A tourist’s death, an alluring young teacher, a father’s carnal desires, and a stepdaughter’s vendetta: The Tarnished Son, Domestic Suspense by Elizabeth McKenna Book Sale with Giveaway
A tourist’s death, an alluring young teacher, a father’s carnal desires, and a stepdaughter’s vendetta ultimately destroy a village dynasty.
The Tarnished Son
by Elizabeth McKenna
Genre: Domestic Suspense
“This is a nice, quiet town. Things like that don’t happen around here.”
But they do.
In THE
TARNISHED SON, a tourist’s death, an alluring young teacher, a
father’s carnal desires, and a stepdaughter’s vendetta ultimately
destroy a village dynasty.
The respected
Clark family has governed Williams Bay since 1837. On a hot August
day, seventeen-year-old Liam causes a tragic boating accident. What
happens next—infidelity, drugs, theft, and more—deepens
long-hidden cracks in the family’s façade, exposing their secrets
and tarnishing their golden image.
Meet the
family:
William Sr.,
the grandfather who rules the family and the village with an iron
fist
Hank, the father who lets temptations lead him on a path of
self-destruction
Liam, the shining son who gets away with
everything
Rose, the stepdaughter who has had enough and pushes
the whole house down
Grab some
popcorn and watch the destruction unfold in Elizabeth McKenna's
unpredictable family drama!
Praise for The Tarnished Son
“I could not guess where the story was going, and I found the plot to be interesting and dramatic, but also believable.” ~ Lacy Challe, beta reader
“The book caught my attention really quick, and I found myself invested in the story right away.” ~ Kathleen Fossum, beta reader
Goodreads – 5 stars “This was a wonderful book. Each chapter brings another twist or an unexpected turn of events. Each character surprises you throughout the book. You think you know them and then wow, you really don’t. If you love a book that is filled with twists, turns and interesting characters this is the one for you! It is one you will not be able to put down!”
Goodreads – 4 stars “A steady paced, suspenseful drama. This was well written and easy to read. Intriguing and heartbreaking.”
**Get it for Only .99cents for a limited time!**
ROSE
Saturday, September 2
Entry from the Journal of Rose McCabe:
I can’t sleep. We saw a man drown today.
Liam killed a man today on Geneva Lake, and we didn’t tell the whole truth.
***
Earlier
My phone buzzed for the
tenth time in the past half hour. My stepbrother, who made it clear I was a
waste of space and deserved to be ignored or tormented based on his mood,
needed me.
I deleted his message without opening it.
It was the last Saturday before Liam, or William
Henry Clark III, per his high school registration forms, began his senior year.
But instead of being happy that he was a little more than nine months away from
freedom, Liam and his best friend Sawyer were feeling the end-of-summer blues
and dreading the start of teachers and sports monopolizing their lives. They
decided the only cure for their misery would be an afternoon on Geneva Lake
with girls in bikinis.
But none of their friends were home, and I had
become my stepbrother’s last resort, which baffled me. Had he spared my life
more than a glance over the past five years, he would have noticed my minuscule
social circle. So, even if I wanted to help him out, I couldn’t.
I adjusted the pillows on my bed for a more
comfortable reading position. Liam called me a nerd and a bookworm, thinking
these were hurtful insults. But it was better than being a shallow jock like
him and his friends.
A page later, someone knocked on my bedroom door.
Would Liam plead his case in person? It went against our unwritten rule of
exchanging no more than one to two sentences when forced to be in the same
room. An unfamiliar sense of power over my stepbrother gave me the courage to
continue ignoring him.
“Rose? Can I come in?” Mom’s muffled voice came
from behind the door.
I winced, realizing my rudeness toward the only
person who mattered to me in the house. “Yes, sorry. I didn’t hear you knock.”
She opened the door, and I held up my book. “Guess
I was lost in another world.”
A frown marred the pixie-like features of her
face. “Sometimes, you need to be in this world, honey.”
