Book Review: The Request

Synopsis:

Ryan Francis has it all –- a great career running his own public relations firm, a wonderful wife, Amanda, and a beautiful baby boy -– and he loves posting photos of his perfect life on social media, especially Instagram. Until the night his friend Blake approaches him and asks Ryan to do him a favor. Blake is about to finally marry Sam, the woman with whom he has had an on-again, off-again relationship for years. So he asks Ryan to break into a woman’s home to retrieve incriminating items that implicate Blake in the affair he had with her. At first, Ryan refuses to help. But Blake threatens to reveal Ryan’s darkest secret and jeopardize everything in Ryan’s life. So Ryan has no choice but to honor Blake’s request.

When he arrives at the woman’s home, Ryan is shocked to find her dead. He is equally as shocked to realize that he knows her. As he is trying to figure out what to do, his phone chimes, revealing a Facebook friend request from the dead woman. Police sirens are rapidly approaching, so Ryan flees. He strong suspects that his friend set him up for a murder charge.

Determined to preserve his carefully-constructed his life and clear his name, Ryan searches for the murderer. But solving the crime may lead him closer to home than he ever could have imagined.

Review:

Bestselling author David Bell says he enjoys creating characters who are ordinary people. They’re flawed, but trying to do their best, when they are suddenly thrust into a “situation that spirals out of their control. Can they be physically courageous? Morally courageous?”

In his latest novel, The Request, Ryan Francis is that ordinary guy. On the surface, his life is stable and happy, and he enjoys sharing the details on social media. To outside observers, it appears that Ryan has an idyllic family life and prosperous career — but they have no idea, of course, that he has harbored a horrible secret for many years. Even his wife, Amanda, does not know about his past.

Ryan has spent years quietly trying to atone for a past mistake by making cash gifts anonymously to the family he harmed. Six weeks ago, the local newspaper ran a story about the family’s unidentified benefactor, a presumed Good Samaritan who left money in their mailbox from time to time that they used to purchase medical and home supplies. But one morning, Ryan got caught by the family’s oldest daughter. Now she is demanding a cut of Ryan’s donations. Although she doesn’t know the extent of Ryan’s involvement in the incident that took the life of one of her sisters and permanently injured another, she has figured out that Ryan is motivated by guilt. And she threatens to go to the policy and reveal her suspicions if Ryan does not pay her. Ryan observes, “Of all the things I never though I’d say about my life, there is this — I have a blackmailer. The blackmail started for a simple reason — I was guilty. And over the years the guilt has taken a strong hold of me. Like I giant iron fist.”

Ryan’s best friend from college, Blake, is the only person who knows the whole truth about what happened on that fateful night when they were college upperclassmen. Well, other than Aaron Knicely, the awkward kid who was with them that night. But neither of them have had any contact with Aaron since then. As the story opens, Ryan hasn’t seen Blake for many months, either. But Blake suddenly resurfaces and threatens to destroy the life that Ryan has built and the family he loves if Ryan doesn’t agree to sneak into the home of Jennifer Bates, the woman with whom Blake had an affair, and retrieve the letters Blake wrote her in which he confessed the truth. And she is refusing to return the letters. Blake threatens, “You’ll do this for me, Ryan. You’ll do it or every single person in this town will know the one thing you don’t want them to know about you.”

Who are you to judge someone else for keeping secrets from the person closest to you?

So Blake’s demand is the situation Bell employs to send Ryan’s life spiraling out of control. The Request is a fast-paced, engrossing mystery. With everything he values on the line, Ryan has no choice but to accede to Blake’s demand, but when he sneaks into Jen’s house, he finds her bedroom has been ransacked, the letters are gone, and she is dead. In addition to dealing with his blackmailer, Ryan must find out who killed Jen. Was it Blake? Did he set Ryan up to take the rap for her murder? Or someone else? And if it was someone else, do they have the letters and what do they plan to do with them?

The Request is populated with morally ambiguous characters. Ryan failed to do the right thing years ago. Rather, he moved on with his life. But he has never been free — he has spent years being weighed down by guilt and trying to make amends in the only manner he found feasible. Because of Amanda’s own family history, Ryan is certain that neither she nor her parents could ever forgive him for what he did. And he has his infant son, Henry, to consider. He wants to see Henry grow up and be the father to him that he never had. All of those considerations factor into Ryan’s struggle. Each time he is tempted to let the truth surface and accept the inevitable consequences, he knows that he must forge ahead in an effort to find the murderer, pacify his blackmailer, and keep the past hidden.

