Review of ONLY ONE SURVIVES by Hannah Mary McKinnon

On July 20, 2024July 20, 2024 By vickleaIn Book ReviewLeave a comment

ABOUT THE BOOK

On Sale Date: July 16, 2024 9780778305477
Trade Paperback
$18.99 USD
400 pages

Becoming the star is easier when the rest of your band is dead…
All drummer Vienna Taylor ever wanted was to make music. If that came with fame, she’d take it—as long as her best friend, guitarist Madison Pierce, was sharing the spotlight and singing lead. And with their new all-female pop rock band gaining traction, soon everyone would hear their songs…
Except, on the way to an event, the Bittersweet’s van careened off an icy mountain road during a blizzard—leaving one member dead and another severely injured.
In order to survive the frigid night, the rest took shelter in a nearby abandoned cabin. But Vienna’s dreams devolved into a terrifying nightmare as, one by one, her fellow band members met a gruesome end…and Madison simply vanished in the night.
What really happened to the Bittersweet? Did Vienna’s closest friend finally decide to take center stage on her own terms?
She doesn’t want to believe it.
But guilty people run.

My Thoughts

This twisted thriller is full of surprises and revelations that I just didn’t see coming! Sure, there were clues and I did figure out some things about the band and the interactions between the characters, but there was so much that caught me with my mouth open, totally unsuspecting that the book was going in that direction. The story of a rock girl band would normally not be my kind of story because I’m not a rock fan, but the way the story developed, with Madison and Vienna meeting and starting their own duo and then including others who combined to create the sensationally popular Bittersweet, was a compelling read with lots of reasons to keep me reading. The first reason, of course, was that I really wanted to know who survived the horrible accident in the blizzard and what happened to the other members of the band. I could have never guessed the revelations that were like a snowball rolling downhill; they just picked up momentum and kept growing. I was not a real fan of any of the characters because I didn’t consider them particularly likable. On the other hand, all of them were well-developed and dynamic. The plot moved along at a good pace and then, like the revelations, picked up speed and took off like a rocket ship so that once I got to the second part and found out who survived, I really wanted to know what happened in that isolated mountain cabin and why only one survived. What a nail-biting story, with escalating tension and an immersive plot. The reading experience was like no other, with my determination to piece the clues together and the author’s mastery of keeping things secret until she was ready to reveal them. This was brilliantly written and intriguingly complex…highly recommend it, but be prepared to stay up late reading!
Disclaimer
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review, and all opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16th CFR, Part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”

Rated PG-16 for content: General Fiction

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Internationally bestselling author Hannah Mary McKinnon was born in the UK, grew up in Switzerland and moved to Canada in 2010. Her seven suspense novels include NEVER COMING HOME, THE REVENGE LIST, and ONLY ONE SURVIVES, and her work has been optioned for the screen. She also writes holiday romantic comedies as Holly Cassidy. Hannah Mary lives in Oakville, Ontario, Canada with her husband and three sons. You’ll find her on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and Threads as @hannahmarymckinnon, and please visit http://www.hannahmarymckinnon.com for more.
SOCIAL LINKS:
Author website: https://hannahmarymckinnon.com/ X/ Twitter: @HannahMMcKinnon
Instagram: @hannahmarymckinnon

Purchase Links:

EXCERPT

The day of the accident
1
Something screams at me to open my eyes. Just open your eyes. I don’t want to. Darkness thicker than molasses surrounds me like a cloak. It feels safe. Comforting. As if my brain already knows I can’t handle what I’ll see. If I look, no matter how small or fast of a glimpse, I’ll never forget.
As I press my eyes shut, trying to block out the voice in my head, long spindly shadows emerge from the depths of my mind. They beckon me to follow them, down, down, and I give in, ignoring the screaming as I let myself sink deeper and deeper into the stillness, a place of peace.
Vienna, open your eyes.
It won’t go away. Won’t leave me alone. A thought emerges from the thick fog swirling through my brain. The voice isn’t mine. It’s not inside my head. I raise a hand in a feeble attempt to bat the words away.
“Vienna, wake up,” the voice says, clearer now. “Please, please wake up.”
It’s a herculean effort to do as I’m asked, and as my eyes flicker open, I turn my head, glance over my left shoulder.
Madison’s leaning forward and staring at me, her fiery red hair disheveled, her emerald eyes wild, wide with fear and a hint of what might be relief. I’m not sure what to make of the mixture. I’m not sure what to make of anything. I look away, but not before I see tears snake down her cheeks and drop onto her blue hoodie.
“Can you hear me?” she says.
My throat’s dry, rough as sandpaper. I don’t think I can speak but manage to push out a weak-sounding “Yes.” I nod in case Madison didn’t hear, and the movement brings a stabbing pain to the side of my temple. When I touch my head, I feel a tender lump beneath my fingers. Why am I hurt? Why—
Everything returns all at once. A sudden whoosh of thoughts and memories and fear—so much fear—banishing the darkness like birds startled from a tree.
Six of us were in my old Tahoe SUV. The Bittersweet—Madison, Gabi, Evelina, Isabel, and me—plus Libby, the documentary research assistant who’s been shadowing us over the past few weeks. It’s midafternoon in early December, and we were driving from Brooklyn to a holiday party in the Catskills hosted by our record label. A major event Madison insisted we couldn’t miss, no matter what.

