The Perfect Death: Brannon House, #1

By Stacy Claflin

Within a sordid history full of deadly secrets, no one can be trusted—not even family.

 

No one is more mysterious than the reclusive Brannon family, descended from the town founders. When Claire, the eldest daughter and driven lawyer, is found dead from an apparent suicide, her free-spirited sister Kenzi rushes home determined to uncover the truth about this shocking act.

 

Still haunted by their fraught relationship, Kenzi must now care for Claire's brooding teenage daughter Ember, who believes the family's abandoned mansion hides sinister secrets. Strange occurrences in the home lead them to question whether someone—or something—wanted Claire dead and covered up the crime.

 

With the help of handsome, relentless detective Graham Felton, Kenzi and Ember begin unraveling the family's hidden legacy and disturbing history of violence to uncover the chilling truth behind Claire's demise. But will digging into the cryptic clues put them directly in the path of Claire's killer and make them the next victims?

 

As they untangle twisted bonds of family loyalty and obsession, Kenzi and Ember, once strangers, forge new family connections. Together, they plunge into the chilling secrets hidden within the shadows of the neighborhood's most tragic home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacy Claflin
• Release date: Jan 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201093167

Stacy Claflin

Stacy Claflin is a two-time USA Today bestselling author who writes about flawed characters that overcome unsurmountable odds. No matter how dark situations seem, there is always a sliver of hope--even if you have to search far and wide to find it. That message is weaved throughout all of her stories. Decades after she wrote her first tales on construction paper and years after typing on an inherited green screen computer, Stacy realized her dream of becoming a full-time bestselling author.  When she's not busy writing or educating her kids from home, Stacy enjoys time in nature, reading, and watching a wide variety of shows in many genres. Her favorite pastime activity is spending time with her family. Join Stacy's newsletter to get three free novels: https://stacyclaflin.com/newsletter/

Book preview

1

Kenzi

Perspiration beads on my forehead. I wipe the dampness away and twist the AC knob, but it does no good. The cracked window will have to be enough to ensure I don’t arrive overheated.

A red face and sweat-soaked clothes never make a good first impression.

Fanning myself with the first fast food wrapper I grab, I check my makeup. So far, so good. But the venue is still twenty minutes away. An engagement party, I think. Something like that. My date is Dan … or is it Dave? Dax? I can’t remember. I’ll have to check my notes at the next stoplight.

I’m in luck—yellow light. I stop even though I totally could’ve made it and pull out my phone to check the deets from my supervisor’s text. Dayton. My date’s name is Dayton. Much cooler than Dan or Dave. Not quite as edgy as Dax. Hopefully his face will match his name, or at least be enjoyable to look at. And we’ll be going to his twin brother’s engagement party. I’ll be there to keep his family from asking about Dayton’s own relationship status, or rather, the lack of it. Should be a fun afternoon—lots of good food and drinks at the very least. I have the best job on earth.

Honk!

Oops. I put down my phone, wave a quick apology, and hit the gas. If I can make all the remaining lights, I can be there in ten minutes and hopefully cool down in the building before meeting my date.

Thankfully, some clouds have started to creep across the sky. With any luck, they’ll find their way over to the sun and stay there for a while. I really need to fix my air conditioning and stop spending my money on other things first.

Mental note—set aside some money for that when I get my next deposit.

Not that I’ll remember. As soon as I step out of this sweltering car and into a building with cool air, I’ll forget all about it. I’ll end up spending my AC money on a new dress, shoes, or whatever ad shows up next on my phone. I’m always a sucker for something cute to wear.

At long last, I make it to my destination.

An apartment building? That can’t be right. I double-check, and it’s the right address.

Tap, tap.

I turn toward the door. Standing next to my car is an extremely tall guy in a tux with slicked-back black hair and a dusting of a beard. He smiles, and my heart leaps into my throat.

Please be Dayton.

I give him my best grin, grab my purse, and step out into the sun—it’s actually cooler than in my car. But that’s hardly what catches my attention. I’m glad I picked my highest heels because this guy is well over six feet tall. Even with my stilettos, I don’t reach his shoulders.

Are you Mackenzie?

He even has a smooth British accent.

Shoot me now.

I hold out my hand. You can call me Kenzi. You’re Dayton?

Yes. He takes my hand as he nods. Pleasure to meet you, Kenzi.

So much better than a Dave or a Dan. Or a Dax.

The pleasure’s all mine. I glance over at the dwelling. Is the engagement party a small family affair?

He shakes his head. No. This is just a meeting place. I thought we’d arrive together. He steps to the side and gestures toward a shiny black convertible. I have no idea what model it is, but it looks foreign and oh-so-expensive.

My breath hitches as I look back and forth between him and the work of art. I don’t usually drive with my dates. In fact, I never go anywhere alone with a client, even though the company I work for thoroughly vets each one. But it’s hard to say no to a ride in that car.

