Book Review: What Happened to the Bennetts

Synopsis:

Your family has been attacked, never again to be the same.

Now you have to choose between law . . . and justice.

Jason Bennett is a suburban dad who owns a court-reporting business. One night, his life takes a horrific turn. He is driving his family home after his daughter’s field hockey game when a pickup truck begins tailgating their vehicle on a dark stretch of road. Suddenly, two men jump from the pickup and pull guns on Jason, demanding the car. A horrific flash of violence changes his life forever.

Later that awful night, Jason and his family receive a visit from the FBI. The agents tell them that the carjackers were members of a dangerous drug-trafficking organization. Now Jason and his family are in their crosshairs.

The agents advise the Bennetts to enter the witness protection program (WITSEC) right away. Because their lives are in danger, they have no choice but to agree.

But WITSEC was designed to protect criminal informants, not law-abiding families. Taken from all they know, trapped in an unfamiliar life, the Bennetts begin to fall apart at the seams. Then Jason learns a shocking truth and realizes that he has to take matters into his own hands.

Because sometimes justice is a one-man show.

Review:

Bestselling author Lisa Scottoline rails just a bit against having her books neatly categorized into specific genres. That’s because she says that whether she is penning a legal or domestic thriller, or perhaps venturing into historical fiction, her goal as a writer is simple and straight-forward. “I’m trying to write a really great story and that great story will be about family, about love, about justice. Those are the themes that interest me. Whether the story is set in Mussolini’s Italy”(as is Eternal) or, in the case of her latest, What Happened to the Bennetts, “modern-day Delaware, is a distinction that is form over substance. . . . I am bringing the same thing every time.” She also believes that What Happened to the Bennetts is a better book because she undertook penning Eternal, her ambitious, risky, but hugely successful first foray into historical fiction that she describes as “the culmination of a lifetime of my work.”

What Happened to the Bennetts gets off to an explosive and tense start on the very first page and by the end of the first chapter, Scottoline’s instantly relatable characters have already burrowed themselves into readers’ hearts. Scottoline’s inspiration for the story came from being tailgated, an experience that caused her to wonder what could happen should being followed serve as the prelude to a carjacking. She opted not to speed up because she was enjoying the drive in a wooded area of Pennsylvania, near her home. So as the story opens, the Bennetts are an unremarkable American family living in southeastern Pennsylvania. Jason operates his own court reporting business and his wife, Lucinda, is a photographer. They are en route home from daughter Allison’s soccer game in Jason’s recently purchased Mercedes. Allison is in the back seat with her younger brother, Ethan, and the family dog, Moonie, when Jason notices a pickup following their vehicle too closely on the single-lane road that winds uphill through the woods. Like Scottoline, Jason has no room to maneuver his vehicle over in order to permit the pickup to pass. Also like Scottoline, Jason does not want to accelerate, because he feels he has a right to drive as he sees fit. He resists his family’s urging to speed up and “smoke” the pickup with his powerful new car. Eventually, though, he relents and as he accelerates, so does the pickup, passing the Bennetts’ car, pulling in front of it, and then stopping, blocking the road. Two men jump out of the pickup, brandishing weapons, and inform Jason, “We’re taking the car.” The carjacking ends tragically.

Reeling, the Bennetts return to their home after meeting with local authorities, who theorize that the carjackers were looking for a getaway vehicle after committing a double homicide. And the Bennetts were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. They are further shocked to find FBI agents on their doorstep at 3:15 a.m. Agents Dom Kingston and Michael Hallman explain that the two assailants were members of GVO, a crime syndicate that distributes and sells opiates, and had just killed two retail-level drug dealers in the organization. The Bennetts are now in the cross-hairs of GVO. Because their lives are in danger, they need to enter the witness protection program for their safety and well-being. Immediately.

Scottoline effectively relates the story from Jason’s point of view, utilizing a first-person narrative. The FBI explains to the family that they will be under the watchful eyes of the FBI twenty-four hours per day in a safe location, but “there can be no communication” with their family, friends, employees, neighbors or friends. Lucinda’s inability to continue caring for her mother, who suffers from Alzheimer’s disease and resides in a care facility, is particularly distressing. They will not even be permitted to attend a close family member’s funeral. They must simply vanish without a trace. After a family meeting, they reluctantly come to the conclusion that, although the FBI cannot force them to enter the program, they do not really have any other option. Jason explains, “We left our lives in silence. . . . We’d had fifteen minutes to pack, . . . Deep inside me was the most profound sorrow I had ever known, one that had settled in, unpacked, and took up residence.”

