linguist, she now writes full-time. Her multi-award-winning and national best-selling work includes: the Dandy Gilver historical detective stories, the Last Ditch mysteries, set in California, and a strand of contemporary standalone novels including Edgar-finalist The Day She Died and Mary Higgins Clark finalist Strangers at the Gate. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, The Crimewriters’ Association, The Society of Authors and Sisters in Crime, of which she is a former national president.
McPherson applied the Page 69 Test to her new novel, The Witching Hour, and reported the following:
From page 69:Visit Catriona McPherson's website.to be getting back. I’ve done him up the best I can, the poor soul. It was the least I could offer him.’Page 69 is spookily efficient at indicating the tone and content of The Witching Hour, actually.
‘The least . . . ?’
‘A winding sheet and a posy of herbs,’ she said. ‘I’m not an undertaker. It’s a black day for Dirleton this. And we didn’t need another one. Well, I don’t need to tell you.’
She bobbed a polite curtsy then and left me. As her footsteps faded on the stairs, ringing out like knocks on a door from her wooden pattens, I heard a latch and turned to see Alec’s face peering out. ‘What the dickens?’ he said. ‘I didn’t see whoever that was, Dandy, but I heard her. There is something very odd going on around here. What on earth do you suppose these fabled writers are coming to write?’
‘I haven’t the faintest clue,’ I said. ‘But that’s the second time someone’s spoken of “her”.’
‘Well we must find her, wouldn’t you say?’
‘How?’ I demanded. It came out like a howl, as it so easily does if one’s tone of voice is not quite under one’s command.
‘The landlord’s back,’ Alec said. ‘He just brought a coffin into the yard on a little cart. I saw him from my window.’
‘Let’s ask him who “she” is then,’ I said. ‘Better than asking Miss Clarkson.’
‘Why’s that?’ said Alec.
It was not until I opened my mouth to answer him that I realised I did not know. Not for the first time since arriving in Dirleton, I shivered. I decided not to look around for open windows or doors ajar. I decided to believe there was a draught and not dislodge that belief by checking.
There's enough historical detail to let a prospective reader know this isn't present-day. There's a corpse being laid out in a winding sheet with a posy of herbs (which couldn't have done much, in my opinion) and Dandy and Alec, my detectives, are skulking about overhearing mystifying references to persons unknown, which tells you this is in the crime genre. There's mention of "her" - and not the first - which is gratifying for a book with the word "witch" right there in the title. And there's Dandy's subconscious knowing more than the rest of her. She's clocked Miss Clarkson as problematic, and blurts it out, with no idea why. Finally, there's a hint of the book's tone: a bit of creep and Dandy's attempt at briskness in the face of it. I think if someone found page 69 tedious, they'd be well-advised to swerve the rest of the story. But if someone felt intrigued, they wouldn't be sorry for committing.
The Page 69 Test: Go to My Grave.
My Book, The Movie: The Turning Tide.
The Page 69 Test: The Turning Tide.
My Book, The Movie: A Gingerbread House.
The Page 69 Test: Hop Scot.
The Page 69 Test: Deep Beneath Us.
Q&A with Catriona McPherson.
--Marshal Zeringue
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