If someone had told me that I’d be a widow at age 36 and heading off to spend a weekend with my glamorous big sister in a hotel on a remote island that I’d never heard of but now apparently belonged to me, I would have thought them mad.

For a start, my beloved Robert had been in excellent health and passed his recent medical with flying colors and secondly, Margot lived five thousand miles away in California. The minute I called her and broke the news, she took a flight to Heathrow that very same night.

As siblings growing up we couldn’t have been closer. In our early twenties we practically lived next door to each other in London, but then, as often happens, she married a man who whisked her off to Hollywood to work in movies, and I married a man who everyone said was far too old for me, put away my camera, and retreated happily to a quiet corner in Kent.

You could say I was the voice of reason in our sisterly relationship. I was the anchor to Margot’s sense of adventure. She saw intrigue wherever we went. To Margot, the old lady running the post office had been a Russian spy during the Cold War whereas I knew for a fact that Miss Page had lived in the village all her life and only ventured to London once to watch the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. But then that’s Margot. She made life fun.

When Robert’s Will mentioned the Tregarrick Rock hotel in the Isles of Scilly—an archipelago twenty-eight miles off the southwest coast of England—I was surprised. I was even more surprised when Margot suggested that we went “on surveillance” to see what the hotel was like. She thought we should pose as location scouts for a movie and pretend it would star Johnny Depp. I thought it was a bad idea especially since the hotel wasn’t officially mine yet.

I really didn’t want to go but Margot insisted it would be good to take my mind off things and do some “sisterly bonding.” When I pointed out that it was November and anywhere in the British Isles would be miserable out of season, she just laughed.

Having done her research on Tregarrick she told me all about the tiny island with its dramatic rocky outcrops and dazzling white sandy beaches, the Bronze Age burial sites, romantic castle ruins and the exotic gardens peppered with figureheads of galleons salvaged from the many shipwrecks that littered the ocean floor—53 protected sites, to be exact. I had to admit I was intrigued.

So here we are having just disembarked from a two and three-quarter hour ferry ride from Penzance to the main island of St. Mary’s on a flat bottom boat known by the locals as the “Great White Stomach Pump.” I have never felt so seasick in my entire life. I hate boats at the best of times but this . . . I spent the entire journey lying flat on a banquette on the top deck. I didn’t even care about the drizzle—or mizzle as they call it here that is a mixture of drizzle and mist. And even worse, we hadn’t even reached our final destination! We still had one more boat ride to go.

As Margot joked with the ferryman and supervised the transfer of our luggage—she’d brought two enormous Gucci suitcases to my one small bag—I realized just how much I had missed her, although her green-tinted contact lenses that gave off an Exorcist-Linda Blair type vibe would take some getting used to.

Moments later Margot joined me with something wrapped in a paper tissue. “It’s crystallized ginger for nausea,” she said. “The ferryman told me it would help and don’t worry, my hands are clean and it was a new bag.”

I unwrapped the tissue, popped the ginger into my mouth and felt better straight away. “Thanks for looking after me, sis.”

“Don’t be silly. You’d do the same for me. We always look out for each other Evie.” She smiled. “You’ll be fine when we get there. I have a feeling that this is the beginning of a very exciting adventure. There’s no turning back now.”

Little did we know just how prophetic those words would turn out to be!


Giveaway: Leave a comment below for your chance to win one (1) print copy of Death at High Tide, open to everyone. Giveaway ends August 21, 2020. 


Death at High Tide is the first book in the NEW “Island Sisters” cozy mystery series, released August 18, 2020.

Death at High Tide is the delightful first installment in the Island Sisters series by Hannah Dennison, featuring two sisters who inherit an old hotel in the remote Isles of Scilly off the coast of Cornwall and find it full of intrigue, danger, and romance.

When Evie Mead’s husband, Robert, suddenly drops dead of a heart attack, a mysterious note is found among his possessions. It indicates that Evie may own the rights to an old hotel on Tregarrick Rock, one of the Isles of Scilly.

Still grieving, Evie is inclined to leave the matter to the accountant to sort out. Her sister Margot, however, flown in from her glamorous career in LA, has other plans. Envisioning a luxurious weekend getaway, she goes right ahead and buys two tickets—one way—to Tregarrick.

Once at the hotel—used in its heyday to house detective novelists, and more fixer-upper than spa resort, after all—Evie and Margot attempt to get to the bottom of things. But the foul-tempered hotel owner claims he’s never met the late Robert, even after Evie finds framed photos of them—alongside Robert’s first wife—in his office. The rest of the island inhabitants, ranging from an ex-con receptionist to a vicar who communicates with cats, aren’t any easier to read.

But when a murder occurs at the hotel, and then another soon follows, frustration turns to desperation. There’s no getting off the island at high tide. And Evie and Margot, the only current visitors to Tregarrick, are suspects one and two. It falls to them to unravel secrets spanning generations—and several of their own—if they want to make it back alive.

Purchase Link
# # # # # # # # # # #

About the author
Hannah Dennison was born and raised in Hampshire but spent more than two decades living in California. She has been an obituary reporter, antique dealer, private jet flight attendant and Hollywood story analyst. For many years Hannah taught mystery writing workshops at the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program in Los Angeles. In addition to the Island Sisters series, Hannah writes the Honeychurch Hall Mysteries and the Vicky Hill Mysteries both set in the wilds of the Devonshire countryside where she now lives with her two high-spirited Hungarian Vizslas. Visit Hannah’s website at hannahdennison.com.

All comments are welcomed.