Today it is my pleasure to welcome Ross Ponderson, author of Child of Privilege to Celticlady's Reviews!
Dana Van Werner is riding a bus bound for nowhere.
In her pockets, she carries a bus ticket, $260, hope, her own wits, and an unbreakable will. In her memories, she carries the nightmares of frequent beatings, growing up in constant fear, physical and verbal abuse, and her father's unfathomable hatred. Dana, a 19-year-old debutante born into wealth, privilege, culture, and social standing, ponders her new world--the "real" world--for which she is laughably ill-prepared.
She doesn't know where she's going, where her next meal is coming from, or where she'll sleep tonight. She does, however, take comfort in two certainties: that the brutal beatings at the hands of her father--a psychotic, powerful attorney--are finally over; and that her decision to run away from the palatial mansion she once called home has probably saved her life.
This lovable, down-to-earth teenager (more "girl next door" than debutante) grows up quickly as she confronts intercity buses, seedy motels, wet t-shirt contests, jail cells, honky-tonks, and predatory night people. All the while, she is relentlessly pursued by private investigators hired by her revenge-obsessed father to bring her back under his control.
You'll cheer the courage, strength, and determination of this endearing heroine as she searches for a new home and a new life and finds a gentle, caring man--a bachelor deputy sheriff--who truly loves her.
But she has no inkling of the nightmare awaiting her at the end of the road.
A dizzying chain of events is triggered by an accident that claims the life of someone Dana loves. Suspicions surrounding the tragedy--and her own anger--force the teenager to return home. Upon her arrival, a humiliating family secret kept carefully hidden for years is callously revealed. This sets the stage for the inevitable final showdown between father and daughter as long-simmering anger, resentment, and hunger for revenge finally erupt into a terrifying flashpoint.
This emotional rollercoaster will lift you to heartwarming heights, plunge you into tearful depths, and amuse you with moments of wry humor.
Join Dana Van Werner on her desperate journey. Let this Child of Privilege inspire you, uplift you, and touch you in her uniquely personal way. You just may discover a part of yourself in her.
Purchase Link: Amazon
About the Author
Ross Ponderson is a retired IT guy from the USA. Formerly spending far too many hours writing programming gobbledygook, he is now writing actual, human-readable words in the hope that millions of people will indeed enjoy reading them. His favorite stories to write are those chronicling ordinary people meeting extraordinary challenges with extraordinary courage, strength, and determination. He's a FIRM believer in happy endings, both in life and in his novels.
He has enjoyed writing since his grammar school days when essay assignments delighted him while provoking groans of pain from his classmates.
His pleasure centers include writing (of course), reading, railroading, Subway sandwiches, history, surfing (the web, not the waves!), museums of any kind, 1970's music, wishing he had become a professional musician (much to the dismay of his weary keyboard), and strolling through the local malls. He ALWAYS brakes for book emporiums, ice cream shops, and music stores.
"Child of Privilege" is his debut novel; his second novel is currently being first-drafted. Hopefully, many more will follow.
Learn more about the author and book at the following links!
Goodreads:
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Author blog:
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Chapter Preview
Chapter 5
Hundreds of miles away, the same darkness that surrounded the bus carrying Dana Van Werner enveloped the exclusive community of North Briarwood, bathing the magnificent estates of the wealthy in a blackness randomly penetrated by picturesque turn-of-the-century gas streetlights, the twinkling glow of crystal chandeliers through expensive interior-decorator-designed curtains, glaring yellow security spotlights, and the headlights of expensive luxury automobiles passing by.
Multimillion dollar homes were the standard in this hamlet of corporate executives, nouveau riche entrepreneurs, generations-old inherited wealth, and blue-blooded society mavens. Its twisting, tree-shaded lanes and quiet cul-de-sacs were home to an exclusive gathering of movers and shakers and newsmakers of local, national, and global prominence.
The midnight silence of a cul-de-sac nestled deep within the most exclusive section was punctured by the angered slamming of a car door. Looking very much out of place amidst this aura of affluence was a distinctly working-class automobile parked on a gracefully curving driveway concealed from the street by a wall of lush, meticulously manicured hedges.