No matter the impending storm.
A sequence of images flashes through my mind. Gabi offering to drive because I was tired. The weather turning earlier than expected, and far worse than anything we’d anticipated. Whiteout conditions. Getting lost in the middle of nowhere. A steep, winding, narrow road up a hill. Slippery lanes. Me tightening my grip on the cup of coffee in my hands, opening my mouth to tell Gabi we were perhaps going a little too fast.
And then…
My fists bunch tight as I recall the sudden movement when the Tahoe slid. This is when the memories slow down. It’s as if I’m watching the events unfold from above, all in slow motion. I remember the SUV getting closer and closer to the edge of the road. When I looked out of the passenger window, there was no asphalt left on my side, only the tops of snow-laden trees and a sharp drop below.
Renewed panic rises, making my heart pound. It leaps into my throat, threatening to choke me when I relive the sound of our collective screams as we crashed into the metal barrier.
There was a tiny moment of disbelief. A fraction of an instant when I truly believed we’d be fine, before the barrier gave way, and the Tahoe toppled over the edge of the road, right side first. One second, I thought we’d be all right, we’d be safe, and then we rolled once, twice.
After that…
I search my brain for what came next but there’s nothing.
My coffee cup’s empty, its contents spilled, the scent turning my stomach. At least the
vehicle’s upright now, which I’m grateful for, but the front passenger side where I’m sitting is severely crushed, the windshield and front window shattered, half-gone. Thumb-size snowflakes drift in through the holes, landing on my jacket. As I watch them soak into the fabric and disappear, I long to go back into the darkness. Pretend none of this has happened. Maybe if I escape for a while, everything will be back to normal when I wake up.
Except I know it won’t.
“Are you all right?” I ask Madison, turning around again, and she nods.
I look at the others. Gabi’s in the driver’s seat, shoulders trembling, face pale, but she’s
not making a sound. Libby’s in the back row, one hand over her mouth as she sobs. Evelina’s slumped face down on the floor, her body twisted at an unnatural angle. There’s blood on her jacket. My gaze searches for its origins but can’t find it.
Madison leans over, touches Evelina’s shoulder, but she doesn’t move. Was she knocked unconscious, too? Is that why it’s taking her longer to wake up? My gaze sweeps the rest of the vehicle, my temple throbbing again. It takes me a moment to spot what else is wrong.
There are five of us.
Five.
There should be six.
“Wh-where’s Isabel?” I say. “Where did she—” “Look.”
The tone of Gabi’s whisper makes a shiver tear down my spine. She points to the broken windshield, and I follow her line of sight. At first, I’m unsure of what I’m seeing. A jumble of clothes at the base of a tree? It’s what I tell myself until I register the bright teal color. The exact shade of the puffer jacket Isabel wore when we left Brooklyn. The coat she refused to take off, even after we cranked up the heat.
“No,” I say, wrestling with my seat belt, breaking free. “No, no, no, no.”
Scrambling, I heave myself up and climb over Gabi, hands yanking on the driver’s door. Mercifully, her side opens, and I jump out.

Driven by pure adrenaline, all temptation of going back to the darkness banished for good, I run to the heap of clothes—the heap I know is Isabel—gasping as I fall to my knees at her side.
A tree branch thicker than my arm is embedded in the left side of her chest where her heart should be, her shirt torn and spattered with deep red. Her eyes are open, staring at the gray skies above, but she doesn’t blink. She doesn’t move.
A guttural scream rises from deep within me, and I put my head back to let it escape. Before it can emerge, the smell of smoke makes the noise wither and die in my throat.
The Tahoe’s on fire. My friends are still inside.
2
4 years 4 months before the accident
Landing at the principal’s office two hours into the first day of twelfth grade had to be some kind of record. Considering I was a brand-new student at Rosemont High, and the aptly named, stone-faced Principal Mason didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, I decided not to ask.
“I’m not impressed with either of you,” he said, before turning to me. “Vienna, I understand you’ve just arrived in town but it’s no excuse. Madison, I’m surprised to find you in this predicament. I’d have thought you’d know better.”
Tuning out his monotone about decorum, expectations, and mutual respect, I snuck a glance at Madison. I didn’t know her last name and didn’t care. She was the reason we found ourselves in this mess. If it weren’t for her, I’d be in calculus class. Although in a way she’d done me a favor as math was my least favorite subject.
Neither of us had said much, Principal Mason clearly enjoyed hearing himself talk. While I leaned back in my chair, Madison sat with a rod-straight spine, hands neatly folded in her lap, giving the occasional nod. Enviable, natural red waves tumbled past her shoulders, and she had choppy bangs, which emphasized her big green eyes and near flawless skin.
My gaze dropped to her perfectly manicured nails, and the Lululemon backpack by her feet. I’d seen her cute tan suede ankle boots at Portland’s Maine Mall on Saturday, had quickly calculated I’d need over ten shifts at my ice cream parlor job to buy them, double if Mom’s boyfriend found the money I’d hidden again.