Not being alone with them isn’t corporate policy. It’s my thing. Plenty of my coworkers do it all the time, and there’s seldom a problem.

Dayton chuckles, pulling me from my thoughts. I assure you, my motives are pure. When the party’s over, my family will think something’s up if we don’t leave together. I’ll throw in a tip if you arrive with me.

I hold back a laugh. He wants to pay me to ride in his car? I must be dreaming. And crazy not to just go with it.

I pat my purse. Okay, but just so you know, I’m packing. I’m not actually, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He nods. Let’s go. It’s only a few blocks away, anyhow.

My heart sinks. It would’ve been nice driving clear across LA in that car with this hot British guy.

Dayton holds the door for me. The supple leather seat, like the rest of the vehicle, is luxurious. Too bad this isn’t a real date. Oh, well. I’ll enjoy myself regardless.

He climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. It’s almost too quiet to hear. Then he turns to me. Any music you prefer?

I’m not picky.

He turns on a top-twenty song and pulls out of the spot. So, this is a little awkward. I’m not used to hiring fake dates.

You might be surprised how common it is. I pull down the visor and check my makeup. Everything is still perfect.

So, people hire you all the time to get their families off their backs?

For all kinds of reasons. I put the visor back. This is one of the more common reasons. But sometimes I’m just a fake friend instead of a date. Whatever the occasion, I show up to make it a good time for my client.

Isn’t that odd?

Not really. People are lonely, you know? Everyone puts their best life on social media, but nobody sees the bad days, the reality of life.

He frowns. That’s sad.

I lift a brow. Is it? You’re doing just that.

Dayton shakes his head. I’m all about my business. I don’t want to be burdened with a relationship or anything that goes along with that. Much less getting engaged. He shudders. But my mother and grandmother are relentless. So are my aunts and sister. He sighs. They just don’t get it. I heard about your company and thought I’d give it a try.

"Well it’s not my company, but hey, I get it. My family doesn’t get me, either—at all. That’s why I’m here in Cali. The more space, the better."

Where are you from?

Near Seattle. I’m sure you’ve never heard of the town.

Probably not. He pulls into the parking lot of one of the most expensive hotels in the area.

My mouth drops open as I stare. I’ve only been here for an event once, and it was one of the best fake dates I’ve been on.

Dayton parks and then turns to me. How does this work? We just walk in and start acting?

It’s up to you, really. Anything specific you want from me? A name you want me to go by? A pet name, maybe? Is there anything about your family or you I should know?

He chews on his lower lip with a distant look in his eyes.

I give him my best smile. "Hey, no worries. I’ll just follow your lead. We’ll get through this night together, honey."

The corners of his mouth twitch as he meets my gaze. "Sounds fabulous, love."

My pulse races at that. I’m so glad this is a fake date. Did I already think that? I don’t want a relationship any more than he does. Being tied down sounds awful. He does make the prospect seem moderately appealing though, I have to admit.

He reaches into the back, pulls out a corsage, and slides it onto my wrist. Then he starts to say something, but hesitates.

What? I ask.

Dayton rubs his scruff and glances back again. Would this be too much?

Before I can respond, he reaches back again and pulls out a black rectangular jewelry box.

This. He opens it and clears his throat, revealing a necklace with a large pink jewel in the center and with diamonds running up the length of it.

I’m speechless. He wants me to wear that? It looks like real gems.

Dayton removes it from the box gingerly. It’s a pink diamond, and possibly over the top, but would you mind saying it’s a gift from me? For the anniversary of our meeting?

I just nod. This is crazy. Especially considering last night, where my date was at a redneck bar and I was singing karaoke with my client’s drunk grandma. How have I gone from that to this in less than twenty-four hours?

Relief washes over Dayton’s face. He slides the necklace around my shoulders, brushing his silky sleeves across my face, then clasps it. I get a whiff of a mouthwatering cologne. Then he leans back and looks me over before smiling wistfully.

Is everything okay? I ask.

He nods. I just … it almost makes me think—never mind. We’d better get inside. We’re already making a fashionably late entrance. Hopefully, that doesn’t bother you.

I clear my throat. It’s all up to you.

Perfect. He looks behind me at the building and gives me a forced smile. Let’s do this.

Once outside the car, I loop my arm around his and walk as close as I can without tripping over him. He holds open the door for me, then we quickly find the banquet room, which is decorated with more flowers than I’ve ever seen in one place—even more than some fancy-schmancy weddings I’ve been to for work. The room is filled with well-dressed party-goers and a live band plays off to the side.

I start to loop my arm around his again, but he takes my hand and threads his fingers through mine. And I try to ignore how incredibly soft his strong hands are.