After being admitted through the elaborate front doors of the sprawling white Georgian mansion, Angelo Saranello angrily treaded through the huge, airy foyer and passed under an ornate chandelier suspended from the ceiling high overhead. On more than one occasion, the visitor often noted the elegant fixture's resemblance to a crystal sword he fully expected to someday come crashing down on him.
Some days that thought struck him as funny. But not tonight. He knew what awaited him down the hall.
"Hi, Angelo. How are you?"
Saranello halted abruptly at the sound of a familiar voice from the curving, elaborately carved oak staircase leading to the second floor bedrooms. There a petite woman strode elegantly down the stairs, approached him, and opened her arms to the burly private investigator. They hugged warmly for a few seconds.
"I'm fine, Maggie," he answered cordially. "And you?"
"I'm okay, I guess," she replied, smiling nervously, "all things considered."
"I know this business with Dana is really worrying you. Are you holding up okay?"
Maggie sighed heavily. "Oh, I think I'd feel a lot better knowing where she is and if she's all right."
The private investigator tried feebly to reassure her. "We're doing our best to find her," he said. "But she's doing a great job of trying not to be found."
Saranello smiled, but he could feel the emptiness in his words. "But hang in there. We'll find her. All we need is one good break."
Maggie touched his arm. "I know you're doing everything you can. Richard and I both appreciate it."
Saranello smiled down at Dana's mother, a slightly built woman not quite five feet tall, her dark brown hair barely reaching her shoulders. Her eyes were a warm brown and expressive, and freely radiated her kind-hearted nature. Her smile was warm and inviting, open and friendly. More than once, Saranello wondered why such a sweet, gentle woman would ever stay married to that despicable husband of hers. Perhaps it was blind, devoted, till-death-do-you-part love. Perhaps it was a lust for money, social standing and the society lifestyle. Perhaps it was dependence bred by the fear being alone. Perhaps it was the resignation of her tractable, supremely tolerant nature. Perhaps it was a bizarre blending of opposites between a dominant, tyrannical ogre and a docile, submissive mouse: a classic marriage made in hell.
Whatever it was, it exacted a frightening price. Far too often, Maggie Van Werner sported bruises, cuts, black-and-blue marks, even an occasional black eye; all covered discreetly by makeup and attributed with faked casualness to household accidents, clumsiness or—since her daughter's disappearance—a worsening drinking problem.
Tonight, Angelo Saranello eyed a bruise on Maggie's left cheek, not quite disguised by hastily applied makeup. Curious as to what excuse she'd use tonight, he pointed to her cheek and asked, "What happened there? That looks pretty nasty."
She giggled nervously and hesitated before speaking. "Oh ... uh ... I was ... trying to pull some ... uh ... boxes off a closet shelf and ... one of them fell on me. I'm just so clumsy."
The private investigator nodded knowingly—harboring his own suspicions—and politely decided not to pursue the matter. "So, where's the boss?"
"He's waiting for you in his study," she answered. "I'll walk with you. Come on."
Together, Maggie and Saranello made their way through the maze of corridors threading through the Van Werner mansion until reaching an open door at the end of a long hallway. Light poured from the room, briefly dispelling the darkness that enshrouded the passageway.
Respectfully, Maggie knocked softly at the open door and entered the room. Saranello followed her inside. They found Richard Van Werner standing, staring out a window, his arms crossed expectantly. He glared at his two visitors.
"It's about time you got here," he growled. "I called you over an hour ago."
"Hey, it's the middle of the night and I do have a life outside of business hours," the private investigator countered. "I do like to spend time with my wife and daughter once in a while."
"If you don't get on the ball and get that little bitch back here, you aren't going to have a business. Then we'll see how long your precious little wife and kid will hang around."
Saranello swallowed his offense at the insinuation and took one of the elegant leather chairs facing the attorney's mammoth mahogany desk while Maggie stood quietly a respectful distance away.
"So, do you have something or not?" the tall man snapped.
The P.I. took a deep breath. "Dana is obviously aware that she's being followed. She's doing an excellent job of covering her tracks. Using assumed names, paying cash for everything, changing buses and destinations unpredictably, doubling back on herself. It's tough to keep track of someone under those conditions."
Van Werner rolled his eyes impatiently. "So, do you have something or not?" he reiterated, grinding his words out through undisguised frustration.
"Our people have confirmed sightings of her in Madison, Wisconsin, Tallahassee, Houston, New Orleans, Omaha, Nashville, and Minneapolis. We think she's currently on a bus headed for Seattle."
