About the Book
Author: Francis Guenette
Genre: Action / Thriller
A shot is fired into the still night air and a young woman dies on Suicide Ridge. A dangerous game has begun. Over the course of one blistering, hot week, winds of change sweep through an isolated valley in small town America.
Sheriff Bert Calder, with the help of Mayor Amos Thatcher, has held the town of Haddon under his thumb for twenty-five years. As things spin out of control, Calder works the angles, ensuring he can make the most of the upheaval that is to come.
Rafael Destino, facing his own mortality, races against time to gain control of the railroad – a lifeline essential to the town’s survival. His goal – to financially destroy Thatcher, the man he believes responsible for the death of his beloved sister. His tool – adopted son Myhetta. But how far down the road of revenge will Rafael push the young man who owes him everything?
Myhetta is poised on the edge of controlling Destino Enterprises, the job he has been groomed for. While money, power and influence are his to command, the past continues to torment him.
In a clash of powerful men, with fathers pitted against sons, no one will be left unscathed. Maelstrom is a page turner that speeds along like a runaway train.
Francis Guenette has spent all of her life on the west coast of British Columbia. She lives with her husband and finds inspiration for writing in the beauty and drama of their off-grid, lakeshore cabin and garden. She has a graduate degree in Counselling Psychology. She has worked as an educator, trauma counsellor and researcher. She is the author of three books in the Crater Lake Series. Maelstrom is her fourth novel.
Twitter - https://twitter.com/FrancisGuenette
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Turk had the steady pace of a man used to walking wherever he went. By the time he reached Pine Crescent and the residential houses that lined each side of the road, he was sweating. His hair curled tightly over his forehead and clung to his neck. He was very tired.
He would have given a lot to have stayed in Mel’s comfortable bed the whole day but when her alarm went off, he’d high-tailed it out of there. He had remembered his father’s words the night before and he’d figured he better get home. His T-shirt hung loosely on him, sweat-stained and dirty. There were dark-brown patches of dried blood on the legs of his jeans. His sharp-featured face was drawn and his eyes had a haunted look about them.
Feelings of withdrawal walked up his spine like fingernails clawing over a chalkboard. He craved the escape that the pills provided – more than food, though he hadn’t eaten in hours; more than sleep, though he was exhausted. He walked up the drive of his house, relieved that the police cruiser was not in the driveway. Going around the back, he saw the still unmowed lawn and knew he’d catch shit again for that. He tried the door but it was locked. Muttering a string of profanities, he searched his pockets for his house key. If he’d lost that damn key, his father was going to beat him. He found it and was about to fit it into the lock when the door swung open.
“Seen you coming up the front,” his mother said, clutching onto the edge of the door. “You took so long … figured you’d lost your key again.”
“Got it right here.” He pushed by his mother to get into the house.
“Where you been?” she asked.
“Around. Where’s Pa?”
“Had to work.” His mother stared at him. “You don’t look so good, Turk.”
He ran his eyes over her thin frame, the dark circles under her eyes and the red-flowered housecoat she was wearing. “Ain’t no picture yourself, Ma. Can I get something to eat?”