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Death of a Smuggler By M. C. Beaton, R.W. Green, Read By David Monteath (Audiobook Excerpt)

From a New York Times bestselling author, a murder, a missing man, and his newest constable’s secret past are all that’s standing in the way of Sergeant Hamish Macbeth's relaxing winter. All Hamish Macbeth wants is a quiet life in his peaceful home in the Highland village of Lochdubh. But when his newly-assigned constable arrives, he presents Hamish with a surprise and a secret. Getting to the bottom of the secret becomes the least of Hamish’s problems when he meets a family who have a score to settle with a sinister man who has mysteriously gone missing. Discovering a murdered woman’s body puts further pressure on Hamish, especially when it becomes clear that the murdered woman and the missing man are linked. To Hamish’s horror, he then finds himself working on the murder case with the despicable Detective Chief Inspector Blair–his sworn enemy–who has been drafted in under curious circumstances. With a growing list of suspects, ever more bewildering circumstances and Blair hindering him at every turn, Hamish must find the murderer before anyone else falls victim. Never has a quiet life seemed further from his grasp!

Duration:: 4m
Broadcast on:: 18 Feb 2025
Audio Format:: other

At first it seemed there was silence. When the small boats outboard motor stopped, for a brief moment there was nothing else to be heard. Then, as if, creeping into the night air to take the place of motor's buzz, the lapping of the water against the prow of the wooden dinghy made itself apparent to the young woman perched on the bench seat. Then came the splash of the ripples against the nearby rocks and the gentle rush of waves breaking on the beach ahead. Looking back out across the lock, she could see the dark shape of a larger boat, a fishing boat lying at anchor in deeper water. The fishing boat's lights were extinguished, but it was still clearly visible in the moonlight, casting a shadow that dulled the ribbons of silver drifting on the lock's surface. On a second bench facing forward sat a dark haired man huddled in a bulky black jacket against the chill night air. Just behind him, an older grey bearded man was hunched at the tiller, guiding the dinghy to shore. Between them was stacked a cargo of cardboard boxes. Unlike the men, the woman sat tall, her back straight. In the moonlight her pale features and forlorn expression made her look almost ghost-like, her sadness sharpened by the tear threatening to tumble from the corner of her eye. She gave her head a shake to banish the tear. The men would surely never notice if she were to break down and cry, but she was determined that they should never even have the slightest chance of seeing her do so. She gripped a small rock sack she was holding in her lap, clenching her fists around its straps, gazing out into the blackness beyond the fishing boat. There, out there, across almost 3,500 miles of ocean, lay America. New York. That's where they said she would start a new life. A visa, an apartment, new clothes, and a modelling contract were what she had been promised. That was what she had paid for, not a furtive landing on a dismal beach in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. Where were they anyway? Scotland? What did that mean to her? What did she know of Scotland? Nothing, except that it was not New York. The bow of the dinghy crunched on the beach, grinding to a halt, and the young woman swayed a little as the boat lurched. "You, Kira, however your name is," grunted the man in the black jacket, gloating at the young woman and jerking his thumb towards the water. "Out the side, no." Kira could see only the bow of the dinghy had grounded. The rest was still floating free in water that looked at least knee-deep. "What? In water?" Kira said, frowning at him. "I'll not kill you," the man snapped. "Get move on!" Flinging her rock sack over the bow and clear of the water onto the beach, she lured herself over the side. The water was bitterly cold, and the jeans she was wearing offered no protection, soaking through immediately. She'd been wrong about it being knee-deep. It came up almost to her waist. "Take this!" the man ordered, standing in the boat to pass her a large cardboard box, the clink of glass betraying its contents as bottles. Kira reached up to accept the heavy box from the man, and then, just as he turned to take another box from the bearded man, she staggered sideways as if by accident, slamming her shoulder into the side of the dinghy, causing it to rock violently. "Make care for ya clumsy, no!" The man let out a groan of dread, then pitched backwards into the water, still clutching the box. A little further out than the woman, in slightly deeper water, for a moment he submerged completely, then broke the surface again, howling with fury and struggling to find his balance, the box gone. Kira cast the box aside, took two steps towards him, and grabbed him under the arms, man handling him towards the shore. "Never mind me!" he roared, glancing from her sinking box to where his had disappeared. "Save the whiskey!" Abruptly she let him go, and he sank even faster than the cases of whiskey. Once he'd found his feet again, he steadied himself with a hand on the side of the boat. The bearded man looked down at him with concern. "Are you all right there?" he asked slowly. "Oh, hi!" the man in the water spluttered, his teeth chattering. "I'm fair enjoying how we met night-dip!" "Eh," said the man in the boat, nodding wisely. "That would be on sarcasm, am I hearing a boot." "We need to get those boxes before they stop falling apart." "You can," he turned towards Kira, but she was nowhere to be seen. "Where the hell has she gone?"