MAC Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  Reader Club

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Unknown Threat Sneak Peek

  Unknown Threat - Chapter 1

  Unknown Threat - Chapter 2

  Unknown Threat - Chapter 3

  Unknown Threat - Chapter 4

  Reader Club

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  MAC

  A School Marshal Mystery/Thriller

  Prequel Novella to Unknown Threat

  Robin Lyons

  COPYRIGHT

  MAC: A Prequel Novella

  Copyright © 2017 by Robin Lyons

  UNKNOWN THREAT Sneak Peek

  Copyright © 2016 by Robin Lyons

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or electronically transferred in whole or part, without express written permission from the author. Brief quotes may be used in reviews.

  Kindle/eBook ISBN: 978-0-9968529-2-0

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9968529-3-7

  UNKNOWN THREAT Kindle ISBN: 978-0-9968529-0-6

  UNKNOWN THREAT Paperback ISBN:

  978-0-9968529-1-3

  Click or visit author’s website: www.RobinLyons.com

  Published by: Singing Dog Media

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A big THANK YOU to my family and friends for their continued support and encouragement.

  CREDITS:

  Behind every story is research. Seeking knowledge to make a story rich and authentic is vital.

  My interpretation of the research is what goes into my stories.

  I’d like to express my sincere gratitude to:

  My son-in-law, a U.S. Air Force Veteran who served for twenty years. His assistance with the military content was and continues to be extremely helpful.

  Gold Country Bail Bonds, Dutch Jensen, I appreciate your time explaining what you do and for sharing your knowledge and expertise.

  Editing: Clio Editing Services,www.clioediting.com

  Editing: Author Resource Centre, www.authorresourcecentre.com

  INTRODUCTION

  Dear Reader,

  MAC takes place in 1990, during ‘Mac’ MacKenna’s last month of high school, twenty years before the events in UNKNOWN THREAT, Book 1 in the School Marshal Series. You’ll be given a glimpse into the turbulent MacKenna home and the childhood that influenced Mac’s decisions after high school.

  Brookfield is a small fictional town set in rural Northern California where Mac grew up. In addition to reading about Mac’s older sister, Maggie, his parents, Bill and Mary MacKenna, you’ll also read about a few of Mac’s friends.

  I hope you enjoy learning more about Mac and his family. MAC is the prequel to UNKNOWN THREAT, Book 1 in the School Marshal Series.

  Thanks for reading,

  Robin Lyons

  p.s. If you haven’t already read UNKNOWN THREAT, there’s a sneak peek at the end of MAC. Enjoy!

  ROBIN’S READER CLUB

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  Your email information in NEVER shared.

  It’s free and super easy to join - tap or click the link below:

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  Chapter 1

  There were two weeks and four days remaining in my senior year of high school, but who’s counting. Finals are next week. Nothing like waiting until the last minute to cram for my worst subject, English. My open book and papers were spread out on my bed, I needed to focus, but my mind kept wandering from English to tomorrow—my eighteenth birthday. I had a bad feeling my dad was going to kick me out. I’m pretty sure he knows I hate him, and I’m almost positive he hates me too.

  Mom knocked once on my door and then burst into the room. She’d been crying. Her nose was red and her makeup smeared. There was a tissue wad in her hand.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your father just called from the county jail. He was arrested for driving under the influence.” As the last word passed her lips, she began to cry.

  My sister, Maggie, must have sensed something was going down, she appeared in the doorway. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Did he get into an accident?” I asked.

  “No. He was…” She stopped to blow her nose. “He was pulled over. And the car was impounded.”

  “What did he tell you to do?”

  “I have to speak with a bail bondsman about bail, or he stays in jail until he goes to court,” she said.

  Maggie chimed in, “Let him stay in jail. He needs to learn a lesson.”

  Mom and I looked at Maggie. She stood tall with a straight face showing no emotion as she added, “What? I’m sick of his drinking. If he doesn’t stop on his own, maybe jail will force him to sober up.”

  The color drained from Mom’s face. “I can’t leave him there,” she said to Maggie, before turning her focus back to me, her eyes pleaded for assistance.

  “I’ll go with you to the bondsman. Who is it?” I asked.

  “I haven’t called anyone. Your father told me what I needed to do. He didn’t tell me who to call.”

  Maggie turned in a huff and went back to her bedroom.

  I shook my head. “Maggie! Come back here for a minute,” I yelled after her.

  She reappeared in the doorway. This time she didn’t look as stoic as before. This time she had tears in her eyes.

  “Will you stay here with Grandpa when we go to the bondsman’s office?”

  She swallowed hard, “Yes,” she answered before spinning around and disappearing.

  “Let’s figure this out Mom.”

  I walked ahead to the living room.

  Mom was too emotional to speak with the bail bondsman. I made the call for her. After I had given the spiel to the answering service, I was transferred to the bondsman. He sounded nice enough and provided me with several payment options.

