Monarch: A Suspense Novel

By C.M. Burnett

Friendship can be murder

Anna is happy being a suburban housewife. She hoped with her new start that her painful past was over. When she learns her husband is cheating, she reaches out to the Others Agency for help. Mara Tolliver attempts to catch Anna’s husband “in the act”, but ends up becoming part of it.

Feeling doubly betrayed Anna’s old pain resurfaces. Her marriage ends and her life is in tatters. Anna sets out on a rampage which results in murder. Monarch, an old friend and protector, comes to her aid when she needs it most.

When friend turns to foe, Anna is the only one who can stop Monarch from doling out his skewed idea of justice. If successful, he will ruin Mara’s life and Anna’s as well. Can she stop Monarch before he destroys her?

From the lethal beginning, to the shocking ending, Monarch is a deadly, sexy tale filled with suspense. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.M. Burnett
• Release date: Sep 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536505467

Book preview

The Woman with the Butterfly Tattoo

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Murder is like taking a good picture. It's all about positioning, everyone in the right place at the right time. Say cheese. You're dead.

The gagging sounds would be disturbing to most people, but she liked the sound. It was like music to her ears. Asphyxiation was too good for him, but she wanted to watch his face as he died.

During his final minutes alive, he struggled to breathe and clawed at his neck trying to get sweet oxygenated relief. His hands reached out to get a final grip on life. It didn't matter. Death was waiting to take his hand.

It was done.

She'd spent seven hours in the dark coolness of the wilderness. With her a lantern, a shovel, and his body attached to a hand truck. The earth had a strange moldy smell that made the richness of the dirt the only good thing about it. It was nature's toilet, so that could be what that rank smell was. Dumping the hand truck and body into the hole, it occurred to her that she'd have to replace it.

She shoveled the dirt filling the hole. She wondered if anyone noticed her stealing it from the janitors shed. She’d wait until someone found their way to her asking about it. Hand trucks weren't cheap. Slamming the shovel onto the dirt to pack it down her arms throbbed. She hadn't thought the task of burying a body to be easy, but she hadn't expected this much of a workout. She was going to feel this for days. Walking back to her SUV, her shoes and pants dampened with the early morning dew. As the world awakened, she'd be laying down to sleep.

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Her intention was to spend the day in bed. Around four she'd gotten a strong urge to memorialize the previous day's activities. In honor of his snake tattoo, she’d get a tattoo of her own. He was out of her life. For the first time, she was free.

Her memories wandered to the monarch butterflies she saw every summer when she was a child. They were a symbol of freedom. Envy filled her each time she saw them flying. Going where ever they wanted, when they wanted.

Envy got the best of her and one day she'd gotten a jar. She didn't bother to put holes in the lid because it wasn’t her intention to place one in captivity. No, she wanted to see it suffer. In her mind that was the price of freedom. Even when she was young she knew there was a price for it. The price she'd paid was humiliation, defamation, and poverty. He's where he deserved to be. Buried and surrounded by predators, she hoped, would feast on his flesh.

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Deep down she knew she belonged here, in the seedy part of town that was darker than the rest. Here, the sirens were no more than background noise. The ambiance to a life that headed nowhere fast, yet it still took its time getting there. Here where fear slathered the streets like a fresh coat of paint, but hid few flaws of the façade before.

The inhabitants scattered about like dust on the wind. They acted like rabid rats fighting for the only sliver of food remaining. Courage flowed from a bottle, a filtered butt or the tip of a needle and the freedom here was under special conditions. You’d get stifled here by the lack of rules and the blatant disrespect for them. Where a meal at the local burger place could be the best or the last you ever have. In this place, where dark eyes followed you into every crevice, secrets were only illusions. They floated from one ear to the next always changing with each new betrayal.

Yes, here was where she belonged. She looked at the dusty window and neon sign calling her to come inside and take a chance. You may leave with a beautiful piece of art or the worst infection ever diagnosed it beckoned. So, come on in and bring that courage along with you. You’ll need it.

Walking into the tattoo shop she was finally in control. She’d become the monarch that she once envied. Free to go and be whatever she wanted. There's no one to stop her.

The girl behind the counter looked up at her. She didn't do a good job of hiding her surprise as she asked, Can I help you?

Yes, you may, she said with a smile. I would like to get a tattoo.

She noticed how the girl sized her up. Trying to judge whether she had what it took to take the process of getting a tattoo. The answer, yes she did. She grimaced at the girl.

You know this is permanent, right?

Of course, she did. The girl irritated her like a rash. She fought the urge to strike her.

I wouldn't have it any other way, she said walking to the counter. I know exactly what I want.

Good, let me set you up with an artist.

She was on a table, nude from the waist up, having her back shaved and disinfected. The medicinal smell of alcohol and Betadine filled her nostrils. At first, it felt as if there was a line of bees attacking the skin of her back leaving inflamed stingers behind. She concentrated on the buzz of the tattoo machine as it came closer and moved away. The room felt cold. She imagined the small bumps bursting forth on her skin. This body was tough and resilient. No need to be concerned with temperature when there was a whole life to plan.

