My latest release, a romantic suspense entitled Suicide Lake, is slated for release on May 20, 2016. For a limited time, you can snag the ebook for only $.99!
Those
who have secrets…
Renee Thornton is on the brink of despair, ready to take a final plunge and join the other tragic souls at the bottom of Bradford Lake—known to locals as Suicide Lake.
Beneath the murky waters…
Her plans change when she’s startled back to reality after a body brushes up against her from the depths below. Terrified, Renee runs away and slams into her old flame Cliff Simpson, a deputy with Whitten County Sheriff’s Department.
Will stop at nothing…
Strange events unfurl after the discovery of the corpse. Renee and Cliff find themselves caught up in a web of lies, deceit, and mystery.
To keep them hidden…
Now instead of being able to slip away silently and become another anonymous statistic, Renee finds herself entangled in a murder investigation. Is Cliff her ally or enemy? Who can she trust? What other secrets will rise to the surface?
Renee Thornton is on the brink of despair, ready to take a final plunge and join the other tragic souls at the bottom of Bradford Lake—known to locals as Suicide Lake.
Beneath the murky waters…
Her plans change when she’s startled back to reality after a body brushes up against her from the depths below. Terrified, Renee runs away and slams into her old flame Cliff Simpson, a deputy with Whitten County Sheriff’s Department.
Will stop at nothing…
Strange events unfurl after the discovery of the corpse. Renee and Cliff find themselves caught up in a web of lies, deceit, and mystery.
To keep them hidden…
Now instead of being able to slip away silently and become another anonymous statistic, Renee finds herself entangled in a murder investigation. Is Cliff her ally or enemy? Who can she trust? What other secrets will rise to the surface?
Partial
sneak peek at Chapter One!
POOR ME.
Poor little Renee Michelle
Runsford, nee, Thornton.
That’s what people would say when
my body was discovered, all bloated and flesh missing from being nibbled on by
fish. Yet another sad story to be passed around on social media then forgotten.
Boom! A big firework exploding in the sky for all to see and ogle. A burst of
excitement for people to ooohh and aaahh over. When the bright lights
disappeared, memories of me would last no longer than the smoky remnants.
Boo-freaking-hoo.
I threw a pebble into the water,
watching the ripples spread out from the point of entry. They started out small
then widened into large, lopsided circles. Some of the edges caught the orange
rays of the disappearing sun, making the water look like it was on fire.
I didn’t miss the comparison to my
life.
***
THE FIRST BIG boulder that crashed into my personal space
happened at thirteen. Up until then, though not anywhere near close to the
words normal or perfect, my life had been…tolerable. My father, the late, great
piece of shit known to others as
Raymond—I’m—too—much—of—a—Redneck—to—have—a—middle—name Thornton, disappeared
from my life. Mom—the always sad and perpetually whiny Caroline Clark Thornton,
told me dear old Dad found a new family to spend time with rather than us.
I was so hurt, so saddened to see
Mom in such pain, I didn’t question her story. I was too preoccupied with other
things like helping to pay the bills and attempting to maintain my grades.
Determined to be supportive, I lied about my age and snagged my first job at a
laundromat. The pay was pathetic yet it did help put food on the table.
Unfortunately, some of the money
made its way to Gene’s Liquor Store and bought bottles of wine. I didn’t
realize the connection until a few years later. By then, it was too late to
help. Caroline—I—was—once—the—Homecoming—Queen Thornton was a raging alcoholic.
***
THE NEXT ROCK thrown into my personal pond happened three
years later and I still felt the ripples even after all this time. After a long
Saturday working at the laundromat I arrived home and discovered Mom in a
drunken stupor. Unlike most times when she overindulged and simply cried
herself to sleep, ol’ Caroline Thornton was on a rampage. The ugly memories
clouded my vision, my mother’s words as fresh in my mind as the day she spoke
them.
“He left us! The no good, dirty,
piece-of-shit! Left us to fend for ourselves. How could he? I mean, he married the Caroline Clark! I was homecoming
queen, you know. Could’ve had any man I wanted in this county, yet I picked
him. Gave him a family. Took care of our home. Cooked dinner. Serviced him whenever he wanted.
Ungrateful bastard.”
“Mom, I think you’ve had enough
for one night.”