I pressed a knuckle against my lips to keep from
asking why. It was an old and tired argument, and I knew what Mom would reply.
Though I loved her to the moon and back, our personalities were polar
opposites, which left us at odds every so often. Where she blossomed in a room
full of people, I shrank into the nearest dark corner, enduring a slow death.
“I hear Liam wants a favor from you,” she said as
she sat on my bed, her feet dangling above the floor.
More out of habit than anything else, she leaned
over and twisted a lock of my unruly dirt-colored hair away from my face. It
was another trait we didn’t share, as her ash-blond hair framed her face in a
bob that swung with every move of her head but then settled into place when she
stilled. The only things I inherited from her were my brown eyes, slim build,
and below-average height, which I would gladly return for a refund. Genetics
was so temperamental.
She took my silence as a willingness to continue
listening to her pitch. “It’s obvious you kids don’t get along. It distresses
Hank and me, but we understand. Blended families can be hard. However, Liam is
reaching out to you. Maybe this could be a turning point in your relationship.”
My real dad was a US contractor working in Iraq
when the enemy ambushed his convoy. I was six when he died. We were living in
Chicago, but growing up, Mom spent her summers in Williams Bay, and that’s how
she knew Hank. They reconnected via social media several years after Dad’s
death and married when I was ten. Hank’s first wife divorced him after deciding
small-town life wasn’t for her. I overheard Liam tell Sawyer she was a street
artist in Paris.
“He wants me to pimp out some of my girlfriends.”
I glared at my phone, which had buzzed again. “Like I even have any.”
“I think both of those statements are pretty
harsh,” Mom chided, but her voice was kind. “He wants to have fun on the last
weekend of summer. Don’t you?”
My fingers tightened around the book in my lap.
“Actually, I was.”
Sunday, September 3
My son paced the living
room his current wife, Nora, had redecorated five times in the past three
years. She called this version Shabby Chic, which meant filling the room with
pillows, flowers, fake crystal lamps, and brand-new scuffed-up furniture. When
she crowed about the great deal she got on a pair of bookcases that looked
ready for the junkyard, I thought P.T. Barnum was right. There’s a sucker born
every minute.
Irritation spread through my body, growing into
anger that threatened to choke me as I watched Hank from my recliner by the
fireplace. Side by side, it was clear we were related. We were both six feet
tall with the same blue eyes and strong jaw the previous generations of Clark
men shared, but that was where the similarities ended. At seventy-five years
old and despite a recent hip replacement, I had the physique and at least
eighty percent of the strength I had at fifty-five. My son walked around in a “dad
bod,” whatever the hell that was. My brown hair had long ago turned gray, and I
made weekly trips to the barbershop to keep it high and tight. At forty-seven
years old, Hank pampered his brown curls with fancy products his wife bought at
a beauty salon. He was a weak man and my biggest disappointment.
Hank paused before the mantel, picked up a family
portrait, and studied it with weepy eyes. “I’m worried about Liam.”
“Why?” I demanded. “The boy seems fine.”
He shook his head. “Liam needs to talk about what
happened and how he feels. If you suppress a trauma, you’ll end up sick, both
mentally and physically.”
I sighed heavily and added an eye roll. “Did you
read that medical advice on Facebook or Instagram?”
“I’m serious, Dad,” he whined. “We need to do
something for him.”
The
doorbell rang, and Hank looked bewildered as if he had never had a visitor.
I stomped my cane against the floor, but the thick
carpet muffled my intended effect. “For goodness’ sake, don’t stand there like
an imbecile. Answer the door.”
He hurried from the room, obeying my command. A
moment later, he returned with the village’s police chief.
“Don’t get up, William,” the chief said as I
scooted forward in my chair.
I nodded my thanks and shook the hand he offered
me. “This hip replacement is more trouble than it’s worth. The doctor says to
give it time, but what the hell does he know? Anyway, have a seat, David. I
assume you’re not here to listen to me bellyache. Hank, pour the chief some
coffee. He takes cream, no sugar.”