I bet Madison never needed to save for anything. Her jean shorts were as trendy as her backpack and boots, and they were strategically ripped in all the right places. Not the DIY job I’d done on the pair I’d got from the local pawnshop.
At least nobody had the same ones, and I liked the fact mine were original whereas Madison was a carbon copy of all the other rich girls circulating around the building. The ones who air-kissed, flicked their hair, and pretended commoners like me were invisible. Girls who summered.
I wondered if this was the first time Madison had ended up in front of Principal Mason. She seemed too much of a goody-two-suede-boots to me. Her mom was probably head of the parent-teacher committee, baked treats for the staff to keep them on her side. Whatever consequences came our way, no doubt Little Miss Madison would shimmy out of them faster than I could say blueberry muffins.
“Are you going to answer me, Vienna?” Principal Mason’s use of my name snapped my wandering attention back to him. “Or do you plan to continue sitting in silence?”
My eyes flickered over his fluffy dark brown hair, which reminded me of a duckling, and I took in his polyester-blend suit and Snoopy tie. Maybe he wore the latter to prove to himself he was a fun guy. He wasn’t fooling me.
A knock on the door stopped me from answering his question. Principal Mason’s assistant stepped into the office, a short guy whose desk nameplate read Harry Sweet. He didn’t look much older than me and might’ve borrowed his dad’s pine-green corduroy jacket to give himself an air of authority, but all it did was transform him into a kid playing dress-up.
“I made the calls to the parents,” Harry said. “Ms. Taylor didn’t pick up.”
Unable to help myself, I let out a snort.
“Something you can share with us, Vienna?” Principal Mason asked.
There were a million things I could’ve said about my mother. My total lack of surprise at
how Harry’s quest to reach her had failed would’ve been as good a place as any to start. She’d ignored school phone calls pretty much since first grade, including the time I’d fallen off a stone wall and Grams had taken me to get stitched up.
Mom’s excuse was her busy work schedule at the gas station in Falmouth where we’d lived until the beginning of this summer, except most days I could smell alcohol on her because she’d been at her local bar.
Maybe I should’ve told Principal Mason how Mom had never attended any of my school performances since I was eight, despite her knowing they were my favorite thing in the world.
Once you’ve seen one goddamn school concert you’ve seen them all, Mom told her boyfriend du jour when she hadn’t known I was within earshot, or maybe she’d seen me and hadn’t cared. There’s two hours of your life you’ll never get back.
She had no idea how wrong she was. My previous school’s production of The Addams Family had been such a success, we’d added another date. Mom still hadn’t come. Instead, she’d partied with Rick, her latest beau and the man who was the reason why I’d ended up at Rosemont for my senior year.
I hated how we’d moved from Falmouth to Portland’s North Deering area, and now lived in his house. So did Grams, who seemed to loathe Rick more than I did, but at least we had a non-leaky roof over our heads and no longer shared a bedroom.
I loved Grams more than anyone but sleeping in the same room was exhausting now her dementia had got worse and she confused the time of day, thinking it was afternoon when it was the middle of the night.
Principal Mason cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows as he waited for an answer. Was there something I could share? Sure. Something I wanted to?

“Nope.” I omitted the customary sir to see if it would infuriate him, but to his credit, the guy didn’t react.
“Mr. Pierce will be here any minute,” Harry said, and as I glanced at Principal Mason, I noticed a twitch of his upper lip, a small widening of his eyes. This news clearly bothered him.
“Madison,” he said, turning to my newfound nemesis. “Before your father arrives, would you please explain what happened at the cafeteria?”
Madison swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Wait for it, I thought, expecting a master class in how to wrap people around your little finger. What would she do? Go vamp and bat her eyelashes at the principal? Lean forward while subtly using her arms to push her boobs together as she insisted none of this was her fault? Maybe she’d wait for her father to rush through the door, and do a daddy’s little girl routine, bursting into tears so he felt protective of her.
As I studied her, Madison looked straight ahead, raised her chin, and crossed her arms, her body language almost identical to mine. Her whole demeanor was interesting and…unexpected.
Principal Mason was about to speak when another man pushed past Harry, who immediately fled and closed the door behind him. I swear the temperature in the office dropped twenty degrees, making me sit up straight as if on autopilot.
The tall man I presumed to be Mr. Pierce wore a dark suit with a crisp white button-down shirt. Instead of a fun comic-strip tie, his was black, covered in silver spheres, and secured with the most precise knot I’d ever seen. I guessed him to be in his late forties, and whatever he did for work, it had to pay more than well. With his clothes, haircut, and shiny shoes, Madison’s father oozed cash.
I’d never known my dad. Mom had me when she was twenty-one, another drunken one- night stand with an out-of-towner whose name she couldn’t remember. She’d regretted him, and me, ever since.
“Mr. Pierce,” Principal Mason said, holding out a hand, fingers trembling slightly. “Ronald,” Mr. Pierce said as they shook. “What’s going on?”
“There was an incident at the cafeteria,” Principal Mason offered.
“What are the specifics of this incident?”
“Well, uh, Madison and Ms. Taylor here—” the principal gestured at me “—ended up in a scuffle.”
Mr. Pierce whipped his head in Madison’s direction, and she shrank into her seat, almost as if she wished it would swallow her. “You got into a fight? Explain.”
“It was nothing,” Madison said, her voice small now, her defiance gone.
“Which is why you ended up here,” her father replied, waving a hand around. “On your first day back. Let’s try this again. Tell me what happened. I rearranged a client call to be here, and I’d appreciate you not wasting more of anyone’s time.”
There had been a few occasions over the past years when I’d longed for supportive parents who’d come to the school. A few years ago, I’d been bullied by a girl named Patsy. She’d picked on me for whatever reason, and when I’d asked Mom for help, she’d instructed me to do whatever Patsy did to me but twice as hard.
Mom’s idea hadn’t gone down well—when Patsy kicked me in the shins, I’d done it back, and the teacher had spotted me. Then again, Patsy had limped for a week, and she’d left me alone thereafter, so maybe Mom’s approach hadn’t been the worst idea. Still, it would’ve been nice to have her show her face from time to time, although looking at Mr. Pierce now, I was thankful for her lack of interest, and for the fact my dad wasn’t around.
“Madison.” His tone could’ve sliced Harry’s metal nameplate in half. “I want an answer.”

