Apr 16, 2022

#BookReview #Excerpt #NeverComingHome #HannahMaryMcKinnon #HTPBooks #NetGalley

 

First comes love. Then comes murder.

Lucas Forester didn’t 
hate his wife. Michelle was brilliant, sophisticated and beautiful. Sure, she had extravagant spending habits, that petty attitude, a total disregard for anyone below her status. But she also had a lot to offer. Most notably: wealth that only the one percent could comprehend.

For years, Lucas has been honing a flawless plan to inherit Michelle’s fortune. Unfortunately, it involves taking a hit out on her.

Every track is covered, no trace left behind, and now Lucas plays the grieving husband so well he deserves an award. But when a shocking photo and cryptic note show up on his doorstep, Lucas goes from hunter to prey. 

Someone is on to him. And they’re closing in.

Told with dark wit and a sharply feminist sensibility, Never Coming Home is a terrifying tale of duplicity that will have you side-eyeing your spouse as you dash to the breathtaking end.

Amazon

Excerpt of NEVER COMING HOME by Hannah Mary McKinnon

SUNDAY

Chapter 1

The steady noise from the antique French carriage clock on the mantelpiece had somehow amplified itself, a rhythmic tick-ticktick-tick, which usually went unnoticed. After I’d been sitting in the same position and holding my ailing mother-in-laws 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 Id visited her earlier this week. She was propped up in bed, surrounded by a multitude of pillows. Shed lost more weight, something her pre-illness slender physique couldnt 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 whod come dressed up as ghouls for Halloween a few days ago, emphasizing the dark circles that had transformed her eyes into mini sinkholes. It wasnt clear how much time she had left. I was no medical professional, but we could all tell it wouldnt be long. When shed shared her doctors diagnosis with me barely three weeks ago, theyd estimated around two months, but at the rate of Noras decline, it wouldnt 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 wasnt yet half Noras age Id 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 shed seen someone because of a bad back and theyd 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 wouldnt have sat here this long with my arse going numb for my father-in-laws benefit, thats for sure. Given half the chance Id have smothered him with a pillow while the nurse wasnt 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 wouldve been like Nora, had she survived, and fleetingly wondered what might have become of me if she hadnt died so young, if Id have grown up to be a good person.

I gradually pulled my hand away from Noras 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 Noras 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, Id be swift, efficient, and merciful, not prescribe a drawn-out, painful process during which body, mind, or both, wasted away. People shouldnt be made to suffer as they died. Not all of them, anyway.

Lucas?

I jumped as Diane, Noras nurse and my neighbor, put a hand on my shoulder. Shed 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 wouldnt 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 couldnt shake. Diane set a glass of water on the bedside table, checked Noras 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. Ill 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 indignationYou 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 wouldve been intimidating. How long since you slept? I mean properly.

I waved a hand. Its only seven oclock.

Yeah, I guess given the circumstances I wouldnt want to be home alone, either.

I looked away. Thats not what this is about. Ill 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 wont, Diane whispered. Not tonight. Trust me. Shes 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 wouldnt die tonight, then Nora would still be here in the morning.

Ill 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 didnt know each other very well. Id first met Diane and her wife Karina, who were both in their forties, when theyd struck up a conversation with me and my wife Michelle as wed 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 couldve 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 cant 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 others 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 shed always chosen more elaborate bouquets and fancier booze. My wifes silent little pissing contests, which Id 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, Id been relieved it was someone I knew and trusted.

Im sorry this is happening to you, Diane said, rescuing me from the spousal memories. Its not fair. I mean, its never fair, obviously, but on top of what youre going through with Michelle. I cant imagine. Its 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 wifes situation we hadnt already discussed, rediscussed, dissected, reconstructed, and pulled apart all over again. Wed 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.

Ill go, Diane muttered, and before I had the chance to stand, she left the room and pulled the door shut. I couldnt help wondering if her swift departure was because she needed to escape from me, the man whod 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 couldnt hear any despite my leaning toward the door and craning my neck. I couldnt risk moving in case Nora woke up. Her body was failing, but her mind remained sharp as a box of tacks. Shed 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 familys three-generations-old construction empire. No cheap building materials in this house, as my father-in-law had pointed out when hed 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 hed 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. Thats not what Im about. Not at all.

Its in the houses you build for others, Id thought as Id grunted an inaudible reply he no doubt mistook for agreement because people rarely contradicted him. As I raised my glass of scotch, I didnt 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 couldnt pay the rent, and wed ended up on the streets. My childhood had been vastly different to my wifes, and I imagined the pleasure Id find in watching Gideons eyes bulge as I described the squalor Id lived in, and he realized my background was worlds away from the shiny and elitist version Id 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 hadnt told him anything. Id taken another swig of the scotch I loathed, but otherwise kept my mouth shut. As satisfying as it wouldve 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 Gideons efforts, things were working to plan. Better than. The smug bastard was dead.

And he wasnt the only one.



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. While her debut, TIME AFTER TIME, was a rom com, she transitioned to the dark side thereafter. Her suspense novels include THE NEIGHBORS, and bestsellers HER SECRET SON, SISTER DEAR, YOU WILL REMEMBER ME, and NEVER COMING HOME. Hannah Mary lives in Oakville, Ontario, with her husband and three sons. 


Connect on Facebook and Instagram @hannahmarymckinnon, and on Twitter @HannahMMcKinnon. For more, visit www.hannahmarymckinnon.com


This is your sixth novel. What was your inspiration for Never Coming Home?

Instead of a news article or a radio segment, which is typically where the inspiration for my books comes from, for Never Coming Home the character appeared first. I wanted to write about someone who was evil, despicable, but also relatable on some levels, and definitely funny—and whose enemies were even worse. Cue Lucas and Bobby Boyle. The story evolved from there, so it was very much character driven, and writing from the antagonist’s point of view was an entirely new experience. I had so much fun, and thoroughly enjoyed crafting another novel entirely from a man’s perspective. While I probably shouldn’t admit to this, despite his many flaws, I enjoyed spending time with Lucas because I found him hilarious.



Never Coming Home
Written By
Hannah Mary McKinnon
Review By
Heidi Lynn’s Book Reviews


First, I want to thank Hannah Mary McKinnon, Mira Books and NetGalley for providing me with this book so I may bring you this review.


WOW!! Hannah Mary McKinnon is back again with another incredible Psychological Thriller Never Coming Home! This one is unlike any other missing person storyline-because the readers know upfront who did it. The nail biting question and what had me on the edge of my seat was will they get caught?!


The graphic designers created the perfect cover for this book with beautiful colors!


One thing that I really liked about this book that stood out from the rest is she included Covid and the pandemic in this story. This aspect made the book seem more modern and relevant to what we all had been living with. Many times I had a chuckle at some of the sayings.


I am a huge fan of missing person cases. This one was quite different from many I have read. This one we went inside the sick and twisted mind of the person who actually did the crime! All the meantime they are trying to play dumb and cover their tracks.


There was a grotesque scene that was a little hard to stomach. However, it was written so perfectly that I felt like I was truly there.


What is hard to wrap my head around in books like this is at what great lengths people will go to get something sinister done. 




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Heidi Lynn’s Book Reviews (heidilynnsbookreviews@gmail.com) Published @ 2014 by Crossroad Reviews