wrung the cloth out and pressed it to my\u00a0<\/span><\/span>head<\/span><\/span>\u00a0again. \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018If we can lie up at the pontoon there,\u2019 he said, \u2018it\u2019d give us thinking space. I\u2019ll start the engine and get the anchor up. You steer us in, I\u2019ll leap about.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I nodded, and wished I hadn\u2019<\/span><\/span>t. S<\/span><\/span>parks flashed in front of my eyes.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018We\u2019ll come in,\u2019 Anders called to the woman. I sat quietly as Anders moved around me, giving me the occasional concerned glance. Within a minute he had the\u00a0<\/span><\/span>geneker<\/span><\/span>\u00a0bundled up and attached, the kedge on the foredeck beside it, and the engine running. I put her into gear and edged forward to the shifting pontoon, one eye on the depth. Four\u00a0<\/span><\/span>metres<\/span><\/span>, three point eight, three point five, three, and we were there. I put the engine into reverse, then neutral,\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Khalida<\/span><\/span>\u00a0stopped obediently alongside, the woman caught her guard rail, and Anders leapt ashore, rope in hand, and tied her up.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I cut the engine and stood up, still clutching the cloth to my forehead. The woman put out a hand to help me onto the pontoon. \u2018I\u2019m Irene. Come you\u00a0<\/span><\/span>wi<\/span><\/span>\u2019 me. Mam\u2019s\u00a0<\/span><\/span>joost<\/span><\/span>\u00a0in the house. We\u2019re about to\u00a0<\/span><\/span>hae<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span>denner<\/span><\/span>, if you fancy some soup.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018I wouldn\u2019t say no,\u2019 I said. I hadn\u2019t felt cold while I was worrying about blood, but now my teeth were starting to chatter, and the land was swaying around me.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I felt the atmosphere of the house as soon as Irene led me in: a hard feeling of bitter unhappiness. The man had died in a car crash, the wife had been badly hurt, and the son who drank had been made worse.<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span>This Irene who was supporting me with such ready kindness must be one of the daughters. \u2018Mam!\u2019 she called, as we came through the door, \u2018I\u2019ve a patient for you.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

She helped me into a warm kitchen, a country kitchen with a\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Rayburn at the gable end, and a workmanlike wooden\u00a0<\/span><\/span>table\u00a0<\/span><\/span>below the window\u00a0<\/span><\/span>looking out on the\u00a0<\/span><\/span>voe<\/span><\/span>.\u00a0<\/span><\/span>There was an armchair on the other side where her mother sat: a woman in her\u00a0<\/span><\/span>fif<\/span><\/span>ties, with a face lined with pain<\/span><\/span>.<\/span><\/span>\u00a0I saw no resemblance to either of her children; her greying hair\u00a0<\/span><\/span>was<\/span><\/span>\u00a0neither Irene\u2019s dark, nor Keith\u2019s fair, but a mousy brown, and she had a low brow, a sharp chin and pale green-blue eyes<\/span><\/span>. She wore a<\/span><\/span>\u00a0cherry-red yoke jumper which matched the patterned walking stick beside her<\/span><\/span>, but\u00a0<\/span><\/span>whose<\/span><\/span>\u00a0bright\u00a0<\/span><\/span>colour<\/span><\/span>\u00a0drained her face<\/span><\/span>. It was from her that the bitterness came; her face was sharp with it,\u00a0<\/span><\/span>her<\/span><\/span>\u00a0mouth\u00a0<\/span><\/span>set in angry lines,<\/span><\/span>\u00a0and it echoed in her voice as she greeted me. \u2018Not only injured but wet through. Have you dry clothes aboard?\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Her hooded eyes had dark shadows under them, as if she didn\u2019t sleep much.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I tried to think. Now I no longer lived aboard, I had a box with extra jerseys and gloves, but no spare jeans or thermals; I only took those aboard for longer trips, and right now most of my wardrobe was hanging out in the garden, drying. \u2018Jerseys,\u2019 I managed.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Well, let\u2019s sort that first,\u2019 the mother said. Her voice was low and soft, but with a sharp edge that made it a command. She nodded at Anders. \u2018<\/span><\/span>You\u2019ll maybe go<\/span><\/span>\u00a0and get her two jerseys.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Box by the\u00a0<\/span><\/span>engine,\u2019I<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span>said. \u2018Tupperware.\u2019 \u00a0He nodded and left.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Irene,\u2019 the mother said, \u2018go you into my bedroom and get out a towel, and my clean dressing gown from the press. Then you can help the lass get the wet stuff off, and while I\u2019m looking to her head, you can\u00a0<\/span><\/span>find her dry clothes, and put her own in the washing machine.\u2019 There was something mechanical about the way she spoke, as if she was determined to do her duty by this bleeding stranger thrust upon her. I felt mortified, but leaving now would only make it worse. I\u2019d have to accept her kindness with grace, and pretend I didn\u2019t see how reluctant it was.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019m wearing thermals,\u2019 I said. \u2018They\u2019ll dry quickly.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Irene went out and upstairs, her footsteps clattering above us.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019m Patsy,\u2019 her mother said. \u2018Patsy\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Arthurson<\/span><\/span>. And you must be the lass that sails. My other son,\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Ertie<\/span><\/span>, he works to your dad, driving plant.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Her face twisted to anger. \u2018Worked.\u2019<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Cass,\u2019 I said. My hand was too bloodstained to hold out. \u2018Cass Lynch.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Irene hurried back down the stairs with a folded towel and a blue\u00a0<\/span><\/span>towelling<\/span><\/span>\u00a0dressing-gown. \u2018This is my daughter, Irene,\u2019 Patsy said. \u2018Irene, this is Cass.\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Pass<\/span><\/span>\u00a0me that, and give her\u00a0<\/span><\/span>an<\/span><\/span>hand\u00a0<\/span><\/span>wi<\/span><\/span>\u2019 those wet clothes<\/span><\/span>, then get a bowl of water for her to wash<\/span><\/span>.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