When I glanced over, my animosity toward Madison faded. She seemed terrified. Shoulders hunched, arms still crossed, chin now pointing to her chest.
“It was my fault,” I said, and Madison let out a tiny gasp.
I don’t know why I spoke up or why I chose to lie. Maybe it was because I saw part of myself in Madison, the way I’d been until I’d clued into building myself a suit of invisible armor, so nobody’s jabs, taunts, or comments got beneath my skin.
Her father stared at me. “I don’t believe I was talking to—”
“Who cares? You wanted an answer,” I said, cutting him off, figuring it would be the easiest way to draw his ire in my direction and away from his daughter. I didn’t have to live in the same house as him. In fact, I’d never see him again, so I didn’t care what he thought. “I cut in front of Madison at the cafeteria. She pointed out the back of the line, and I told her to get lost. Things got heated.”
“And who pushed whom first?” Principal Mason said, his authoritative tone making a comeback now he was talking at a student, not with an intimidating parent.
I shrugged. “I shoved her.”
“Very well,” Principal Mason said. “Thank you for being honest, Vienna. You’re new to this school, but we don’t take assault lightly here.”
“Assault?” I said with a laugh. “Seriously?”
“I shoved her back,” Madison jumped in, “which means technically I assaulted her.” “Madison.” Mr. Pierce’s blue eyes bored into her. “You’re almost an adult. You most certainly know this is no way to behave.”
As he paused, his gaze swept over me while a distasteful look he couldn’t quite—or didn’t want to—hide crossed his face. As he took in my edgy raven bob, the rows of silver hoops in my ears, my homemade ripped jean shorts, and the Joan Jett Bad Reputation tank top—the black one with the set of bright red lips—I knew exactly what he was thinking: this one’s trouble.
“Principal Mason,” he said, still staring at me, “I expect consequences for them both.” “Well, seeing as it’s the first day of school and they spoke up, I think we should—”
“Start as we mean to go on? Quite.” Mr. Pierce made his way to the door and pulled it
open, rattling the gray set of blinds covering the window. Before stepping out, he turned and looked at each of us in turn before adding, “I trust you’ll make the right decision, Ronald. Madison isn’t busy this afternoon.”
“That’s not true, Dad,” she said. “I have my audition for the orchestra after school.”
He waited a beat. “Not anymore.”
I watched as Principal Mason gave Madison a pained look while she clenched her fists
and bit her bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Seemed I’d been too quick to judge. A love of music and a shared hatred for at least one of our parents? Maybe we had stuff in common after all.

Review of THE REVENGE LIST by Hannah Mary McKinnon

On May 22, 2023 By vickleaIn Book Review2 Comments

About the Book:

On Sale Date: May 23, 2023

9780778333463

Trade Paperback

$18.99 USD

368 pages

Synopsis:

As a therapy exercise, a woman writes a list of people she wants to forgive, and thinks nothing of it when she loses it in an Uber…until one by one the people on the list become victims of freak accidents. Set in Portland, Maine, Hannah Mary McKinnon’s breakout suspense novel THE REVENGE LIST will appeal to fans of Lisa Unger, Joshilyn Jackson, and Tarryn Fisher.

Following an epic run-in with a client who threatened to pull out of a contract at her father’s company if she doesn’t suffer some consequences, Frankie Morgan agrees to go to anger management. With the business struggling with cash-flow and her brother needing help with the medical bills for his sick daughter, she can’t risk harming the business further. But that doesn’t mean she’ll be happy about attending.

During the first session, the group is asked to spend some quiet time exploring their pasts and sitting with the emotions that generates, before making a start on a Forgiveness List—a list of people with whom they’re angry and might work on forgiving. She begrudgingly goes along with it and doesn’t worry too much when she forgets the list in an Uber on her way home. It shouldn’t matter—it was just a therapy exercise—except a few days later the first person on that list is injured in a freak accident. When the second person gets hurt, she hopes it’s coincidence. After the third is targeted, she knows it’s a pattern. And she’s in trouble. Because the next name on that list is…hers.

My Thoughts:

This book is a delightfully propulsive thriller as well as a fascinating character study that is cleverly layered into the plot. Frankie Morgan is a complex character, a motherless young woman who is still dealing with her loss while also trying to carve out her future in her father’s construction business. Unfortunately, she is also a very angry and bitter young woman whose mouth and actions get her into trouble with her father who coerces her into joining an anger management class. The class seems to be a good place for Frankie to start dealing with her issues, but instead it creates more problems for her. One of her class assignments was to create a list of people that she needs to forgive. When an unknown person gets hold of her list, the fallout is obvious because the people who hurt Frankie are now on some kind of revenge list and keep falling prey to“accidents.” Frankie, ever the conscientious daughter, notices what is happening and is determined to find out who took her list and is using it to avenge her, without her approval. The plot is complicated, twisted and filled with suspense. There are tons or red herrings since the story is expertly crafted to keep you reading and totally engaged. This book is addictive and is a terrifyingly brilliant as Frankie is led from one possible suspect to another and the intrigue just gets more intense. I thoroughly enjoyed the multi-layered and well-crafted plot, but the surprise ending was worth reading this unputdownable and fast-moving suspense. Fans of page turners that are edgy and crackling with tension will enjoy this book, especially getting to know the dynamic characters who are realistically flawed and relatable.
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. All opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”

About the Author:

**Hannah Mary McKinnon** was born in the UK, grew up in Switzerland and moved to Canada in 2010. After a successful career in recruitment, she quit the corporate world in favor of writing. She now lives in Oakville, Ontario, with her husband and three sons, and is delighted by her twenty-second commute. Connect with her on Facebook, on Twitter @HannahMMcKinnon, and on Instagram @HannahMaryMcKinnon. For more, visit her website, http://www.hannahmarymckinnon.com.

