Murder in Treggan Bay

Behind the Pages

Each summer, I find myself wandering the coast paths of Devon—those ribbon-thin trails that flirt with the edge of the sea—wondering what secrets might be tucked beneath the rocks and gorse. The air smells of salt and wild thyme; the cottages huddle together against the wind, their stone walls crusted with sea spray, their roofs furred with lichen in the afternoon sun. Tiny gardens bloom between them—lavender, mint, and mischief. It’s the sort of place where stories don’t need to be written; they simply rise from the soil like mist after rain.

And it was there, between the leaning chimney stacks and gossiping gulls, that I stumbled upon Noah Yalland—London journalist, resourceful enough to untangle Parliament but somehow incapable of boiling an egg without supervision. He arrived in Treggan Bay like an uninvited guest at a wake and, naturally, tripped over a murder before he had his first cup of coffee.

Among the so-called ‘charming’ residents, Noah found himself reluctantly untangling one mystery after another—if only to make it back in time for supper with Leo, who has the patience of a saint and the griddle of a tyrant.

Jern Tonkoi