In Bell’s tautly-crafted story, several characters become suspects as their motivations are revealed. Especially Blake, whose drinking problem has wreaked havoc in his life over the years and interfered with his ability to establish a stable relationship with Sam. Amanda, still on leave from her job after giving birth to Henry, is frightened and confused by Ryan’s behavior and the threats to her family she perceives. She takes refuge with her parents, who are protective and supportive. And Sam has wanted to marry Blake for years. They have broken up numerous times, but she insists that he has his drinking under control this time and is determined to proceed with the wedding.

As Ryan gets closer to learning the truth, Bell ramps up the story’s pace and tension as Ryan frantically moves from his own home to his in-laws’ and back again, looking for clues. His blackmailer intensifies her demands, Blake goes missing, and the police are closing in. After several shocking revelations and plot developments, Bell delivers a jaw-dropping conclusion.

The Request explores friendship and what happens when it is put to the test, manipulated, and exploited. Friendship offers Bell’s characters the opportunity to be morally courageous at several junctures, and he explores the choices his characters make, their reasoning, and the resultant consequences with insight and compassion. Bell’s writing evinces his affection for and unwillingness to judge his characters, especially as they make matters worse for themselves and those they love. Rather, he leaves that to his readers.

Through various inventive and effective plot developments, Bell injects wry observations about social media and its potentially far-reaching ramifications. Bell says he believes most people have a love-hate relationship with social media, even though the vast majority of us maintain accounts on various platforms. He conceptualizes social media accounts as virtual suburban streets on which most people display the most flattering aspects of their homes and lives. But, of course, no one knows what really goes on behind the facade of the perfect Instagram filter. Bell ponders “what’s going on behind the person who is always eating the perfect taco and taking a picture of it? There’s got to be more to that person.” Indeed, in the case of his characters in The Request, that proves to be true, particularly with respect to Ryan who seeks the validation from his Instagram followers that he can’t give himself because of his guilt and shame.

The author of ten novels, including Layover and Somebody’s Daughter demonstrates again that he is a masterful storyteller. The Request is an entertaining, compelling tale about, as Bell promises, ordinary people facing extraordinary circumstances and an intriguing look at how they react and respond. It is one of 2020’s best thrillers.

Excerpt from The Request

Chapter One

“Ryan.”

Someone called my name. I was leaving the Juniper Pig and stepping into the parking lot, heading for my car. The voice that came through the dark was sharp and husky, a knife swipe through the night, and I jumped.

I couldn’t tell if a man or a woman had spoken.

After work I’d stopped by the Pig, the microbrewery I’d owned a small stake in for the last sixteen months. I was one of three partners, and my contribution had been the smallest, but we took turns going by in the evenings to see how things were running. And that night was my turn.

I hadn’t wanted to stop by the bar. Amanda was waiting at home with our baby, Henry, and thinking of seeing them made my stomach flutter with anticipation and joy. My time away from them felt longer than the hours that passed on the clock, and returning to them every evening was sweet relief. Since Henry had been born, I’d been trying hard to curb my tendency to overwork. But it wasn’t easy. Since my dad died while I was in college, leaving my mother and me high and dry, I’d been compelled to keep going forward, to keep pushing at work. . . .

I hoped Henry would change that. I hoped I could slow down.

But a shadowy figure came toward me in the darkness, freezing my progress. The person was short, the face in shadow.

It was early April, the air still cool, the days still lengthening. I waited, watching. I’d just posted to my Instagram account, sharing a photo of the beer I’d just sampled, one of our brewers’ latest concoctions, the HopPig IPA.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Ryan?”

Dawn Steiner? Her deadline loomed that week, just two days away, but I hadn’t seen or heard from her since that morning almost a month ago. And I’d made almost no progress on finding the money for her. Had she decided to come looking for me?

But then I saw who it was and slipped my phone back into my pocket.

“Is that really you?” I asked the figure still standing in the shadows of the building. Relieved.

He stepped closer, moving into the crisp light that spilled from the windows of the Pig. “It’s me,” he said. “Indeed.”

Blake Norton. My best friend from college. And also my most challenging. He was loyal, fun, and charming. He was immature, reckless, and juvenile. He was Butch Cassidy crossed with Bluto from Animal House.

I hadn’t seen him in six months, even though we lived in the same small city, Rossingville, Kentucky. He held out his hand, and we shook.

Blake looked thinner, healthier, like maybe he’d dropped fifteen or twenty pounds. His face was less puffy. I wondered if he’d stopped drinking and started exercising more, if he was on one of his periodic health kicks. He was shorter than me by two inches, and he wore a neatly trimmed beard. His shoulder-length hair was off his face and combed into place for a change, and his flannel shirt appeared to be free of stains, the sleeves rolled to his elbows with a measure of precision.