SOCIALS:
Website: www.HannahMaryMcKinnon.com
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BookBub: www.bookbub.com/authors/hannah-mary-mckinnon
LinkTree: https://linktr.ee/hannahmarymckinnon

Releases Tomorrow! Available for preorder today and for purchase tomorrow! Purchase Links:

Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-revenge-list-hannah-mary-mckinnon/18745472

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-revenge-list-hannah-mary-mckinnon/1142010420

IndieBound: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-revenge-list-hannah-mary-mckinnon/18745472?ean=9780778333463&ref=&source=IndieBound&title=The+Revenge+List

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Revenge-List-Hannah-Mary-McKinnon/dp/0778333469

Books A Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Revenge-List/Hannah-Mary-McKinnon/9780778333463

Excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

***

The sharp sound of a high-pitched scream filled the air. A noise so unrecognizable, at first I didn’t register it had come from deep within me, traveling up my throat in stealth mode before bursting from my mouth.

The remnants of the yell reverberated around the car, forcing their way into my ears and penetrating my skull, urging me to do something. Survival instincts kicked in, and I fumbled with the seatbelt, my other hand grasping for the door handle. The need for the relative safety that solid, stationary ground would bring was so intense it made my stomach heave. A loud click of the central locking system meant my captor had outsmarted me again, obliterating my immediate plan to throw myself from the moving vehicle.

When I looked out the windshield, I knew there was no time to find an alternate escape. The end of the road—the edge of the cliff—announced by signs and broken red-and-white-striped wooden barricades, had been far enough away seconds ago but now gleamed in the car’s headlights, a looming warning yards ahead. I couldn’t comprehend what was about to happen, couldn’t do anything as the vehicle kept going, splintering planks and racing out the other side with nothing but air below. I let out another scream, far louder than my first, the absolute terror exploding from my lungs.

For the briefest of moments, we were suspended, as if this was a magic trick or an elaborate roller coaster. Perhaps, if I were really lucky, this was all a dream. Except I already knew there were no smoke and mirrors, no swirling track leading us through loop-the-loops and to safety. It wasn’t a nightmare I’d wake from with bedsheets wrapped around my sweaty body. This was happening. It was all terrifyingly real.

As the car continued its trajectory, it tipped forward. The only thing to stop our momentum was whatever we were rushing toward, obscured by the cloudy night skies. Pushing my heels into the floor, I tried to flatten my shoulders against the seat. My hands scrambled for the ceiling to brace myself, but I flopped like a rag doll, my loosened seatbelt tearing into my shoulder.

They say your life flashes before you when you’re close to death. That didn’t happen to me. Instead, it was all my regrets. Choices I’d made. Not made. Things I’d said and done. Not said. Not done. It was far too late to make amends. There would be no opportunity to beg anyone for forgiveness. No possibility of offering some.

As the finality of the situation hit me full on, I turned my head. The features of the driver next to me were illuminated in a blueish glint from the dashboard lights. His face had set in a stony grimace; his jaw clenched so tight he had to have shattered teeth. But what frightened me the most were his eyes, filled with what could only be described as maniacal delight.

He’d said we were both going to die. As the car hurtled to the bottom of the cliff, I closed my eyes and accepted he was right.

***

Review of NEVER COMING HOME by Hannah Mary McKinnon

On May 27, 2022 By vickleaIn Book Review2 Comments

Lucas Forester is the antagonist in this twisted tale about domestic drama with thrills up the wazoo. He is a guy I just couldn’t hate because he was so intelligent and figured out all of the possible scenarios before he acted. His very wealthy wife Michelle is missing and Lucas has a plan already in play for when she is declared dead. Notice that the word I used is “when” not “if.” You see, Lucas planned her murder, hired someone to carry it out and is not just waiting for the declaration of her death so that he can be independently wealthy. He had lots of ideas for what he could do while he waits for Michelle to be found. In fact, the entire plot revolves around Lucas’s plans which are constantly evolving as the situation changes. There is a complication to his well-thought out plan when it appears that the killer he hired from the dark web is sending him photos to blackmail him. Another problem for the very devious Lucas to contend with! The characters are mostly likable but very complex. The book has a well-developed plot, but the whole story is actually centered around the characters and what makes them act the way they do. All of them are sympathetic characters except for Lucas who is just plain old despicable. I think I liked him because he is like Wiley Coyote, always trying to catch the roadrunner and always running into trouble for his efforts. The plot has some great twists in it and innumerable red herrings. This is the kind of book that I really get caught up in because it kept me guessing all the way until the end. And the surprise twist at the end is just perfect, absolutely perfect! I would love this book to be made into a movie because I can just picture the story unwinding on the big screen, complete with deception and maliciousness as well as the conniving that takes place. This was such a good book and so well-written that I was sorry that it had to end. Fans of domestic thrillers will want to get this book and discuss it with others.
Disclaimer
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guidelines Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”

Caution for my readers: This is an intense book with several triggers in it, including drug addiction, abuse and violence. I would rate it a hard PG but actually think it is best suited for adults who enjoy domestic thrillers with a psychological twist.

Excerpt:

SUNDAY

The steady noise from the antique French carriage clock on the mantelpiece had somehow amplified itself, a rhythmic tick-tick, tick-tick, which usually went unnoticed. After I’d been sitting in the same position and holding my ailing mother-in-law’s hand for almost an hour, the incessant clicking had long wormed its way deep into my brain where it grated on my nerves, stirring up fantasies of hammers, bent copper coils, and shattered glass.

Nora looked considerably worse than when I’d visited her earlier this week. She was propped up in bed, surrounded by a multitude of pillows. She’d lost more weight, something her pre-illness slender physique couldn’t afford. Her bones jutted out like rocks on a cliff, turning a kiss on the cheek into an extreme sport in which you might lose an eye. The ghostly hue on her face resembled the kids who’d come dressed up as ghouls for Halloween a few days ago, emphasizing the dark circles that had transformed her eyes into mini sinkholes. It wasn’t clear how much time she had left. I was no medical professional, but we could all tell it wouldn’t be long. When she’d shared her doctor’s diagnosis with me barely three weeks ago, they’d estimated around two months, but at the rate of Nora’s decline, it wouldn’t have come as a surprise if it turned out to be a matter of days.