  Maggie assisted Grandpa to sit with her in the living room. She sat in a ball, on one end of the worn sofa with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, holding her knees close to her chest. Grandpa sat next to her.

  The bombshell was, we weren’t going anywhere, Dad was spending the night in jail, whether he liked it or not. It turns out the jail had a mandatory sobriety hold period of between four to six hours, depending on how drunk the person was. Plus, it was Sunday evening, so he was spending the night, end of story. He’d be released at eight in the morning.

  Tomorrow morning the bondsman had to pay ten percent of the total bond in assurance Dad would appear in court on his due date, about thirty days from now. We had to pay the bondsman forty percent of his ten percent.

  Mom was relieved. She thought she’d have to use the house as collateral.

  It was going to be a long, sleepless night for her. She didn’t know if Dad knew he was spending the night, or if he would be able to call her again.

  After I had hung up the phone, Grandpa opened his eyes and remarked, “So, Billy-boy’s in the hoosegow?”

  “Dad
! You know he hates it when you call him names,” Mom scolded her father.

  “He needs to sober up. The best thing for him. Sure glad he didn’t get into an accident and hurt anyone,” Grandpa added.

  “I agree with Grandpa,” Maggie said, “He needs to sober up.”

  Mom didn’t respond to either of them.

  All of a sudden, without any warning, Grandpa leaned forward to vomit on the floor. Jumping over the sofa arm, Maggie ran to get some towels. Mom lunged toward Grandpa.

  “Are you okay, Dad?”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I was going to be sick,” he said with tears in his eyes.

  Maggie tossed towels onto the vomit, as Mom helped Grandpa to his room.

  She returned with cleaning supplies. “He’s never vomited like that before.”

  “Is he okay?” I asked.

  “I hope so. He was upset about the mess he’d made,” she said.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked Mom.

  She sighed, “Nothing, just go back to your studies.”

  “I can miss my morning classes and take you to pick up Dad if you’d like.”

  “Thank you.” Mom’s expression suggested she’d remembered something. “Tomorrow’s your birthday. What a terrible way to start your day. I’ll make you a nice dinner.”

  “We can do it another time Mom. I have to work for one of the guys at the restaurant.”

  Chapter 2

  What a fantastic way to start my eighteenth birthday, bailing my asshole Dad from jail! Even though Mom had given me a birthday card with money inside, it was an internal struggle to keep my mind focused on the situation and not feel slighted on my birthday.

  As planned, we met the bondsman at the county jail at seven forty-five. By eight-thirty, Dad, Mom, and I walked from the jail to my car. He was angry and tight-jawed.

  He stunk from body odor and yesterday’s booze. His mood wasn’t much better. He was irritated with Mom for leaving him in jail overnight.

  Mom sat in the backseat looking out the side window, while Dad berated her from the front.

  I tried to explain to him, she couldn’t bail him out last night, it was out of her control, but it was a no-win situation. I remained silent from then on.

  When I drove away from the impound yard where I dropped them off, heading for school, I saw Dad in my rearview mirror flailing his arms, while continuing to scold Mom.

  I never felt so happy about being at school. As I walked toward my class, the more I rehashed the morning, in my mind, the angrier I felt. I was deep in thought when Bobby walked up beside me and put his arm around my neck.

  “Happy birthday bro!”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “My dad told me about your dad. I’m sorry,” Bobby said, “He’s messed up.”

  “Tell me about it,” I replied.

  “Maggie said you’re working tonight—on your eighteenth birthday? We should celebrate.”

  “We can celebrate when I’m in my place. I’ve got to go, I’ll see you later.”

  I’d stayed at school to work in the library and prep for my finals. On my way home, to change for work, I drove by EC’s Lounge, the neighborhood dive bar Dad liked to frequent. I expected his car would be there. Either he’d found a less conspicuous place to park, or he wasn’t there.

  To my surprise, his car was in the garage.

  Maggie was still at school.

  I was still a little worried Dad was going to kick me out today.

  Mom’s welcoming, cheery face wasn’t peeking out the kitchen window, like it usually was. When I walked inside, the house was quiet and had a weird vibe.

  Years ago, I’d perfected walking around the house quietly while missing all the creaky spots. When I looked in on Grandpa, he appeared to be asleep. I heard muffled voices coming from my parents’ bedroom.

  I tossed my backpack on my bed and retrieved a water glass from the kitchen, before going into Maggie’s room, to listen through the wall. Her room was sandwiched between Grandpa’s room and the spare room my parents used as their bedroom. It had to be Dad convincing Mom to support him in kicking me out. Of that, I was certain.

  Pressing my ear to the bottom of the glass, I held it against the wall. Immediately, I heard mom say with crystal clarity, “I’m not going to do it.”

