Leslie here, with a very grand welcome to our beloved Catriona McPherson, whose Last Ditch Motel series, set in a fictional–not Davis at all!–Northern California town has tickled this California native’s fancy ever since the first book was released. And we’re in luck, because not only is the eighth in the series releasing this coming Tuesday, but Catriona herself is here today with a delightful story of travel. And we all know how that can go…. Take it away, Catriona!

Scot’s Eggs, the eighth Last Ditch Motel mystery, opens with the murder of a couple of passing tourists, the Millers, who’ve just retired and decided to celebrate with an Easter-time road trip down the West Coast and beyond. Their daughter describes it to Lexy like this:

‘The Redwoods National Forest, Yosemite, Death Valley, the Mojave Desert, the Grand Canyon and the Hoover Dam.’

‘Where did they start?’ I asked.

‘Home,’ said Jilly. ‘Tacoma.’

It wasn’t really important in the grand scheme of things but Tacoma was north of here, in Washington State, so they had only seen the redwoods when a stop in Cuento ended their lives. That struck me as indescribably sad. I mean, I like a big tree as much as the next person but, compared with the Grand Canyon, we’re talking about a tree, only bigger.

This really is one of the times when Lexy Campbell’s snark isn’t mine. I love the Redwoods National Park, and all the other places you can find those big trees. A couple of very happy road-trip memories are associated with them.

First the Chandelier Tree (the one you can drive through). This was Neil’s perfect tourist experience. He’s not a complete fun vacuum, but he does have a tendency – if I spot a roadside attraction – to say “It looks closed” and put the foot down. Luckily we share the driving, so I’ve veered off and seen a fair few. And really you’ve got to break it up somehow when your SatNav is telling you this, no?

But back to the drive-through sequoia. It’s five minutes from the road, it costs ten bucks, it takes fifteen minutes, the gift shop is pitiful, so in less than half an hour you’re on your way again. “Perfect,” Neil said, as we sped off. Compare the time he magnanimously said “Let’s stop for lunch in San Juan Bauttista. I think there might be an antique shop.” Ha-ha, loser! There were seven antique shops and the mission where they filmed Vertigo. Plus they were having a barbecue festival. We lost hours that day.

(While I’m complaining anyway, I might as well mention the time when me having a stinking cold made Neil as happy as he’s ever been in his life. We were driving back up from LA and the plan had been to visit Hearst Castle. I felt so ill, hot and shivery and snot-infested, I suggested we drive on by and get to a hotel so I could lie down. “I’ve never said this,” Neil told me, “but one of the best things about leaving Scotland was knowing I’d never have to look at another castle. I love you.”)

But back to happy memories of redwoods. Neil, my mum, my dad and I went to Yosemite one spring and my dad was determined to see the Grizzly Giant in the Mariposa Grove. The walk turned out to be too much for my mum, pre-knee-replacement, and she said she’d be quite happy sitting on a tree stump in the quiet forest until we came back down. But wait! After we’d gone, she remembered all the bear-advice signs, and decided she needed to make some noise. So she started singing a Scottish folk song to herself. It worked. She hadn’t been eaten when we rejoined her.

Here’s the point of this so-far non-story: later in the day, Neil and I were in a queue for . . . tea, probably . . . and the young couple in front were agreeing that they’d had a great time in the park.

The girl said, “The best part of all was that . . .”

The boy said, “Dude! I still can’t believe it . . .”

“That magical little old fairy person in the trees?”

“That wasn’t a real language. That was like Elvish, man!”

“I still don’t know whether she was real!”

Neil and I clutched each other and decided, without discussion, not to spoil it for them. We got the . . . probably tea, right? . . . and went back to tell my mum she had put the magical cherry on top of someone’s Yosemite trip.

You know what she said? “What do they mean ‘old’?”

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Readers: Do you and your most frequent road trip companion share a stopping-off policy? Or do you tussle? And have you seen these wonders of America? I’ve managed to get a squint at all of them. I mean, no one drives past the Grand Canyon because it’s shut, do they?

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About Scot’s Eggs:

It’s egg-hunt season, but Lexy’s spending Easter hunting a killer!

Not even Cuento’s Easter bonnet parade can distract Lexy Campbell from fertility woes and missing tourists Bill and Billie Miller. The Millers’ vintage Mustang has been abandoned, its interior covered in blood.

Is this a double murder, and if so, where are the bodies? Why were the Millers spending the night in their car? Did they pitch up at the Last Ditch Motel only to be turned away? Are they really dead? Trinity for Trouble are on the case!

As they start to identify the guests staying at the motel the weekend before Easter – including a Goth and a barbershop singer on stilts – disturbing evidence comes to light. Can Lexy see though all the deception to unmask the truth and save the Last Ditch?

Kirkus said: “a loopy, lovable Northern California crew … a baffling double murder … a brisk, clever whodunit”

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About Catriona:

Serial awards-botherer, Catriona McPherson (she/her) was born in Scotland and immigrated to the US in 2010. A former linguistics professor, she is now a full-time fiction writer and has published: preposterous 1930s private-detective stories about a toff; realistic 1940s amateur-sleuth stories about an oik; and contemporary psychothriller standalones. These are all set in Scotland with a lot of Scottish weather. She also writes modern comic crime capers about a Scot-out-of-water in a “fictional” college town in Northern California sneezedavissneeze.

Catriona is a proud lifetime member and former national president of Sisters in Crime. http://www.catrionamcpherson.com