“Why are you skulking around in the parking lot?” I asked.

I realized I was happy to see him. Years of friendship, countless memories big and small, and an endless supply of fierce loyalty brought a smile to my face.

“Skulking.” He smiled as well. “I could always count on you to come up with a ten-dollar word like ‘skulking.'”

“I got one of those calendars for Christmas,” I said, “the kind that gives you a new word every day. Today’s was ‘skulking.'”

Blake shook his head. “No, you know all the fancy words. You always have. I remember you were an English major when we started college. You switched to marketing later, but I know what your real passion was.”

“You know why I switched to something more reliable as well as I do,” I said. “I minored in English. And before Henry was born, I read a lot. And you’re still not answering my question.”

Blake turned to the side, his brown lace-up boots scraping against the gravel of the lot as he did. He looked at the Pig, then faced me again. “I shouldn’t go in there. Too much temptation.”

“You quit drinking?” I asked.

“I stopped drinking. I’ll never quit.” He shrugged. “It’s been about six weeks now.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Yeah. It is. I even joined a gym.” He held up his right arm and flexed, even though there was no way to see anything beneath the shirt. “Bright-eyed. Bushy-tailed. That’s me.”

“A gym? You couldn’t run twenty feet in college.”

“Ten if I was lucky. And that was only if someone was giving away beer or pizza.”

I laughed. “True enough. Well, I’m happy for you.”

Cars passed on the street, their headlights making us squint. The air smelled like rain, and some thick clouds obscured the early-emerging stars. I wore a denim jacket but felt a shiver as the wind kicked up.

Blake pointed across the street to the coffee shop. “I was hoping we could talk. Just a few minutes. I know they don’t sell anything stronger than caffeine over there.”

I checked the time on my Apple watch. Amanda expected me. And I really wanted to get home before Henry went to sleep. Being home for his bedtime mattered to me. A great deal. Taking part in the bedtime ritual helped ease my sense of missing out during the long hours I was away at work.

“I can’t,” I said. “Really, I just can’t. Amanda’s been with Henry all day, and I already got delayed here. One of our servers is going through a breakup, and he wanted my advice. That took longer than I expected. You know how seriously college kids take breakups. How about lunch tomorrow? That would work a lot better.”

“I know, I know. You’ve got a family now. And you’re dedicated. And juggling a lot. I get it. And I know these kids who work here look at you like you’re their sensitive big brother. I’m sure they bring you their problems all the time.”

“It happens. They’re away from home. They have crises. . . .”

But he started shaking his head. “But I kind of need this. It’s an emergency.”

“An emergency? What are you talking about?”

But he simply pointed across the street. And smiled, a look I recognized and remembered well. The look said, Come on. You’re going to want to hear this.

It was certainly tough to say no to an old friend. And it was tough to say no to Blake. Sometimes it felt like he could convince anyone of anything. And while I’d learned over the years to recognize when he was stretching the truth or attempting to lead me down some path I shouldn’t take, a part of me always felt a little thrill at the thought of taking the ride.

Blake knew me so well. And he knew so much about me.

What emergency was he contending with tonight? Six months since we’d last talked and he looked like a man transformed?

“Ten minutes,” I said, pointing at the watch. “Talk fast when we get there.”

He nodded, and we went to the curb, waiting for a break in the passing traffic, and then crossed the street side by side like when we were in college, doing every damn thing together.

Chapter Two

The place was called the Ground Floor, and the weeknight crowd was light. Most of the students from the state university in town went to a coffee shop near campus, one run by some recent graduates. The bell dinged over our heads as we pushed through the glass door, and Blake stepped aside, allowing an elderly couple to pass. They thanked him, and Blake gave them his brightest smile.

“You two go straight home now,” he said. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“We’re too old for that,” the woman said, placing her hand on Blake’s arm.

“I doubt that,” he said, leaning in a little.

And they all laughed.

The Ground Floor catered to a professional crowd, one that came in early in the morning and during the afternoon and then drifted away when the sun went down. But I stopped in there from time to time since it was across the street from the Pig, and it seemed neighborly to support each other’s businesses. And I also knew the Ground Floor because my small PR firm had helped the shop with a branding campaign two years earlier. One of our designers had redone their logo, giving it a more modern look, and while I hadn’t worked on that job, I figured anyone who gave business to our slowly growing outfit deserved to receive my coffee patronage.