She fell asleep. A few visits later there was a monarch with wings spread to each shoulder drawn on her back.

Oh, sweet freedom.

ONE

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May 11, 2012

The sun hung low in the Georgia sky. As if it was found tossed on the ground and placed back before anyone noticed. Newcomers would find the heat too intense and uncomfortable. True southerners found it an indicator of how much closer they are to God.

The outside of the crime scene was like any other three star hotel. Your neighbor could be a hooker. Or that low on the totem pole office worker attending the company convention. A way to distinguish which one would be the sounds heard through the semi-thick walls. The only thing that seemed amiss was the uniformed officers combing the grounds.

Inside though, it was chaos. When Leia Wallace met Richard Trent he had his boxers around his knees. The handsome, intelligent, billionaire CEO was lying on his back with his intestines hanging out. This further proved her theory that all the good ones are dead or taken. In this instance both.

The crime scene was in a neighborhood between mid to upper middle class. The hotel was obscure enough that his wealthy friends wouldn’t stumble upon him. Yet, safe enough that he wouldn’t get killed in his sleep, or so Richard Trent thought.

TWO

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Mara awoke to a strong tug on her arm and searing pain in her hand.

Get up miss, the voice said.

She opened her eyes to see stars. Her head ached and throbbed to her eyes and cheeks. Mara couldn't understand what was happening. The smell hit her, the stench of rotting flesh and old blood. She closed her eyes and twisted her head to the side. With this motion Mara fell back and her head hit the wood floor.

Oh, no you don't, a male voice said. You need to get up miss we have a lot of questions for you.

Mara tried to rise, but her limbs wouldn’t cooperate. She felt light headed and throbbing pain moving from the back of her head down her neck. At that moment, her brain switched on. We? Questions? Who the hell were we? What was causing that horrible smell? Mara's hands stuck to the floor below her. What in the hell?

Give her a minute. She's high and trying to come down, a female voice said.

High on what? There's nothing I know of that could make you this depraved. Hell, they're still trying to figure out how to move him in one piece. With so many stab wounds to his midsection it's almost impossible, the man chimed in.

Mara swallowed hard. Her throat was bone dry. Was this a dream? Or maybe a nightmare of some kind. It couldn't be. She'd never felt pain this intense before while dreaming. This was real, whatever this was.

A hand touched her. What is your name miss? the female voice asked. It’s a simple question that should be easy to answer. Why couldn't she answer it?

Another male voice chimed in, The I.D. says Mara Tolliver.

Her name is Mara. She opened her mouth to speak, but there was only a gasp.

Let me help you Mara. Then, maybe you can help me, the female voice said.

Mara felt a light tug on her arm as the woman tried to help her to her feet. Without the slightest warning, Mara's legs gave way. She collapsed feeling the woman's hand grasp her arm tighter then let go. Mara fell to her knees into something wet and sticky.

You know the crime scene techs are gonna shit when they see that, a male voice said from behind Mara.

Then give me a hand you idiot, the woman said close to Mara's ear.

Without warning there was a set of arms placed under her arms as Mara felt the floor disappear from beneath her.  A few seconds later the floating feeling was replaced by a soft cushion. Mara opened her bleary eyes as the room came into view. Everything was blurry, but she could make out shapes and flurries of bright light. She heard snaps.

Hey Doug, when you're finished over there. I need you over here, the female voice said. When her eyes finally focused Mara saw a woman standing in front of her. She was thin about 5'7 with brown hair. The woman placed out her hands. Mara was tipping over.

Whoa, there. You okay Mara?

I'm dizzy, Mara said hoarsely.

Can I get some water over here? the woman called out behind her.

Mara noticed the room is filled with people.

What's going on? Mara asked.

The woman gave her an incredulous look, her green eyes searching Mara's face. I'm Detective Wallace with the Atlanta Police Department. I'm trying to find out what happened here. Do you know where you are?

Mara leaned forward as hair fell into her face. The disheveled black strands were frazzled. She reached up to brush them away when the smell of blood hit her. Mara inspected her hand. There was blood caked up and dried on the palm. There was a cut in the center of her hand and the skin felt tight. Mara turned her hand over to find drops of crimson.

What's this? Mara asked unable to believe what she was seeing. What the hell is this?

It’s blood, Mara. Doug, I need your camera please.

A man walked over wearing a vest that had C.S.I. on the front. He held a camera with a big flash attached to it.

Now hold still, Mara, the detective said.

The man walked over to her, but as he got closer he place the camera to his eye and backed away. There was a series of flashes, all blinding. Mara closed her eyes.

I need you to document the injuries, Detective Wallace said. Mara we need you to stand up.

As Mara stood she wobbled a little. Someone rushed over to steady her.

Turn your hands down Mara, the detective said in her ear.

Mara did as instructed by putting her arms out with the palms down. She heard several clicks. The detective said ‘hands up’. Mara turned her hands over.