“Don’t you talk to me like I’m a
child, Renee! I’m the mother here. I’ll say when I’ve had enough, and I haven’t
yet. Don’t think there’s enough booze in the world to forget what he did to me.
To us.”
“Okay, Mom. I’m going to fix some
coffee. It’s been a really long day. Would you like some?”
“Oh, my sweet Renee. Always
looking out for me. Of course I would. You make the best coffee.”
“Thanks. I’ve had a lot of
practice,” I muttered.
Fortunately, Mom was too
intoxicated to catch my heavy sarcasm.
“You should let me highlight your
hair. It’s too boring. You’ll never catch a man with that pile of mouse fur on
your head. Some blonde streaks would help. And why aren’t you wearing any
makeup? A lady should always put her best face on when she leaves the house. If
you keep going out looking so frumpy, people will think you’re nothing but
poor, white trash. You could be beautiful, Renee, just like me, if you try a
little.”
“We are poor, Mom.”
“Well that certainly isn’t my
fault! It’s your father’s. I’ve been trying to get a raise at work, but so far,
no luck.”
“Maybe you should look for a
different job, Mom. You’ve been slaving away at the store for years. If that
doesn’t work, Mr. Richardson might give you one if you quit missing so much
work.”
“Oh, little miss high and mighty!
Big words coming from a girl who works in a laundromat all day! What you do
isn’t near the stress I have at work.
Period.”
“Here, Mom. Have some hot coffee.”
For a few minutes, the
conversation dwindled down to nothing but sporadic comments about mundane
things, mostly about my boring face, bland choice of clothing, and mousey hair.
I thought the night would end on a somewhat normal note. I was used to Mom’s
constant bitching about my appearance.
Boy, was I wrong.
After Mom finished her coffee, she
pushed the empty cup to the center of the table. She fumbled around looking for
a cigarette in the pockets of her tattered robe. Twice, she nearly fell from
the chair. Once she found the pack, lit one, blew a heavy plume of smoke from
thin lips smeared with red lipstick, she dropped the bombshell.
“Your dad didn’t leave us.”
Stunned, I replied, “What do you
mean? Of course he did! For that Cyndi chick who worked at Snack-n-Go.
Remember?”
“I sort of lied. To protect you.”
“Sort of lied to protect me?
Exactly what does that mean? Did he leave you for another man or something?” I
blurted out.
For the first time in years, Mom
laughed. It was a strange sound, mixed with the heavy wetness constantly in the
chest of a smoker. “Wow, sixteen and already a hard-core cynic. No, Renee, your
dad wasn’t gay. He was a cheater like I said. And he did have an affair with
Cyndi Robertson.”
Confused yet curious, I asked,
“Then what part of your story was a lie?”
“That he left us.”
Irritated at her drunken
ramblings, I stood and went to the sink, unwilling to listen to any more. “I’m
going to take a shower and do my homework. Goodnight, Mom.”
“No, you aren’t. Sit down, I’m not
finished with getting this off my chest. I’ve got to. If I don’t, I think I’ll
go insane.”
Mom never shared her innermost
thoughts and feelings with me. Something about the tone in her voice made the
hairs stand up on my arms. “I’m listening.”
“I suspected he was cheating, so
one night, I followed him. He said he was going for a ride on his Harley to
clear his head. I knew he was lying because I saw it behind his eyes. Sure
enough, I caught them together at Bradford Lake. Oh, I was so angry. One
minute, I was screaming and yelling at them both, and the next, I was standing
at the water’s edge covered in blood.”
“You…are you saying you killed
Dad?” I whispered.
“Yep. And Cyndi. Took a tire iron
and smashed their cheating heads in. Dumped them and the bike in the lake and
came home.”
***
MOM’S WORDS HAD burned a hole
in my chest. I left that night, running out of the house despite her drunken
pleas to come back. I ran down the dark street of our trailer park, through the
center of town, out past the baseball fields, until I collapsed into a sobbing
heap.
The only comfort I found was in
the arms of the man who would end up being my ex. He happened by and saw me
crying and pulled up. His strong arms enveloped me in a warm embrace while I
wept. He didn’t ask what was wrong, just provided companionship.