At the counter I ordered an Americano while Blake opted for a blend, and we settled in at an isolated table in a corner of the room. Al Stewart’s “Time Passages” played overhead, and the steamer hissed as it blew froth behind the counter. I loved the rich smell of the roasting beans, the lingering scent of the pastries baked that morning. I pulled out my phone and texted Amanda, telling her I was delayed but wouldn’t be long. It took a lot of willpower, but I ignored the flurry of notifications that came up, real-time responses to my beer photo from the Pig and a post from earlier in the day, a shot I’d taken of Henry being bathed.

Be there soon.

And as soon as I hit send and heard the swooshing sound of the text heading her way, I wished I’d just told Blake no, that I’d stuck to just going to lunch with him.

But he’d used the word “emergency.” Why?

I had my suspicions. When we’d met in college, we quickly settled into roles. Blake was wild, and I was serious. I studied too much, and Blake would get me to loosen up.

Then Blake would go too far, and I’d rein him in. Blake would have a crisis-a girl, a professor, his parents-and I’d advise him on the best way to handle it.

I expected a crisis. An irritated boss. A new relationship gone wrong.

I waited a moment, hoping Amanda would respond. But she didn’t.

I’d tried calling her an hour earlier but hadn’t gotten an answer. Sometimes she tried to catch a nap at the same time as Henry. Sometimes she just got too busy with Henry to bother with the phone. But I wanted to make sure she knew I wouldn’t be home when I’d said I would. I felt a little like a fool admitting that I’d had no idea how much strain having a newborn would add to our lives. I don’t think either one of us had. Amanda felt it more because she was on the front line with Henry every day, and I wanted to get home to help as fast as I could.

“I bet you didn’t mention my name,” Blake said.

“What’s that?”

“To Amanda,” he said. “You texted her, but I’d bet you every beer I’ve ever drunk you didn’t tell her you were with me. I know she’s not the forgiving type.”

“There wasn’t any need to mention you.” But he was right. I had intentionally left Blake out of the message. Amanda and Blake had fallen out, which had caused me not to see him for six months, and there was no need to stir that pot. I sipped my coffee. “But, seriously, ten minutes.”

“Sure. I understand.” He lifted his steaming mug and drank. I expected him to wince from what must have been the scalding temperature of the coffee, but he didn’t flinch. One brown droplet clung to his beard.

I studied his eyes. It had been a long time since I’d seen them as clear as they were in the bright light of the coffee shop. No red. No fog or glaze from alcohol. Or weed. He looked more like the fresh-faced guy I had met during our first year of college than he had at any time since. And when I’d seen him laugh with that older couple, I understood what had been appealing about him in the first place all those years ago. His natural ease with everyone he met. His jokes that always seemed organic. His ability to get along with just about anyone. Almost everyone at our small college knew his name. Partyers and studiers. Football players and honors students.

And I wasn’t different from anyone else who had met him back then. He was the flame, and I was the moth.

“You seemed a little jumpy when I said your name.” Blake eyed me over his mug. “Everything okay?”

“Just busy. You know.”

“How is the PR firm?” he asked. “On steady ground?”

“Steadier every day,” I said. “Three years since we opened, and we’re making it. We’re hoping to land a contract with the Warren Manufacturing Group. You know, the outfit that makes screen doors.”

“Sexy.”

“They have a lot of money. And I think it’s going to happen. A whole social media and branding campaign for them. That would be a nice shot in the arm.”

“Look at you,” he said. “A businessman.”

“Kind of.”

“And you’re looking good, Ryan,” he said. “As always.”

“Bullshit. I’ve gained five or ten pounds since Henry was born. They don’t tell you that when you have a kid everybody on earth brings you food. And you eat it. And then you just sit around, taking care of a baby. Maybe when he starts crawling I’ll lose a little.”

“Five or ten pounds?” He looked me up and down, even dropping his head and peeking under the table as though the extra weight might have been hidden there. “Where? You’ve always been so trim. So disciplined. In college, two slices of pizza when the rest of us ate four. Usually just two beers when the rest of us . . . Well, you know. Some of us had far too many.”

“I didn’t always stop at two,” I said, looking down at my own steaming mug. My face flushed, and not from the heat of the coffee. “You know that better than anyone.”

“It was rare.”

“I’m flattered you think of me as such a model of virtue and restraint, but usually I didn’t eat or drink as much because I didn’t have enough money to buy it. Unless you bought it for me.”

“No charge,” he said. “How’s your mom? She good?”

“Yeah, she’s good. She’s busy teaching. She’s going to come and see Henry in July.”

“Will you tell her I said hello?”

“I will. She always asks about you. And speaking of Henry . . . I really need to know what this emergency is. I have a growing baby who likes to poop and cry. And a wife who’s been stuck with him all day. And I don’t want to miss bedtime.”