Now let's get her face.

Her face? What the hell is wrong with my face? There was a series of snaps.

Can I get some with her eyes open? Doug asked.

Mara opened her eyes. As the camera flashed she felt her eyes water. Finally, it was over.

Thanks Doug, Detective Wallace said helping Mara into the chair.

Okay, Mara it's time for some hard questions, she said handing her a glass of water.

Mara drank it feeling the coolness soothe her throat. Can I have some more?

She handed the detective the glass. The detective asked one of the many people walking around for a refill.

Now Mara, what’s the last thing you remember? The detective pulled out a pen and a pad.

Can you tell me what happened here? Mara asked.

The detective glared at her, brows furrowed. It's essential to find out what you know first. That way you're not confused or influenced by what I tell you.

I met him for drinks and umm... fun, Mara said.

We are going to need to go further back than that.

I woke up, brushed my teeth, and took a shower.

Okay, Mara there's no need to go back that far.

This is more for my benefit than yours. Everything is fuzzy. I don't remember much.

The detective lightly touched her hand. She rubbed it like a timid child would a strange cat. It's okay, we can take our time. Let's get you that water. Then we'll take you back to the station. That should give you some time to compose yourself.

Mara shook her head in agreement. She needed time to get her thoughts straight.

We need to stop by the hospital on the way. Do an exam and if necessary a rape kit, the detective said.

SESSION ONE

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Dr. Thomas – Hi, Mara. Can I call you Mara?

Mara nods yes.

Dr. Thomas – I’m Dr. Thomas. I’m here to assess your mental stability. Can you tell me about Richard Trent?

Mara – There’s not much to tell doctor, wrong place, wrong time.

Dr. Thomas - Why do you think Mr. Trent was in the wrong place?

Mara - I wasn’t talking about him.

BEFORE

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As to those two jars that Homer says are stored in Heaven, one full of good fortunes, one of bad, it is not Zeus that presides as the dispenser of them, but ourselves.

-Plutarch, Morals:  Ethical Essays

THREE

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Anna Matthews felt she'd awakened to a nightmare. Her husband was cheating. It didn't make sense. He'd sworn before her and others. He loved her and she was the only woman for him. It was something to be proud of, once. It had only been nine years, most of which he spent climbing up the ladder at his firm. He was now set to make partner within the next two years if he kept on track.

She didn’t understand what went wrong. They had sex at least three times a week, and whenever she splurged on new lingerie it went up to four. She made sure he got his meals on time and picked up his clothes from the cleaners. She ran his errands, bought his clothes, and sat up late waiting when he worked into the night. He may be upset because she didn’t want to have children yet.

She knew the signs. She didn’t remember smelling another woman’s perfume or soap on him. He doesn’t take a shower every time he came home late. She’d become accustomed to this life, being able to buy whatever she wanted when she wanted. Since she was a child living in poverty, this was the life she’d always dreamed of. They took vacations to Greece, Rome, and Italy. She had a closet filled with the latest designer fashions and lived in a six bedroom home with maid included.

She remembered back to when she met Virgil. He was living in a tiny apartment in Stone Mountain, GA. He was working two jobs and struggling to finish college. He would go places and achieve his goals. The perseverance he showed in pursuit of her proved that if he wanted something he wouldn’t give up. He chased her for two months before she allowed herself to be caught.

Six months later they got engaged. He’d entered into his internship at Lehman& Klein and his future was bright. A few months later, they offered him a paid position. He was on his way. He got a great new condo in Roswell and she moved in. Three months later they were planning their wedding.

It was a cool summer afternoon when Anna and Virgil exchanged their vows. She kept her eyes to the sky. Intermittently, the sunlight was blocked by the clouds. The threat of rain on her wedding day during her garden nuptials was a portent. To the storm that was to come less than a decade later.

Anna looked at her sister reclined on the couch. At least, it wasn’t the antique they had in the parlor. This one she’d chosen from Ethan Allen for its deep brown. It added depth to the pale yellow décor of their den, or so the decorator said. Her sister had no respect for nice things. People whose possessions are acquired at the local thrift store rarely do. She looked so much like her. If it weren’t for the two year difference in age they could have been twins. Her raven hair lay feathered over the decorative pillow completely obscuring it from view. Her sister had the decency to take her shoes off this time.

It's as if her sister was reading her mind when she said, Don’t worry, I won’t hurt your precious sofa.

She hated when that happened. Her spontaneous outbursts were nerve racking at times.

For someone who's always concerned about their décor, you don’t have any problems bringing in the strays you feed.

They’re in the basement. No one has guests over and takes them to the basement. The parlor on the other hand is sort of required.

Her sister smirked. So, how many do you have here anyway?

What? Anna answered a bit distracted. She wondered whether the maid had fed her furry guests in the basement.

How many strays?

That's not your concern.

It shouldn’t be yours either. That’s what animal shelters are for.

Anna had begun to realize that she didn’t like to be