Monday, 3 December 2018

Spotlight and Excerpt: Facing A Twisted Judgement by K.J. McGillick

Facing A Twisted Judgment by K.J. McGillick

What happens when tunnel vision clouds a police investigation? Is it true that once you are labeled a person of interest you really are the prime suspect? Can you trust the legal system? Probably not.

After a bitterly contested legal battle over inherited property, the hard-won art collection and its owner Samantha Bennington disappear. Both have vanished without a trace.

When blood spatter is discovered under the freshly painted wall of the room in which two of the paintings were hung, the theft becomes the opening act in a twisted tale of jealousy, revenge, and murder leading to a final judgment for all involved.

As the list of suspects narrows, the focus lands squarely on the husband. Some labeled Samantha’s husband a corrupt attorney, others an opportunist. Either way, he’s in the crosshairs of law enforcement and they are calling him a murderer. But is he the only viable suspect? What about the missing woman’s drug-addicted sister and her convicted felon brother? Both were furious over their loss at court and have more than enough reason to hate Samantha.  

Guilty until proven innocent leaves Alexander Clarke facing a twisted judgment.

 I’d reached a crossroad. If I argued with her, she might want to rethink her plans to marry me and think we might not be compatible after all. Or I could wait, and once married, I could catch her in a vulnerable position and make her see things my way. Yes, that was the better plan.
“Well, that is very noble and something worth considering,” I said.
We were about to have another drink of champagne when we heard a pounding at the front door along with the simultaneous ringing of the bell. Then, the shouting began.
“Open up the fucking door,” she pounded.
“Call the police,” I said to Samantha. “We are not dealing with this tonight.”
As she was about to answer, we heard the crashing of something that sounded like glass or maybe pottery.
“Shit.” I was on my feet, running toward the door.
When I opened it, I saw a broken flowerpot and dirt scattered on the porch. Marley was tearing through what once had been flowers in the jug. Possibly looking for a weapon from the broken pottery.
What the hell?
She was screaming over and over, “I want my money. I want my fucking money.”
Sam ran to stop her when Marley picked up a shard of the broken vase.
“Come near me, bitch, and I’ll cut you.”
She was clearly drunk and probably high. Her pretty face was streaked with mascara, and her wild red hair gave her a comical appearance, as if she were Bozo the Clown’s sister. Her breath stunk of beer and whiskey.
“Oh my God, you’re drunk, and you drove here like this? What’s wrong with you? You could have killed someone. I’m calling you an Uber,” Sam said.
“I’m not leaving here without my m-m-money,” she slurred.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Sam replied, trying to move a little closer.
“And you! You are a fucking cold, bastard gold digger. You’re not getting a penny from me for lawyer fees,” she said, now waving the piece of ceramic my way.
My motto had always been never to argue with toddlers and drunks. I stood there, crossed my arms, and let her continue her rant.
“And the Campendonk is mine. I helped Grandpa pick that out. You have no right to it,” she screamed.
Then, I broke my own rule. “Marley, your grandfather knew, if he left you in charge of any money, you’d spend it on party drugs. You’d sell the painting for a song—” I said.
“This is none of your business,” she screamed and lurched forward.
I put my hand out to stop her, and she swiped my arm with the pottery shard, drawing a trickle of blood.
“That’s it. Uber or police?” Sam said, standing up to look at the cut.
“Neither,” she said, and before anyone could stop her, she raced to her car and drove away.
“Call the police and report her driving drunk while I wash this cut,” I said.
She hesitated as she assessed my arm.
“Sam, that woman is dangerous. You need to call the cops,” I reinforced.
“What, to embarrass her more? It’s only a few miles on a secluded road. Leave her be,” Sam said.
“I’m not comfortable with your decision, but she’s your sister,” I said.
A sober Marley was trouble. But a drunk Marley was a disaster.

K. J. McGillick was born in New York and once she started to walk she never stopped running. But that's what New Yorker's do. Right?

As she evolved so did her career choices. After completing her graduate degree in nursing she spent many years in the university setting sharing the dreams of the enthusiastic nursing students she taught. After twenty rewarding years in the medical field she attended law school and has spent the last twenty-four years as an attorney helping people navigate the turbulent waters of the legal system. Not an easy feat. And now? Now she is sharing the characters she loves with readers hoping they are intrigued by her twisting and turning plots and entertained by her writing.

Facebook     Twitter     Website