A group of women swarm us, and guessing by their ages, they’re his mom, grandma, and sister. They all have the same dark hair as Dayton and similar features. They talk over each other and introduce themselves to me.

I get into character and go with the flow, answering all their questions and looking over at my date lovingly. He returns the gesture and kisses my cheek several times.

The women pull me away and shove a glass of white wine into my hands while continuing to question me. Dayton throws me an apologetic glance. I give him a smile and sip my drink. This is what I get paid for, so I don’t mind. I go with it, making up the best answers I can, imagining what Dayton’s fiancée would say, if he had one.

After at least twenty minutes pass, they finally let me be. I step back and take a deep breath. Hopefully, they’re well convinced this sham is real.

Dayton waves to me from across the room, surrounded by a group of men—one of whom has to be his brother. They could almost be twins. Oh, wait. They are.

I head over, when my phone vibrates in my purse. Ugh, I thought I turned off calls and alerts. Whatever. At least it isn’t ringing.

Dayton makes eye contact as I near.

I flash him my best grin, wrap my arm around his waist, and snuggle close as I join the group. Hi, sweetie. Are you having fun?

Of course, darling. Let me introduce you to everyone.

I smile at each person as he says their names. Halfway through, my phone buzzes again. It’s weird, because I don’t know who would be calling me. My bestie is also out on a fake date, so she wouldn’t call.

Dread runs through me. What if something’s wrong? If Misty’s fake date turned dangerous? It rarely happens, but it does on occasion. Hence why I don’t make a habit of getting into cars with clients.

I meet Dayton’s gaze. I need to use the ladies’ room.

Of course. Do you know where it is, love?

I’ll find it. I hurry out into the hall as quickly as I can in these heels. Before I reach the door, my cell vibrates yet again.

Something is definitely wrong.

My heart hammers as I dart behind a small potted tree and dig for my phone.

The missed calls aren’t from Misty. They’re from an unknown caller, but I recognize the prefix. It’s from Seattle. One of my relatives? A spam call? But why would they keep calling?

It vibrates again. Same number.

I accept the call. Who is this?

Is this Mackenzie Brannon? asks a feminine voice.

Maybe. Who are you?

I’m Natasha Bradley, attorney-at-law. Are you Mackenzie?

Yes. My stomach knots. And whatever it is, I didn’t do it.

No, no, she says quickly. Nothing like that. I’m an associate of Claire’s.

I throw my head back and groan. Something to do with my sister. Should’ve known when she said attorney. "Why are you calling me?"

Natasha clears her throat. I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mackenzie.

Kenzi. Everyone calls me Kenzi.

Okay. Are you sitting?

I lean against the wall—that’s going to have to do. Yes. Lay it on me.

Claire’s dead. Natasha’s voice wobbles. Suicide.

It feels like a slap to the face. What? Are you sure?

Unfortunately. Her voice cracks and she sniffles. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this over the phone. It’s such a shock to all of us here. I’ve been dealing with everything myself up to this point, which is why I’m only now calling you.

I press my back harder against the wall. Claire’s dead? Killed herself? That’s impossible. She’s a successful lawyer—or was. Perfect family, house, the works. That doesn’t make any sense. My sister had everything going for her.

Natasha blows her nose on the other end of the line. I know. Just this morning, she was telling me about Ember’s upcoming art show, sure she would win.

Ember—another reason Claire wouldn’t off herself. Her daughter. She has to be, what, fifteen now? Yeah. Ten years younger than me. My niece is closer in age to me than my sister is … was. Claire lived for that girl.

Are you still there? Natasha’s voice brings me back to the present.

Yeah. I clear my throat and nearly drop the phone. I’m shaking. And freezing.

Can you drive over? We need to go over her Last Will and Testament.

Me? What about Richard?

Natasha clears her throat and speaks in a quieter voice. She gave me strict orders to go over this with you and not him.

What? I exclaim. Are you sure?

This is insane. I haven’t spoken to Claire in five years—since our dad passed away—and she chose me to handle this? Instead of her husband?

Yes. When can you be here? An hour? Two?

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. You do realize I’m in LA, don’t you? And I’m working.

Are you able to fly up? This is important.

Can’t afford a plane ticket at the moment.

You don’t understand, Natasha insists. "This is urgent."

Why? It’s a struggle to keep my voice calm. She never needed me when she was alive!

There’s a moment of silence. Claire left Ember to you.

What? The floor seems to disappear from under me. You must be reading that wrong!

We talked about it extensively when putting this together.

Why would my sister spend so much time thinking about this when she had everything going for her?

It’s smart planning. If you had a family, you’d understand. And besides, it’s clear she was planning for this day.

Something seems fishy to me, but I don’t know about the legalities of any of this. Why didn’t she leave Ember with Richard?

He’s her stepfather, not her biological dad.

As if