Oh, and a bottle of tequila, which
we drank together under the moonlight until both of us were so drunk, I’m not sure
how we ended up having sex.
We did, and the stick turned blue
two months later.
A month before I gave birth, Mom
died in a car accident on her way home from a bar, and I married the father of
my child. A sweet, baby boy who only lived for six months. Burying the little
body of my son sent me to my first trip inside a psychiatric hospital.
Things had been screwed up ever
since.
Now I was homeless after losing my
oh-so-exciting menial job. The job prospects were nil for a forty-nine-year-old
high school dropout living in a small town. With minimal education, I didn’t
qualify for much. I couldn’t compete with young, twenty-somethings who were
well schooled in technology. Unemployment kept me fed and the lights on but
wasn’t enough to pay the mortgage. After the six months of minuscule checks
stopped, I couldn’t even afford the filing fee for bankruptcy.
No siblings. No children. No
extended family. No close friends willing to take me in, so things boiled down
to one, horrifying truth.
I’d been forced to rely on a woman
who for years had been a painful thorn in my side. With my house in
foreclosure, I swallowed my pride and showed up on the doorstep of Eleanor
Runsford. To her credit, she opened the door and ushered me inside. I’d been
living in a back bedroom, hiding myself from the world, for two months.
God really had a sick sense of
humor and to be quite honest, I was tired of it.
Staring down at the worn out
comforter I brought with me, I let a deep sigh escape, feeling oddly connected
to the disheveled rag. At one point, it
had been a vibrant collage of colors, loved by someone, a warm treasure they
snuggled up to every night.
Not anymore. The colors had faded
into a dingy mishmash of nothing, a used up rag cared for by no one. Tossed uncaringly into a back bedroom where
no one would see it. Just like me. No
one would ever miss the pile of thread should it disappear, and I doubted
anyone would really miss me, either.
***
I ROLLED THE full bottle of Xanax around in my hands for the
longest moment. The small piece of plastic, a worthless outer shell that would
serve as proof I took my own life, was one of the last things I would ever
touch.
How utterly symbolic.
Although Eleanor had a myriad of
medications to choose from, Xanax seemed the fastest avenue and was the one she
had the most of. This was not the first time I contemplated killing myself but
I had never come this close to actually accomplishing it. The previous times I
entertained these thoughts I was like Hamlet, lamenting my lot in life and all
the sadness and pain that had been my constant companion. All the other times I
stopped myself, unwilling to end my life for fear of God’s retribution against
suicide.
When these morbid, suicidal
thoughts entered my mind, it was due to a panicked state I created over an
event leading me to want to end it all. I would bounce between hysterical
crying jags to under-the-covers-for-days bouts of depression.
This time was different. My mind
was no longer like a tennis ball bouncing around a tennis
court. No more thoughts bounding wildly from one side to the other. A few weeks
ago, I began wandering into the deepest, darkest recesses and crouched in the
back corner, closing every tie to my world as I
went. And as my mind retreated, my soul
followed, veering so far away from God I just didn’t care anymore if offing
myself would damn me for all eternity.
Hell, I was damned right here on Earth
already.
Fear of fire and brimstone was
replaced by this constant throbbing of mind-numbing memories. My new medical
issues didn’t help any, either. I wanted more than anything to vanquish
everything away. To blink my eyes just once and start over; to be the recipient
of some other-worldly miracle. Seriously, just to clasp, even if only briefly,
onto the notion that there was some sort of hope.
Those wishes never came to pass,
so here I sat, ready for the end.
The enjoyment of life had been
drained from my body and soul with each wound I sustained over the years. I was
being bled dry and the final mortal wounds came this year, one right after
another. Vicious blows that didn’t just knock me on my ass but stomped me into
the ground. Now, I was a lifeless corpse
stumbling through life with no purpose or direction.
It was time to go. Time to join
the others and take the plunge into Suicide Lake.
***
I LOOKED OUT across the water and over to the tree line.
Gray, leafless and dead; a perfect summation of what my life had become. My
final day in this wretched world and my last view was of dead trees, a used up
comforter, and gripping a plastic pill bottle.
Why would I have expected more?