Ovarian cancer. As a thirty-two-year-old Englishman who wasn’t yet half Nora’s age I’d had no idea it was dubbed the silent killer but now understood why. Despite the considerable wealth and social notoriety Nora enjoyed in the upscale and picturesque town of Chelmswood on the outskirts of Boston, by the time she’d seen someone because of a bad back and they’d worked out what was going on, her vital organs were under siege. The disease was a formidable opponent, the stealthiest of snipers, destroying her from the inside out before she had any indication something was wrong.

A shame, truly, because Nora was the only one in the Ward family I actually liked. I wouldn’t have sat here this long with my arse going numb for my father-in-law’s benefit, that’s for sure. Given half the chance I’d have smothered him with a pillow while the nurse wasn’t looking. But not Nora. She was kindhearted, gentle. The type of person who quietly gave time and money to multiple causes and charities without expecting a single accolade in return. Sometimes I imagined my mother would’ve been like Nora, had she survived, and fleetingly wondered what might have become of me if she hadn’t died so young, if I’d have grown up to be a good person.

I gradually pulled my hand away from Nora’s and reached for my phone, decided on playing a game or two of backgammon until she woke up. The app had thrashed me the last three rounds and I was due, but Nora’s fingers twitched before I made my first move. I studied her brow, which seemed furrowed in pain even as she slept. Not for the first time I hoped the Grim Reaper would stake his or her claim sooner rather than later. If I were death, I’d be swift, efficient, and merciful, not prescribe a drawn-out, painful process during which body, mind, or both, wasted away. People shouldn’t be made to suffer as they died. Not all of them, anyway.

“Lucas?”

I jumped as Diane, Nora’s nurse and my neighbor, put a hand on my shoulder. She’d only left the room for a couple of minutes but always wore those soft-soled shoes when she worked, which meant I never heard her coming until she was next to me. Kind of sneaky, when I thought about it, and I decided I wouldn’t sit with my back to the door again.

As she walked past, the air filled with the distinctive medicinal scent of hand sanitizer and antiseptic. I hated that smell. Too many bad memories I couldn’t shake. Diane set a glass of water on the bedside table, checked Nora’s vitals, and turned around. Hands on hips, she peered down at me from her six-foot frame, her tight dark curls bouncing alongside her jawbone like a set of tiny corkscrews.

“You can go home now. I’ll take the evening from here.” Regardless of her amicable delivery, there was no mistaking the instruction, but she still added, “Get some rest. God knows you look like you need it.”

“Thanks a lot,” I replied with mock indignation. “You sure know how to flatter a guy.”

Diane cocked her head to one side, folded her arms, and gave me another long stare, which to anyone else would’ve been intimidating. “How long since you slept? I mean properly.”

I waved a hand. “It’s only seven o’clock.”

“Yeah, I guess given the circumstances I wouldn’t want to be home alone, either.”

I looked away. “That’s not what this is about. I’ll wait until Nora wakes up again. I want to say goodbye. You know, in case she…” My voice cracked a little on the last word and I feigned a cough as I pressed the heels of my palms over my eyes.

“She won’t,” Diane whispered. “Not tonight. Trust me. She’s not ready to go.”

I knew Diane had worked in hospice for two decades and had seen more than her fair share of people taking their last breaths. If she said Nora wouldn’t die tonight, then Nora would still be here in the morning.

“I’ll leave in a bit. After she wakes up.”

Diane let out a resigned sigh and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the bed. A comfortable silence settled between us despite the fact we didn’t know each other very well. I’d first met Diane and her wife Karina, who were both in their forties, when they’d struck up a conversation with me and my wife Michelle as we’d moved into our house on the other side of Chelmswood almost three years prior. Something about garbage days and recycling rules, I think. The mundane discussion could’ve led to a multitude of drinks, shared meals, and the swapping of embarrassing childhood stories, except we were all what Michelle had called busy professionals with (quote) hectic work schedules that make forging new friendships difficult. My Captain Subtext translated her comment as can’t be bothered and, consequently, the four of us had never made the transition from neighbors to close friends.

Aside from the occasional holiday party invitation or looking after each other’s places whenever we were away—picking up the mail, watering the plants, that kind of thing—we only saw each other in passing. Nevertheless, Karina regularly left a Welcome Back note on our kitchen counter along with flowers from their garden and a bottle of wine. Not one to be outdone on anything, Michelle reciprocated, except she’d always chosen more elaborate bouquets and fancier booze. My wife’s silent little pissing contests, which I’d pretended to be too dense to notice, had irked me to hell and back, but when Nora fell ill and Diane had been assigned as one of her nurses, I’d been relieved it was someone I knew and trusted.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” Diane said, rescuing me from the spousal memories. “It’s not fair. I mean, it’s never fair, obviously, but on top of what you’re going through with Michelle. I can’t imagine. It’s so awful…”

I acknowledged the rest of the words she left hanging in the air with a nod. There was nothing left to say about my wife’s situation we hadn’t already discussed, rediscussed, dissected, reconstructed, and pulled apart all over again. We’d not solved the mystery of her whereabouts or found more clues. Nothing new, helpful or hopeful, anyway. We never would.

Silence descended upon us again, the gaudy carriage clock ticking away, reviving the images of me with hammer in hand until the doorbell masked the sound.

“I’ll go,” Diane muttered, and before I had the chance to stand, she left the room and pulled the door shut. I couldn’t help wondering if her swift departure was because she needed to escape from me, the man who’d used her supportive shoulder almost daily for the past month. I decided to tone it down a little. Nobody wanted to be around an overdramatic, constant crybaby regardless of their circumstances.

