The Wolf Tree - Hardcover

Mccluskey, Laura

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0593852540 ISBN 13: 9780593852545

Verlag: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

A remote Scottish island hides shocking secrets in this page-turning debut mystery laced with dark folklore.

An island lost in time. A cryptic, pagan past. Secrets that should stay buried.

Eilean Eadar is a barren, windswept rock inhabited by a few hundred humans and sheep. Until now, the island was best known for the unsolved mystery of the three lighthouse keepers who vanished back in 1919. But when a young man is found dead at the base of that same lighthouse, two detective inspectors are sent from Glasgow to investigate.

Georgina ‘George’ Lennox is finally back from leave after a devastating accident and happy to be on the case with her partner, Richie Stewart. That is, until she meets the hostile islanders who seem determined to thwart their investigation, and their enigmatic priest who seems to be part of every interview. Then there’s Richie, who just wants to close the case and head home to his family. He doesn’t see that there is something off about the island and its tiny community. He hasn’t heard the wolves howling or seen the dark figures at their window at night. He’s too busy watching George as if waiting for her to break.

With the dark secrets of Eilean Eadar swirling around them, George and Richie must decide who to trust and what to believe as they spin closer to the terrible truth. Laced with Scottish legend, yet sharp and modern in voice, The Wolf Tree announces a spellbinding new voice in crime and mystery fiction.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Laura McCluskey is a Melbourne-based writer, editor and actor. She created the production company Sibylline Films, and co-founded Three Fates Theater Company. The Wolf Tree is her first novel.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

People think that death by drowning would be peaceful. But if there is any truth to that, it's a peace that comes after the worst thirty seconds of your life. And it's a fate that, until today, George Lennox had never considered might befall her.

With her jaw clenched against both the biting cold and sudden dips, George stands on the heaving deck of the police launch; constricted by the bulk of an orange life vest, a duffel bag over her shoulder. She clutches a leather briefcase in one hand, the slick railing with the other. The weather has changed dramatically in the last few hours. The soft white clouds that farewelled her on Skye have turned black and heavy, and the waves that claw at her feet are splintered iron, threatening to drag her down all twelve thousand feet to the sunless floor of the North Atlantic Ocean.

"It really had to be today?" A burly marine police officer shuffles up behind her. "We couldn't wait for the fucking wind to die down?" He pauses and eyes her chest speculatively. "You know how to use those?"

She follows his gaze, then looks up coolly. "Life vests?"

He blinks, hearing his words over again. "I just meant there's a whistle under that flap, and a wee light over there . . ."

"I'm sure I'll figure it out should the need arise, Constable."

Though he must be at least ten years her senior, the officer ducks his head.

"Righto, Inspector," he mutters before moving away.

George just grits her teeth, sucking in a quick breath as the boat angles sharply downward. The condescension is something she's used to, even when they learn her rank. These waves, however . . . She swallows hard, temporarily grateful for the wind that dries her perspiration as soon as it forms on her forehead.

"You might want to step inside, Inspector," a voice calls over the thrum of the engine. Despite his narrow frame, the captain barely sways as he leans out of the cabin behind her. "It's only going to get rough from here." The soft, rolling lilt of his Western Isles intonation is a pleasant contrast to the harsher Glaswegian accent she's become used to.

"This isn't rough?" George asks, incredulity creeping into her voice.

His bushy eyebrows pull together. "The Atlantic gives you hell on a good day," he rumbles, with knowledge born of a long career spent rescuing drunken tourists from dangerous cliffsides or fishing people from the sea-alive or dead. "We're certainly going to test her patience by trying to dock."

George narrows her eyes as a light rain starts to fall. "How far are we pushing our luck?"

He shrugs. "The harbor is to the northeast of Eilean Eadar, and we're coming in on a strong westerly. In this swell it's sheltered once you're in, but it's a fine narrow entrance over the bar." At her nonplussed expression, he adds, "We'll be taking our time coming in, that's for sure."

He takes a moment to shout instructions back into the cabin and receives a muffled response. George clutches her briefcase tighter as a wave crests the edge of the boat and her boots, sending a new chill through her socks and soaking the hem of her trousers.