Hank’s eyes widened as if I had asked him to
perform open-heart surgery. “I’ll have to make some. There isn’t any left from
breakfast.”
My single raised eyebrow at this earth-shattering
news spurred him from the room.
The chief wedged himself into what remained of the
couch after Nora had added two rows of unnecessary pillows. He leaned toward
me, rested his forearms on his thighs, and clasped his hands. “I was wondering
if I could talk to Liam again.”
“Oh? Why?” I lifted my voice in surprise, though I
had expected his visit. David wasn’t the sharpest police chief, but he was
thorough. “You have his statement, and the boy is so upset that I would hate to
put him through any more pain. He’s barely left his room since last
night.”
The chief’s forehead creased as he studied his
knuckles. “You see, William.” He paused to clear his throat. “A witness to
yesterday’s drowning has come forward. His story differs from Liam’s, so we
need to confirm what actually happened before I can close the case.”
“I don’t
understand. Didn’t the other children on the boat give the same account of this
tragic accident as Liam?”
“Yes,” the chief agreed. “Almost verbatim.”
“There you have it.” I slapped my thigh. “Your
witness must be mistaken. Perhaps they were too far away to see everything
clearly? Or the afternoon sun blinded them?”
The chief squirmed on the couch. “The witness was
on the lake path, which is a fair distance, but his version of the event seems
plausible.”
“In what way, David?” I kept my tone even with a
touch of indifference to display we had nothing to hide or worry about.
He coughed into his fist, a stall tactic he often
used when meeting with the village trustees. “The witness said a boat with two
males and three females was coming at high speed into the bay and directly at
the man on the paddleboard. When the driver swerved to avoid the man, he
created a wake that caused the man to lose his balance and fall in. His
description of the boat and the people on board matches your boat and the
kids.”
Tuesday, September 5
Dad told me before I left
this morning that he had solved Liam’s “problem,” and the news was icing on the
day’s cake. With that worry settled, I could concentrate on all the things I
had been looking forward to for the past three months.
I loved the first day of the school year, even
though some of the teachers and most of the students didn’t. Every fall in the
staff lounge and throughout the hallways, I heard, “Summer went so fast,” and
“I wasn’t ready to come back.” But I never agreed. When classes ended in early
June, I counted down the days until September. I delighted in the energy of the
grade schoolers and the snarkiness of the high schoolers. I relished the
opportunity to change a child’s life. As superintendent of the Williams Bay
School District, it was my world, and I ruled with a just and kind hand.
I passed the student-painted wall mural of our
bulldog mascot near the front entrance and swept my fingers over his face. Our
sprawling building housed kindergarten through fifth grade in the east wings
and sixth through twelfth in the west wings. In the center, there were shared
spaces, such as the cafeteria, two gyms, and an auditorium.
The bell for period one would ring in about twenty
minutes, and I still had two hallways to go. As a tradition on the first day, I
made it a point to say good morning to every teacher and check in with any new
hires. I never wanted to be the aloof boss behind a closed door.
I stuck my head into what was now Ms. Taylor’s
science lab and classroom. She replaced an obnoxious, bitter woman who played
favorites and pitted students against each other. I finally had enough of the
drama and told the school board not to renew her contract. She could be someone
else’s misery this year.
I knocked on the open door, always respecting the
teacher’s domain. “Ms. Taylor? Sorry to interrupt.”
The young lady sat at her desk, her teaching
materials spread before her, and was as pretty as I remembered. Of course, she
had been impeccably dressed for her interview, but once hired, people often
leaned toward the bare minimum in meeting any written dress code. In fact, when
I greeted the gym teacher earlier, I had to remind him the heavy metal band
T-shirt he wore was inappropriate. After twenty years of employment, you’d
think he could remember that.
But Ms. Taylor didn’t disappoint me. Her blouse
was a flattering green color that enhanced the red of her long auburn hair, and
the floral scarf around her neck added a touch of dressiness without going
overboard.