I listened for voices but couldn’t hear any despite my leaning toward the door and craning my neck. I couldn’t risk moving in case Nora woke up. Her body was failing, but her mind remained sharp as a box of tacks. She’d wonder what I was up to if she saw my ear pressed against the mahogany panel. Solid mahogany. The best money could buy thanks to the Ward family’s three-generations-old construction empire. No cheap building materials in this house, as my father-in-law had pointed out when he’d first given me the tour of the six bedrooms, four reception rooms, indoor and outdoor kitchens (never mind the abhorrent freezing Boston winters), and what could only be described as grounds because yard implied it was manageable with a push-along mower.

“Only the best for my family,” Gideon had said in his characteristic rumbly, pompous way as he’d knocked back another glass of Laphroaig, the broad East Coast accent he worked hard to hide making more of a reappearance with each gluttonous glug. “No MDF, vinyl or laminate garbage, thank you. That’s not what I’m about. Not at all.”

It’s in the houses you build for others, I’d thought as I’d grunted an inaudible reply he no doubt mistook for agreement because people rarely contradicted him. As I raised my glass of scotch, I didn’t mention the council flats I grew up in on what Gideon dismissed as the lesser side of the pond, or the multiple times Dad and I had been kicked out of our dingy digs because he couldn’t pay the rent, and we’d ended up on the streets. My childhood had been vastly different to my wife’s, and I imagined the pleasure I’d find in watching Gideon’s eyes bulge as I described the squalor I’d lived in, and he realized my background was worlds away from the shiny and elitist version I’d led everyone to believe was the truth. I pictured myself laughing as he understood his perfect daughter had married so far beneath her, she may as well have pulled me up from the dirt like a carrot, and not the expensive organic kind.

Of course, I hadn’t told him anything. I’d taken another swig of the scotch I loathed, but otherwise kept my mouth shut. As satisfying as it would’ve been, my father-in-law knowing the truth about my background had never been part of my long-term agenda. In any case, and despite Gideon’s efforts, things were working to plan. Better than. The smug bastard was dead.

And he wasn’t the only one.

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Review of YOU WILL REMEMBER ME by Hannah Mary McKinnon

On May 28, 2021 By vickleaIn Book ReviewLeave a comment

This is a five plus stars book that had my mind percolating on the ending long after I had completed it. With the themes of amnesia, persevering love, evil that lurks and promises to destroy, this book was one that had me rooting for the underdog and gasping at some of the events in the plot. Well written does not begin to describe the plot. It was written in such a way that I became more than a reader or a spectator. I was waiting with bated breath until the villain was revealed and then I could not wait for the ending when the happy part came. When Jack disappeared from a beach in Maryland, Lily was determined to find him because she saw him as the love of her life, her second chance. Through happenstance, she finds him in Maine and follows him there, only to discover that he does not remember her at all. Lily befriends Jack’s sister Maya and is introduced to the real Jack, whose actual name is Ash. Unfortunately, Ash does not remember why he went to Maryland or anything really about his past. He does know that one of his former girlfriends disappeared and another died tragically, but he does not remember any details about either Celine or Kate. Lily accepts Ash as he is and wants to help him to remember. Maya is helpful, too, giving Ash a job to do while he recovers from his head injury. There are three points of view in the story and I found myself racing through each one, trying to find out what the truth was about Ash’s past and who Lily was and any secrets that Maya had. The action was fast-paced and non-stop, giving me time to take a deep breath before I plunged into the next heart-racing scene. With characters that were perfect for the parts they played, this book was like a play that I was watching unfold and I was sad when it ended. I cannot say more without giving away the shocking conclusion, but I will highly recommend this thriller to anyone looking for a book to entertain, enthrall and mystify. Wow! Just wow!
Disclaimer
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”

*Caution: This book has content that could be disturbing to younger readers. I would rate it a hard PG-13.*

**Author Bio:** Hannah Mary McKinnon was born in the UK, grew up in Switzerland and moved to Canada in 2010. After a successful career in recruitment, she quit the corporate world in favor of writing, and is now the author of The Neighbors, Her Secret Son, and Sister Dear. She lives in Oakville, Ontario, with her husband and three sons, and is delighted by her twenty-second commute.

Social Links:

Author Website

Twitter: @HannahMMcKinnon

Instagram: @hannahmarymckinnon

Facebook: @HannahMaryMcKinnon

Goodreads

Excerpt:

Chapter 1—The Man from the Beach

Cold. Cold was the first word that came to mind. The first thing I noticed when I woke up. Not a slight, uncomfortable chill to give me the shivers, but a cramp-inducing, iced-to-the-bone kind of frozen. I lay flat on my stomach, my left ear and cheek pressed into the rough, grainy wet ground beneath me, my entire body shaking. As my thoughts attempted to assemble themselves into some form of understandable order, a wave of icy water nipped at my bare toes and ankles, my instincts pulling my feet out of reach.

I had a sudden urge to get up, a primal need to take in my surroundings and assess the danger—was I in danger?—but the throbbing pain deep in my head made the slightest effort to shift anything seem impossible. Lifting a finger would be too much effort, and I acquiesced, allowing myself to lie still for another few freezing seconds as the frigid water crept over the balls of my feet again. When I blinked my eyes open, I was met by a thick, fuzzy darkness enveloping me like a cloak. Where the hell was I? And wherever it was, what was I doing here?

When I lifted my head a fraction of an inch, I could barely make out anything in front of me. There was hardly a noise either, nothing but a gentle, steady rumble in the background, and the cry of a bird somewhere in the distance. I made my brain work its way backward—bird, rumble, sand, water—and the quartet formed the vaguely cohesive image of a beach.