"You think?" Van Werner grumbled. "You think? That's it? Is that all you have? You think she's headed for Seattle?" The tall man slammed his fist powerfully into his desk. "So, you have absolutely nothing concrete ... as usual."
His face reddening, Saranello repeated, "We think she's headed for Seattle."
Richard turned to Maggie who was still meekly standing at the door. "Why don't you go get us some coffee?" he sneered.
Indignation flashed across her face. But she said nothing, smiled weakly, and left the room.
Van Werner turned back to the investigator. "The only thing I want to hear from you is that you've got that little slut—bound and gagged if necessary—and that you're bringing her back here. I'm not going to have the gossips laughing at me like they laugh at old man Townsend. I won’t have it splattered all over North Briarwood that Richard Van Werner's daughter ran away. What are people going to think? What are my clients going to think? She is dirty laundry, and I want her bagged and brought back here ...NOW!"
"Richard, legally she's an adult," Saranello countered. "What if she doesn't want to come back? What am I supposed to do? Kidnap her?"
"I don't give a rat's ass if you drug her into a coma, strap her to a stretcher, and bring her back here flat on her back. I don't give a shit if you handcuff her and put her in leg irons. I don't give a fuck if you lock her in a box with a bottle of water and a package of crackers. I want her back here." With a voice suddenly monotone and frighteningly devoid of emotion, he added, emphasizing each word. "Injure her if that's what it takes. I don't give a fuck."
Shocked, Saranello gulped and speculated just what injure her entailed. Knowing Richard Van Werner, it probably meant anything short of murder.
More than slightly curious and anxious to change the subject, the burly investigator asked, "What happened to Maggie? Did she hurt herself?"
As though suddenly uninterested, Van Werner turned back toward the window. "What are you talking about?"
"The bruise on her cheek." Cautiously, Saranello added, "Something really whacked her."
Like his wife, Richard Van Werner paused before replying, carefully choosing his words. "She ... was ... getting ready for bed last night," he explained, not at all convincingly. "She was drunker than a skunk. Tripped over something on the floor and hit her face on the nightstand. Hell, she's been drinking like a goddamned fish ever since that little whore took off."
Saranello made a mental note of the discrepancies in the Van Werners' stories, in the Van Werners' marriage, in the Van Werners' lives, in the Van Werners' sanity, in the Van Werners themselves, and wondered why the two women hadn't run off years ago.
With the attorney still staring out the window, Saranello wordlessly pulled his burly form from the chair and started moving toward the door.
Richard called to him from across the room. The investigator immediately halted and looked back toward his boss. "About what I told you if she refuses to come back ...”
Saranello smiled knowingly. "I know you weren't serious."
The lawyer turned completely around, his stern expression burrowing into the burly man leaving his study. "I was completely serious," he answered quietly. "Injure her if you have to."
All at once, Angelo Saranello felt a compelling need to get the hell out of that house and away from that man.
Chapter 6
In the dark, deserted silence of the mansion's kitchen, Maggie sat at the chef's table, and dabbed at her tears as she read the latest letter from her daughter. Like the others, it had been written during crowded, lonely moments in crowded, lonely places, aboard buses leaving nowhere, bound for nowhere, and passing through nowhere en route. She could feel the loneliness, the uncertainty, the fear, and the pain Dana had written between the carefully scribed lines, and it grieved her terribly. She longed to hug her daughter, to hold her, and to tell her everything would be all right, just as she had done so many times while Dana was growing up and both women sought solace from each other after being brutalized by the head of the family.
Both women faced their trials alone now, separated by the younger woman’s odyssey in search of a better life free from the tyrant who had tormented her these many years.
As much as Maggie yearned to have Dana back, she took some meager consolation that her daughter was now free of his beatings, his abuse, his cruelty, and his sickness as long as she could remain beyond her father's reach.
But she still missed Dana terribly.
When she finished the letter, Maggie tenderly fondled the creased paper and pressed it to her chest. "Please, Dana," she whispered, "keep running. No matter what happens, keep going. Please, dear God, let her stay away from here. Please let her keep running."
In the middle of that soundless night, Maggie would sit crying in the solitude of that kitchen for a long time, the muffled sounds of her sobbing gently fading into the silence and into the darkness.
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