With Irene\u2019s help, I<\/span><\/span>\u00a0managed to get most of my wet clothes off without\u00a0<\/span><\/span>making<\/span><\/span>\u00a0too much\u00a0<\/span><\/span>mess<\/span><\/span>\u00a0on the\u00a0<\/span><\/span>lino<\/span><\/span>. The towel Irene held out was blissfully warm, and the dressing-gown covered me nicely. I tried to give Irene a hand picking\u00a0<\/span><\/span>up my<\/span><\/span>\u00a0clothes, but the room began to spin around, and I sat down abruptly. \u2018Sorry,\u2019 I said.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018You just sit,\u2019 Patsy said. \u2018Irene can manage.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It seemed that Irene was expected to manage everything. I sat in silence as she took my bundle of clothes into a side room. There was the click of a tumbler, a few bleeps, then running water as the machine cycle started. Irene came back in and stood quietly with her hands in front of her, looking at her mother for more instructions. For a moment I wondered if she had some kind of special needs, except that she\u2019d been quick and clear when I\u2019d had the accident. Maybe she\u2019d had to bridle her tongue at first in patience as she ran after her injured mother, and had now got so used to her mother bossing her about from her chair that she no longer\u00a0<\/span><\/span>realised<\/span><\/span>\u00a0how extraordinary\u00a0<\/span><\/span>it<\/span><\/span>\u00a0was.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Now,\u2019 Patsy said, \u2018we\u2019ll need a\u00a0<\/span><\/span>clean\u00a0<\/span><\/span>bowl o\u2019 hot water, and cotton wool and the plasters box.\u2019 Irene nodded, and went into a walk-in cupboard in the corner. \u2018Sit you here,\u2019 she added, and reached out a hand to drag a kitchen chair over to her. \u2018In the light.\u2019 She bent forward to inspect, still sitting in her chair. I closed my eyes. Her hands were assured, as she moved mine away, washed the wound and inspected it. \u2018You\u2019re given yourself a fair\u00a0<\/span><\/span>dunt<\/span><\/span>. I doubt it needs\u00a0<\/span><\/span>stitching. Irene,\u00a0<\/span><\/span>gie<\/span><\/span>\u00a0the surgery a phone and explain. You can easy run her along to\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Bixter<\/span><\/span>\u00a0to get it looked at.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018We need to be out of here\u00a0<\/span><\/span>well before<\/span><\/span>\u00a0high water,\u2019 I said. \u2018<\/span><\/span>Cribba<\/span><\/span>\u00a0Sound.\u2019 I wasn\u2019t negotiating the Icelanders and the Black\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Stane<\/span><\/span>\u00a0with this spinning head.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Yea, yea, plenty\u00a0<\/span><\/span>o<\/span><\/span>\u00a0time for that.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

She mopped away, then I heard the crackle of a plaster being unwrapped, and felt it being pressed to my brow. \u2018There, that\u2019ll do you for\u00a0<\/span><\/span>ee<\/span><\/span>\u00a0now.\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Steri<\/span><\/span>-strip. Great stuff.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I opened my eyes again. \u2018Thanks. Thank you very much.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