Searching for confirmation, I inhaled the salty, humid air deep into my lungs as another slosh of water took aim at my calves. This time the discomfort was enough to push me to my feet, and I wrapped my arms around my naked torso, my sopping board shorts clinging to my goose-bump-covered thighs. An explosion of pain in my head threatened to send me back to my knees, and I swayed gently, wishing I had something to steady myself with, willing my body to stay upright. As I pressed a hand to the side of my skull, I let out a quiet yelp, and felt along a two-inch gash in my scalp. My eyes had adjusted somewhat to the lack of light, and my fingertips were covered in something dark that smelled of rust. Blood. How had I…?

Another low rumble made me turn around, shuffling slowly in a semicircle. The behemoth effort was rewarded by the sight of a thousand glistening waves dancing under the moonlight like diamonds, the water stretching out and disappearing into the darkness beyond. As my ears tuned in to the rhythmic whoosh of the waves, my mind worked hard to process each scrap of information it took in.

I’m definitely on a beach. It’s nighttime. I’m alone. What am I doing here?

Before I could answer the single question, a thousand others crowded my brain, an incessant string of chatter I couldn’t stop or get away from.

Where is everyone? Never mind them, where am I? Have I been here long? How did I get here? Where was I before? Where are my clothes? What day is it?

My legs buckled. Not because of the unfamiliar surroundings, the cold burrowing its way deeper into my core, or the pain in my head, which had increased tenfold. No. My knees hit the sand with a dull crunch when I realized I couldn’t answer any of the questions because I couldn’t recall anything. Nothing. Not the tiniest of details.

Including my name.

Chapter 2—Lily

A frown settled over my face as I put my phone on the table, pushed the bowl of unfinished berry oatmeal away and stretched out my legs. It was Saturday morning, and I’d been up for ages, too eager—too hopeful—to spend a day at the beach with Jack, but those plans had been a literal wash-out. The start to the summer felt capricious, with this second storm in the last week of June poised to be much worse than the first. I’d convinced myself the weatherwoman had exaggerated or got her forecast completely wrong, but clouds had rolled in overnight anyway. As a result, I’d been unceremoniously woken up at two thirty by a trio of bright lightning, deafening thunderclaps and heavy raindrops pelting against my bedroom window.

At first, I’d pulled my pillow over my head to deafen the noise, and when that didn’t work, I rolled over and stretched out an arm. The spot next to me was empty and cold, and I groaned. Jack hadn’t come over to my place as I’d hoped he would, slipping into bed and pressing his naked body against mine. I’d buried my face back into my pillow and tried to ignore the tinge of disappointment. We hadn’t seen much of each other this past week, both of us too busy with our jobs to spend more than a night together, and I missed him. Jack had called the day before to tell me he’d be working late, finishing the stain on the cabinets he’d labored on for weeks before his boss had to let him go. Apparently expensive custom kitchens weren’t in as high demand in Brookmount, Maryland as originally thought.

“But you got laid off,” I’d said. “It’s your last day. Why do you care?”

“Because I made a commitment. Besides, it’ll help when I need a reference.”

Typical Jack, always keeping his word. He’d bought a lottery ticket once, and the clerk had jokingly asked if he’d give him half of any winnings. Jack had laughed and shaken the man’s hand, and when he won ten bucks on the ticket, had promptly returned to the store, and paid over the share as promised. His loyalty was one of the many things I loved about Jack, although part of me wished he weren’t quite as dedicated to his soon-to-be ex-boss.

“You could come over to my place when you’re done,” I said, smiling slowly. “I’ll leave the key under the umbrella stand. I don’t mind you waking me up gently in the middle of the night…or not so gently.”

Jack laughed softly. The sound was something I’d fallen in love with eighteen months ago after our eyes had met across a crowded bar, the mother of all uninspired first-encounter clichés, except in this case I’d been forced to admit clichés weren’t always a bad thing.

“It’ll be really late, Lily,” he said, his voice deep. His English accent was something of a rarity in our small coastal town, and still capable of making my legs wobble in anticipation of his next words. “I’ll go for a quick swim now, then finish up work. How about I come over in the morning? Around nine? I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”

“Blueberry pancakes from Patti’s? With extra maple syrup?”

“This time I’ll order three stacks to make sure I get some.”

“Pancakes or sex?” I said, before telling him how much I loved him, and whispering exactly how I’d thank him for waking me with sweet weekend treats. I’d hoped it might change his mind and he’d come over earlier, except it was ten now, and he still hadn’t showed. It was odd. Jack detested being late as much as he loved being early. He often joked they set Greenwich Mean Time by his father’s old watch, which Jack had worn since his dad passed a little over a decade before we’d met, when Jack was only twenty.

I checked my phone again. Jack hadn’t answered either of my calls, another anomaly, but I tried to talk myself into believing he’d worked late into the night to make the final good impression he wanted, and overslept. Maybe there was a line at Patti’s—the restaurant was slammed every weekend—and perhaps his phone was set to silent.

I picked up my bowl and wandered to the kitchen. My place was the smallest of six apartments, a tiny but well-maintained one-bedroom in a building a few miles from the beach, farther than I’d planned, but the closest I could afford. I’d lived there for almost five years, had furnished it with an eclectic assortment of third-hand furniture, my favorite piece a royal blue microfiber sofa I’d bought for fifty bucks, and which Jack swore was the most comfortable thing he’d ever sat on. Whenever he sank down into it and pulled me on top of him with a contented sigh, I’d tease him about what made him happier; the squishy, well-worn cushions, or me.

The image made my frown deepen. Where was he?