  “Then I will,” Dad replied.

  “You will not!” Mom uttered sternly.

  “We need more money. You’ll have to charge your father more to take care of him,” he was saying, “He can afford it.”

  Then there was silence. Was Mom whispering? I focused hard on hearing.

  After Grandma had died last year, Grandpa was content to live alone, but then, about six months ago, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Mom worried he’d forget to turn off the stove, or wander away from home and not remember where he lived. Somehow, she convinced Dad to give up their bedroom, with an attached bathroom, since it was the biggest bedroom. She’d set up Grandpa with everything he needed, a recliner, TV, a hospital-type adjustable bed, and the bathroom was modified to accommodate his failing body. Clearly, Dad resented Grandpa living with us.

  “Go ahead. Hit me again. This time I’ll call 911,” I heard Mom say.

  My blood began to boil. I knew it. I knew Dad was physically abusing Mom. Why doesn’t she just leave him?

  “Then, I’ll ask him for a loan. He has plenty of money and nowhere to spend it. I doubt he even remembers he has money.” Dad tried a different angle to weaken Mom’s resolve.

  “You leave my dad alone. I’ll handle it.”

  “What’s the big deal? His money will be yours after he dies anyway, so what difference does it make?”

  “Cole’s going to be home soon. This discussion’s over. And don’t speak with my father about his money. Period!”

  I scurried to my bedroom and was inside, with the door closed, when I heard footsteps walk down the hallway, but then the footsteps returned, and there was a gentle knock on my door.

  “Come in,” I said.

  Mom’s strained face poked through the opening. “Hi, sweetheart. How long have you been home?” She stood in the doorway leaning against the doorjamb. I noticed her neck and exposed chest was mottled with redness.

  “I just got home.” It was a necessary lie, I thought to myself.

  “Are you having a nice birthday? I wish you didn’t have to work tonight. When can I make you a special dinner?” she asked.

  Dad walked down the hallway, past Mom. He didn’t look her way, nor did he wish me a happy birthday.

  Mom shook her head in disapproval.

  “Thursday would be good. Do you feel like making your lasagna? I’ll invite Bobby.”

  Mom’s face lit up. She burst into my room and hugged me tightly. “I love you so much, son,” Releasing me and holding me at arm’s length, she added, “I can’t believe my baby is eighteen.”

  “Feels just like seventeen did,” I replied, with a grin.

  She tried to give a little laugh, but it came out as more of a chuckle.

  “I need to get ready for work,” I said.

  “Okay. Happy birthday,” she replied.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Before I left for work, I stopped by to say hello to Grandpa. He was sitting up in his bed, awake and staring out the sliding, glass-door, at his bird feeder. Yellow finches clung to the feeder, fighting amongst themselves for a position on a perch.

  “Hi, Grandpa.”

  “Hello,” he replied.

  “Today’s my birthday. I’m eighteen.”

  His face lit up with joy. “Happy birthday.” He reached his hand out for mine and then pulled me to him, kissing my cheek. “Are we having cake for dinner?”

  I laughed. “Not tonight. I have to work. We will on Thursday.”

  “Good. I don’t feel well today. Thursday will be better. I’ll have dinner with the family. Will it be chocolate cake?” His eyes closed as he drifted off to sleep before I could answer.

&nbsp
; When I walked down the hall, toward the front door to leave, Dad was sitting in his recliner in the living room. He held the newspaper under the table lamp to see better. On the side table was a glass of iced tea. We all knew he added vodka to the tea and the only person he was fooling was himself.

  He looked at me but didn’t say anything. It was like nothing out of the ordinary had happened today. He snapped the newspaper away from himself to straighten the fold and then turned his focus back to reading.

  There was nothing ordinary about bailing your Dad from jail. But at least he didn’t kick me out, I thought, as I walked outside.

  Chapter 3

  It was Wednesday night, close to ten-thirty. The restaurant had been quite busy, and I was more than ready to climb into bed. With the windows down on my 1970 Chevelle, the warm night air felt great. When I turned onto our street, I saw Bobby’s dad’s sheriff cruiser parked at the curb.

  All the lights in the house were on, and the windows were wide open. A large rectangle of light spilled out the front door and onto the lawn.

  Our nosy neighbor across the street, Mrs. Dearny, sat on her porch in the darkness.

  “Shit! This situation can’t be good,” I said to nobody.

  In the pit of my stomach, I knew Dad had to have done something, for Deputy Donaldson to be there. I wondered, did Dad get another DUI? He may have driven all the way home before he stopped for Deputy Donaldson. It had only been two days since we bailed him from jail.

  I parked my car behind the cruiser and put the windows up enough to keep the neighborhood stray cats from spending the night inside or worse, marking their territory.

  Before I rounded the car, Maggie blasted outside and sent the screen door crashing against the house. She met me on the walkway.