Who starts a cozy mystery series on book seven? Apparently me. Like a feral raccoon who sees “Scottish” in a title and just commits. But listen, no regrets. If Murder at the Scottish Games is what Traci Hall’s been cooking up this whole time, I will happily eat the entire backlist like it’s a tray of shortbread left unattended.
The vibes? Immaculate. We’re in Nairn, Scotland, where the Highland Games have rolled into town with enough caber tossing, gossip, and tartan to drown a small sheep. Our heroine, Paislee Shaw, is juggling approximately fifteen emotional plotlines: running her yarn shop (adorably named The Cashmere Crush), keeping her teenage son Brody from self-destructing, and helping organize the local Games, which sounds quaint until someone ends up very, very murdered.
The victim? A man so awful he could ruin a ceilidh just by showing up. The suspect? His son, a gentle human boulder accused of cheating, now lying unconscious while the entire town sharpens their pitchforks. And of course, Paislee can’t just sip her tea and knit quietly while injustice happens. No, she has to pull on her amateur detective beanie and start investigating between committee meetings and emotional breakdowns about motherhood.
What I didn’t expect was how much this cozy mystery dips into actual emotional territory. Yes, there’s murder, but there’s also Paislee’s personal chaos, unresolved stuff about Brody’s dad, maybe-romance tension with the detective (Zeffer, please call me), and that soft, relatable panic when you realize your kid is growing up and you might not be ready. Traci Hall threads those emotional beats between the mystery plot so smoothly it sneaks up on you. One minute you’re laughing about duck herding at the Games, the next you’re tearing up because Paislee’s realizing how much her life has shifted.
The mystery itself is classic cozy fare, gossiping townsfolk, jealous competitors, and small-town secrets that unravel faster than bad wool. I’ll be real: Paislee does less “sleuthing” and more “just happening to be in the right place while people overshare,” but that’s kind of the charm. She’s not out here doing CSI: Scotland. She’s just a mom with good instincts and a very sharp nose for nonsense.
And look, maybe I’m biased because we’ve got our own Highland Games nearby this weekend and this book felt like the perfect pregame. There’s something deeply satisfying about reading murder and mayhem set against bagpipes and brawny dudes in kilts. It’s comfort food for people who like their cozies with a side of ancestral pride and mild homicide.
If I have one note, it’s that jumping in at book seven means there’s clearly history I missed, past heartbreaks, inside jokes, and character growth that probably hit harder if you’ve been here since book one. Still, Hall gives enough warmth and context that I never felt lost, just mildly nosy. Like I’d wandered into a close-knit community potluck and instantly started trying to figure out who’s sleeping with who.
Murder at the Scottish Games is like a warm mug of tea spiked with whisky, soothing, a little bittersweet, and guaranteed to keep you cozy while someone inevitably dies off-page. Four out of five stars, and I’ll be back for the next round of knit-club chaos, probably with shortbread crumbs on my Kindle.
Whodunity Award: For Making Me Suspect Every Man in a Kilt Before Breakfast
Thank you to Kensington Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC, and for introducing me to a wonderful new (to me) series that’s as charming as a man in a kilt holding a scone.