Uncapping the lid, I shook out my
salvation, counting them as I went. Twenty pills seemed enough to do the trick,
so I grabbed my water bottle in my lap to chase them. I wanted my body to
become as tranquil as the water in front of me, ready for the constant ache in
my back and heart, to cease.
The sun was almost gone. Three
pills downed, I stopped. Before swallowing any more, I took in one last look of
the beautiful lake. I understood, fully and completely, why others came to this
spot to end their lives. The tranquility was a welcome reprieve from the
chaotic world. A final memory burned into the brain of peace and beauty.
I glanced back down when something
hard bumped against my foot. The last glint of the sun’s rays danced off the
top of the water. Squinting, I noticed the dark, red glow was back.
Instead of basking in the lovely
color on the gentle ripples, I screamed.
The red sheen wasn’t from the sun.
It was from blood, and it coated
my feet, which rested right next to a stiff hand poking up from the depths
below.
I jumped to my feet, scrambling to
get away from the corpse. The comforter, water bottle, and pills went flying.
Instead of going after them, I let them disappear under the water.
Heart pounding and body shaking, I
backed away from the edge of the boardwalk. My first instinct was to grab my
cell and call for help. I felt around in my pocket, only to remember I didn’t
bring it with me because it had been turned off three days earlier for
nonpayment.
“Damnit!”
“Ma’am? Are you okay?”
Spinning around, I came
face-to-face with a man. It took me several seconds to realize he was a cop.
And I knew him.
“Clifton! You scared the shit out
of me! What are you…oh, never mind. I’m just glad you’re here. I, uh, didn’t
bring my phone, so I was going to head to town and call for help.”
Clifton Simpson walked toward me.
In the dimming light, dressed in his uniform with the vest underneath giving
him extra padding, he seemed bigger than I remembered.
“Renee? Renee Runsford?”
“Thornton. I changed back after my
divorce.”
Clifton moved closer, all of his
six-foot plus frame only inches away. He smelled like stale coffee, sweat, and
cheap cologne. I hadn’t seen him in years but recognized the thick head of jet
black hair—now interspersed with flecks of white—and his deep, rhythmic voice.
How I didn’t hear him walking down the boardwalk earlier escaped me. Guess I
was too wrapped up inside thoughts of my horrible life.
“Oh, that’s right. Forgot. Sorry.
So, we got a call from a concerned citizen. Said they saw a woman sitting out
here on the edge of the dock, alone. Asked for a unit to stop by and check it
out, so here I am. What are you doing out here, Renee? You been drinking? You
look unsteady.”
“My mother was the drinker in my
family, not me, so no. I look unsteady because I just touched a dead body.”
“Excuse me?” Clifton replied. His
forehead knitted together in disbelief and confusion. “A body?”
Stepping away, I moved to the edge
of the dock and pointed. “Yeah, body. Didn’t you hear me scream?”
Clifton pulled out a flashlight
and walked past me, peering over the edge. “I did, but thought…oh, shit.
Doesn’t really matter at this point what I thought.”
Backing away, Clifton put his arm
on my chest, forcing me to step back. He grabbed the microphone on his shoulder
and radioed for assistance.
The warm breeze from earlier was
gone, along with the annoying mosquitoes. Darkness settled like a death shroud
over the lake. A chill of fear made me shiver. Clifton noticed and led me to
his unit. He pulled out a jacket and handed it to me.
“You should’ve worn something
warmer,” he said.
“Wasn’t planning on staying out
here long,” I grumbled. My mood was deteriorating as the Xanax flowed through
my veins. Sirens wailed in the distance. “May I go now? Sounds like your
buddies are close.”
“Sorry, Renee, but you’ll need to
stay here until one of the detectives speak with you.”
Aghast, worried they’d notice I
was barred out, I opened my mouth to protest. I shut it just as fast when I
remembered the pills—and the bottle with Eleanor’s name—had fallen into the
lake.
The radio on Clifton’s shoulder
crackled to life, saving me from having to respond. The sirens were closer and
I could see headlights bouncing through the winding road leading to the lake.
So much for a quiet, peaceful
evening to end my life. There certainly would be noise and activity now.
Damn.
Of course, someone else’s tragedy
trumped my own.
Figures.
Available now for only $.99 at the
following retail sites:
Audiobook coming soon, narrated by the
incredible Sara Morsey!
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