She gestured towards the path. \u2018And here\u2019s your man back with your spare ganseys. Irene, keep him at the door while the lass gets dressed.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Forty-five minutes,\u2019 Irene said. \u2018The doctor can see you at quarter to two.\u2019 She went out to man the door, and I got into the clothes she\u2019d brought. The t-shirt was Patsy\u2019s, and hung off me; the\u00a0<\/span><\/span>pants and\u00a0<\/span><\/span>jeans were Irene\u2019s<\/span><\/span>, and<\/span><\/span>\u00a0I just managed to squeeze into them.<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span>\u2018Three-quarters o\u2019 an hour. Then there\u2019s time for a bowl o\u2019 soup,\u2019 Patsy said. \u2018Irene, let the young man in, then\u00a0<\/span><\/span>gie<\/span><\/span>Ertie<\/span><\/span>\u00a0a call for his lunch, and tell him we have visitors.\u2019 She rose, levering herself up from her chair, and grasped her stick. \u2018I was in an accident. You maybe\u00a0<\/span><\/span>kent<\/span><\/span>.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I nodded. \u2018I heard.\u2019 I wasn\u2019t sure what to say, and resorted to formality. \u2018I\u2019m sorry for your loss.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A wave of the\u00a0<\/span><\/span>former \u00a0bitterness<\/span><\/span>\u00a0came back for a moment. \u2018I told him he was no\u2019 able to drive south, after all these years, but he\u00a0<\/span><\/span>widna<\/span><\/span>\u00a0listen.\u2019 She stood for a moment, brooding, mouth hard, then took a step towards the Rayburn and lifted the lid of the pan. A most beautiful smell of\u00a0<\/span><\/span>tattie<\/span><\/span>\u00a0soup washed out<\/span><\/span>\u00a0in a cloud of steam<\/span><\/span>.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019m mending,\u2019 she said. She nodded towards a pair of crutches in the corner past her chair. \u2018I still need those occasionally. I\u2019m mending slower than if I was your age, but I have the help o\u2019 me\u00a0<\/span><\/span>bairns<\/span><\/span>.\u2019 A spasm crossed her face for a moment, as if she\u2019d moved wrongly, and hurt something. \u2018I\u2019m out o\u2019 the wheelchair, and mostly off the crutches.\u2019 She changed the subject. \u2018You\u2019re Cass from the\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Ladie<\/span><\/span>.\u2019 She looked at Anders. \u2018But you\u2019re no\u2019 the policeman that wears a\u00a0<\/span><\/span>kilt \u00a0even<\/span><\/span>\u00a0for going out in the boat.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Anders Johansen.\u2019 He leant forward to shake her hand. \u2018I was Cass\u2019s engineer on the\u00a0<\/span><\/span>longship<\/span><\/span>\u00a0for the film, three<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span>years back.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u2018Aye, aye, we heard all about that. And I\u2019m Patsy. Now, sit you both down at the table, and have some soup to warm you.\u2019 She gave her daughter a sudden malicious look from her\u00a0<\/span><\/span>green-<\/span><\/span>brown<\/span><\/span>\u00a0eyes. \u2018Then you\u2019ll run Cass to the surgery, and I\u2019ll enjoy having a smart young\u00a0<\/span><\/span>Viking<\/span><\/span>\u00a0all to\u00a0<\/span><\/span>meself<\/span><\/span>.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It was a mild joke, but it threw Irene completely. She went white, then flushed red, her patient composure broken, and turned away from us. I could see her back move with her quickened breathing. When she turned\u00a0<\/span><\/span>back<\/span><\/span>\u00a0she hadn\u2019t quite mastered herself; there was still a red spot high on each cheekbone as she went over to the worktop and began buttering rolls. There was a long silence. I glanced at Patsy and thought there was malice in her eyes as she said in a completely ordinary voice, \u2018There\u2019s ham we can have with the rolls. Don\u2019t forget the mustard.\u2019\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

About the Author<\/h2>\n

\"Death\"<\/p>\n

Marsali Taylor grew up near Edinburgh, and came to Shetland as a newly-qualified teacher. She is currently a part-time teacher on Shetland\u2019s scenic west side, living with her husband and two Shetland ponies. Marsali is a qualified STGA tourist-guide who is fascinated by history, and has published plays in Shetland\u2019s distinctive dialect, as well as a history of women’s suffrage in Shetland. She’s also a keen sailor who enjoys exploring in her own 8m yacht, and an active member of her local drama group.<\/span><\/p>\n

Author Facebook Page –<\/strong>https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/MarsaliTaylorAuthor\/<\/span><\/p>\n

Amazon Author Page –<\/strong>\u00a0https:\/\/www.amazon.co.uk\/Marsali-Taylor\/e\/B0034PACI8\/<\/span><\/p>\n

Website –\u00a0<\/strong>https:\/\/www.marsalitaylor.co.uk<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Today on Celtic Connexions, I’m welcoming back Marsali Taylor and her latest novel, Death in a Shetland Family. Blurb Shetland sailing sleuth Cass Lynch is definitely out of her comfort zone when she helps round up a prize-winning stallion escaped from the renowned Klaufister stud. She’s even less impressed by its owner, Keith Arthurson, a … Continue reading Death in a Shetland Family by Marsali Taylor #DEATHINASHETLANDFAMILY<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1471,1558,1872,6],"tags":[106,1907,228],"class_list":["post-18091","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-cosy-crime","category-cosy-mystery","category-marsali-taylor","category-novels","tag-authors-2","tag-marsali-taylor","tag-novels-2"],"yoast_head":"\nDeath in a Shetland Family by Marsali Taylor #DEATHINASHETLANDFAMILY - Celtic Connexions<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Cass returns in another Shetland Mystery penned by Marsali Taylor. 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