The Ghillie Knot
"I read the book and loved it. I was caught up in it right from the beginning! I couldn't wait to read it every day after work. When does the next one come out or can I get it now?”
“A complex plot. The protagonists kept you in suspense ‘til the very end. I would recommend this well-written book to any reader who loves suspense.”
"Couldn’t put it down. [I] wanted to know what happened next."
“I love a good mystery and this definitely fits that description. The characters are well-defined and likeable and the story flows. Would recommend this book to all my mystery lover friends.”
“The story keeps you guessing. The main character is interesting and complex. The mix of medicine, genealogy, and Celtic culture is priceless.”
In the wake of her adventure in New Orleans, Ginny Forbes finds herself packed off to spend some time with an itinerant fiddler, an old family friend with a reputation for world class music. Jim is not invited.
Ginny rose, crossed the small room, and reached for the door handle, but he was there before her. He looked down into her face.
“Ginny, whether it’s true or not, I think it would be a good idea if you told everyone you’ve given up the idea of investigating Professor Craig’s death.”
She looked up at him, her breath tight in her throat. “Anyone in particular?”
He shook his head. “I don’t have a favorite suspect. Do you?”
She shook her head, her eyes on the door handle.
“What is it you’re not telling me?” he asked.
She swallowed hard, then met his eyes. “You know everything I know.”
He studied her face for a moment, then sighed. “All right.” He opened the door and let her go.
Ginny hurried out and back to her own part of the hospital, thinking hard. There was really no reason to suspect him of anything. He was behaving exactly as she would, if their positions were reversed.
A small voice in her head corrected her. Except—he had been following her.
She frowned, pushing the thought aside. Even if everything Hal had told her turned out to be true, it was all circumstantial. Not proof.
True. The small voice again. Just one question, though, it said. And it probably means nothing, it said. It was just, if he was telling the truth about his movements this evening, if he had truly been down to the classroom to get a book, then where was it? His hands had been empty.
Excerpt from Incarnadine by Maggie Foster
All rights reserved by publisher and author