Her lips—painted
a nonoffensive peach shade—curved
into a friendly grin. “Good morning, Dr. Clark. And please call me Madison.”
“Only if you call me Hank,” I said with a smile.
On her tidy desk, the latest yearbook, open to
students’ photos, sat alongside a small stack of class lists.
“I like to match a face with a name before I meet
them.” She lowered her gaze, looking sheepish. “I feel at a disadvantage being
new.”
“What an excellent idea.” Pride straightened my
spine as she validated my recommendation to hire her straight out of college.
“But never fear. By the end of the week, you’ll feel like you’ve been here
forever.”
Her expression turned uncertain, and worry lines
broke out across her smooth skin. After a beat of silence, she said, “I hope
so.”
I clapped my hands together. “I won’t bother you
any longer. I only wanted to say hello and ask if you needed anything.”
She pushed away from her desk, swiveled slightly
in her chair, and crossed her legs. Her black skirt slid up to reveal more of
her toned thighs. Any man with a heartbeat would have appreciated the view, and
I was no exception. I took a moment to savor the result of her workout routine
before diverting my eyes to her face.
She pursed her full lips, tapped the pen she held
against them, and then shook her head. “I can’t think of anything right now.”
“Awesome. But if something comes up, please don’t
hesitate to find me. If I’m not in my office, check the halls. I like to
wander.”
“Thank you…Hank.”
“Have a fantastic first day, Madison.” I left the
room whistling.
Yep. It was great to be back.
Wednesday, September 6
We hadn’t even tasted our
pork chops at dinner before Grandpa wielded his fork at Rose.
“The DA wants your account of the paddleboarder
accident. Apparently, you neglected to give a statement to the police. They
won’t close the case until you do.”
She froze like a cornered animal, and I almost
felt sorry for her. For the most part, she flew under Grandpa’s radar, being
too insignificant in his world to bother with. She turned a panicky face toward
her mom, silently begging for rescue.
Nora patted her daughter’s hand. “I’ll take Rose
to the station tomorrow after school. Will that be soon enough for you?”
Grandpa grunted. “Make sure her version matches
Liam’s. I want this investigation to end.”
“What else would she say?” I asked, searching
everyone’s expressions. “Do you all think I’m lying?”
Dad and Nora made soothing sounds at me while
Grandpa picked at his teeth. Rose shrank further into her chair.
“Truth or lie, it doesn’t matter as long as we
show a united front.” Grandpa sawed off a piece of meat and inspected it, his
lip curling with disgust. “I hope your wife learns to cook someday for your
sake, Hank.”
“Do something, or I will,” Nora growled in a low
voice to Dad, who was in mid-swallow and started coughing, making him unable or
unwilling to stand up for his wife.
I slammed a fist on the table, and the silverware
jumped, adding an exclamation point to my anger. “I want to know if you believe
me.”
Grandpa looked up from his plate with cold eyes.
“Stop being so dramatic, Liam.”
“This is bullshit.” I bolted from the dining room,
and Grandpa yelled for me to come back. I was rarely so disrespectful to him,
and my feet slowed on the stairs as I considered the consequences. But then,
the thought of falling into a drug-induced sleep, void of any nightmares
featuring an old man drowning, had me moving again.
Elizabeth McKenna’s love of books reaches back to her childhood, where her tastes ranged from Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys to Stephen King’s horror stories.
Her novels reflect her mercurial temperament and include romances, mysteries, and suspense. Some are “clean,” and some are “naughty,” so she has a book for your every mood.
Elizabeth lives in Wisconsin with her understanding husband and Sidney, the rescue dog from Tennessee. When she isn’t writing, reading, or walking the dog that never tires, she’s sleeping.
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Thank you for spotlighting my new release!
ReplyDeleteSounds like a book I will enjoy.
ReplyDeleteThis looks very exciting. Thanks for sharing and hosting this tour.
ReplyDeleteI like the excerpt. Sounds good.
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