"Who out here can receive a distress signal?" she asks. "The coastguard should be within range." She peers through the thickening rain at a distant coastline. "Or one of the little islands . . . that's Hirta, isn't it?"

"You'll not find much help there. They're isolated enough as it is. Where you're going . . ." He blows out a long breath. "Even I've only set foot on Eadar once, dropping off some lads when one of their trawlers lost a rudder. That was near twelve years ago. I don't think any police have been there since."

"So if we need a quick exit . . . ?"

He barks a laugh. "I hope you can speak dolphin." But his laughter dies as he squints into the distance, as if his seasoned eyes can see further across the water than hers. "If you're in a pinch, your best chance would be Stornoway; there's the airport there, and the Search and Rescue helicopter team, too. And a good hospital," he adds, as an afterthought.

She rubs a spot behind her ear, the only outward indication of her inner disquiet.

The captain eyes her contemplatively. "The locals don't like strangers coming in unannounced, but you say they're expecting you?"

"They should be."

"Then you'll be fine." Her relief is short-lived, though, as the captain adds, "I just hope someone sees us coming. Docking in this weather without help . . . I don't fancy the prospect."

A shout from the cabin draws the captain away. "Like I said, Inspector, you'd be best off coming in. The radar says we're about to get a soaking."

She nods once, sharply enough that he takes the hint and leaves her alone. Her eyes seek out the horizon, the line becoming increasingly blurred by rain and the pitch of the boat. She readjusts her grip on the railing, looking for somewhere more secure to wedge herself until they reach the island, as a deep voice booms out behind her, "How are your sea legs, Lennox?"

The boat tilts forward suddenly, stealing George's retort as she focuses on keeping her feet. She turns in time to see the upheaval not only wipes the smile off Richard Stewart's lightly lined face but also takes his legs out from under him.

She makes her way down the deck and hauls him to his feet, not hiding the effort it takes to bring his stocky body vertical. "You were saying?"

He swipes rain droplets out of his silvering hair, scowling. "Don't test me-not when my socks are wet."

George looks out at the ocean churning around them. "This trip was never going to be cheerful, Richie," she says tersely. She fishes her phone out from an interior pocket of her coat and tries to shield the screen from the rain and spray. "Have you got any bars?"

Richie doesn't even bother checking. "I think we said good-bye to service as soon as we left Skye."

A low growl rolls across the sky like a boulder.

"Do you think the islanders are going to talk to us?"

He shrugs. "They're used to not having service. Silence might come more naturally to them."


By the time the lonely island of Eilean Eadar comes into view just before midday, the rain has become so heavy that George has acquiesced to stand just inside the cabin door, her hood pulled tight around her eyes. Strands of dark hair whip in the wind, stinging her forehead and cheeks. The sun is shuttered behind the murderous clouds, so George’s first impression of the tiny island thrown far off the west coast of Scotland is a sheer, dark cliff. Huge waves smash against the craggy rock face, yet Eadar stands resolute against their rage.

As they skirt around the southeast side of the cliff, George catches sight of a lighthouse silhouetted against the dark sky. She nudges Richie, who has squeezed himself into the doorway beside her. "Look," she says into his ear, pointing.

His pale blue eyes emerge from under a knitted beanie to peer up at the cliff, face scrunched against the pelting rain. His lips thin when he spots the lighthouse.

It looms larger as their passage takes them closer to the cliffs, and George feels a sudden swirl of dizziness unrelated to the rocking boat. She drops her gaze to the deck and steadies her breathing, sensing Richie's eyes on her. Slipping her phone from her pocket again, she squints at the screen intently until he looks away.

As the captain warned, it's no simple task to dock in Eadar's small harbor. The relentless swell was pushing them uncomfortably close to the cliff, so he took the boat out in a wide arc with the bow pointed at the island. Soon the narrow opening into the harbor appears, a gap between the encircling arms of dark rock. From the silence in the cabin, George can tell the captain and the two officers are concentrating hard, their years on...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: G.P. Putnam's Sons
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2025
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593852540
• ISBN 13: 9780593852545
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 352
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: G.P. Putnam's Sons; https://www.penguin.com/putnam/; ; 1745 BROADWAY Attn: Madison Forsander; NEW YORK; NY; 10019; USA
• Verantwortliche Person: preigu; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; 49078; Deutschland