Bonnie Macbird

Unquiet Spirits: Whisky, Ghosts, Murder


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       Chapter 9: The Staff of Death

       Chapter 10: Unwelcome Help

       Chapter 11: A Fleeting Pleasure

       Part Three: Northern Mists

       Chapter 12: Arthur

       Chapter 13: Braedern

       Chapter 14: The Highland Magic

       Chapter 15: Cameron Coupe

       Chapter 16: The Groundsman’s Sons

       Chapter 17: Catherine

       Chapter 18: Charles

       Chapter 19: The Laird’s Sanctum

       Chapter 20: Reviewing the Situation

       Part Four: A Chill Descends

       Chapter 21: Dinner

       Chapter 22: Ghost!

       Chapter 23: Alistair

       Chapter 24: Obfuscation

       Chapter 25: Where There Is Smoke

       Part Five: The Distillation

       Chapter 26: The Whisky Thief

       Chapter 27: Divide and Conquer

       Chapter 28: Fettes

       Chapter 29: Thin Ice

       Chapter 30: Romeo and Juliet

       Chapter 31: Getting Warmer

       Part Six: Maturation

       Chapter 32 : The Angel’s Share

       Chapter 33: Circles of Hell

       Chapter 34: The Missing Man

       Chapter 35: You Must Change Your Thoughts

       Chapter 36: The Ghost of Atholmere

       Chapter 37: Charlotte

       Chapter 38: Golden Bear and Silver Tongue

       Part Seven: The Pour

       Chapter 39: The Lady

       Chapter 40: A Wash

       Chapter 41: 221b

       Acknowledgements

       About the Author

       Also by Bonnie MacBird

       About the Publisher

       Preface

      Several years ago, while researching at the Wellcome Library, I chanced upon something extraordinary – an antique handwritten manuscript tied to the back of a yellowed 1880s treatise on cocaine. It was an undiscovered manuscript by Dr John H. Watson, featuring his friend, Sherlock Holmes, published in 2015 as Art in the Blood.

      But what happened last year exceeded even this remarkable occurrence. An employee at the British Library whom I shall call Lidia (not her real name) found Art in the Blood in her local bookshop, and upon reading it was struck by the poignancy of Watson’s manuscript surfacing so long after the fact.

      It triggered something in her mind and shortly afterwards, I received a phone call in my newly rented flat in Marylebone. This was curious, as our number there is unlisted. She identified herself as ‘someone who works at the British Library’ but would not give her name, and wanted to meet me at Notes, a small café next door to the London Coliseum. She refused to give me any information about the purpose of this meeting, saying only that it would be of great interest to me.

      I could not resist the mystery. I showed up early and took comfort in a cappuccino, watching the pouring rain outside. Eventually a woman arrived, dressed as she had told me she would