Scottoline, a former attorney, is no stranger to conducting research because she is committed to ensuring that the details of her stories are “plausible and correct.” She consulted with the FBI to learn where a family like the Bennetts would most likely be placed. She envisioned being secreted away to somewhere like Arizona, far from their Pennsylvania home, but was surprised to learn that they would probably be hidden in Delaware. She also found what she learned about the Federal Witness Security Program, referred to as WITSEC (short for “witness security”), “fascinating.” Jason shares Scottoline’s shocked reaction when he learns he and his family are being transported to the Delaware coast, just outside a beach town that is largely deserted during the off-season. The safe house is adjacent to a saltwater tidal marsh and the surrounding houses are mostly vacation homes, closed until the summer season begins. “It actually makes sense,” Scottoline explains. “You could hide someone there and they would never be found.” Agents Kingston and Hallman (affectionately known as Wiki, because of his encyclopedic knowledge about many topics) reside in a smaller home on the same lot that houses their command center. Jason quickly learns that there are cameras mounted everywhere, including in the trees, and the agents will maintain round-the-clock surveillance as part of their “Babysitter’s Club” assignment. Jason soon bonds with Dom (Agent Kingston) as they jog together and Dom explains the circumstances that prompted him to transfer out of an undercover assignment. Most importantly for purposes of Scottoline’s tautly-crafted story, Jason gradually comes to trust Dom, believing that the agent’s only priority is keeping him and his family safe.

The rapidly unfolding events have, according to Scottoline, “taken Jason completely out of his comfort zone.” The marshlands surrounding the safe house are dark, slippery, and mysterious. She deliberately chose the setting to illustrate that the solid ground beneath Jason’s feet has been ripped away from him. “There is no longer terra firma,” she notes. Additionally, the marshlands are on one side of the house, while the vast Delaware Bay is on the other. Jason is at the end of his rope “where the land meets the see and, to a certain extent, at sea.” As he observes, “I had made safe choices, one after the other, on the belief they would protect me and my family. Yet here I was, with my family in pieces . . . Playing it safe hadn’t kept them safe.”

In the absence of facts, the Bennetts’ friends, neighbors, and business associates begin speculating about what has become of them. They take to social media to commiserate and seek answers, and Lucinda’s best friend lodges a missing persons report with the police. Rumors and theories swirl, and Jason discovers a website maintained by an amateur sleuth who bills himself as “America’s premier citizen detective.” He is convinced that Jason murdered his family and went on the run, which only adds to Jason’s misery . . . and determination.

Scottoline compassionately describes the emotional devastation that Jason and his family feel about the prospect of leaving their lives behind and starting over in every conceivable way. It is especially difficult for young Ethan, who keeps asking about his friends and when they will be going home. Lucinda came from a well-off family, but Jason had a modest upbringing on a farm near Hershey, Pennsylvania. Jason completed one year of law school before dropping out for financial reasons. In combination with what he has learned during his years as a court reporter, he knows more about legal procedure than most non-lawyers. But the one topic that has never come up during all of the depositions he has transcribed is the witness protection program. He quickly discovers that it was not really designed to shelter innocent witnesses to crimes. Rather, most of the “applicants” are criminals who have entered into plea agreements under the terms of which they provide evidence against other perpetrators in exchange for the opportunity to slip into the kind of new lives Jason and his family want no part of.

What I believed in was truth, justice, and love. Sometimes I thought those were three different words for the same feeling. ~~ Jason Bennett

So even though they have been warned about engaging in any online behavior that might reveal their whereabouts and jeopardize their security, Jason utilizes his legal prowess to begin researching the carjackers and their connections to other criminals, especially GVO. And decides that he and his family are not going to simply give up their lives and relationships. Jason is determined to unravel the mystery so that his family’s attackers and anyone with whom they conspired can be brought to justice . . . and the Bennetts can reclaim their lives.

At that point, Scottoline takes readers along as Jason undertakes a rogue, action-packed search for the truth and mission to ensure that justice is served. “I had to do whatever it took to get justice . . . To save my family. To free them from the program,” he says. His dangerous journey is filled with shocking revelations — some heartbreaking — along with surprising plot twists, and numerous near-misses. Scottoline introduces a cast of intriguing supporting characters along the way, both friend and foe, as she gradually reveals that what initially appeared to be a random carjacking was anything but.

At its core, What Happened to the Bennetts is a richly emotional rumination on marriage, parenting, grief, betrayal, and forgiveness. Scottoline illustrates that Dylan Thomas was, to a certain extent, right. You may be able to go home again, but when you get there, you will most likely find that home has changed somewhat during your absence. But more importantly, you have changed. Jason finds himself “stripping down to something essential, revealing my rawest self. I was shedding whatever I used to be.” So after all that they have lost, and everything they have endured, the Bennetts cannot simply return to their home and pick up their lives where they left off.

Scottoline says that the action in her novels “feeds into character because books are about people.” The Bennetts are fully developed and empathetic characters who are yanked by tragedy out of the sameness and complacency of their very ordinary day-to-day existence. Circumstances force them to address their assumptions, contemplate the things they have taken for granted, process their grief, and evaluate whether their marriage can and should survive the mistakes they have made. Scottoline aptly describes What Happened to the Bennetts as ultimately a story about both “the triumph of an individual and also the triumph of a family when they work together to deal with the most horrible thing they can imagine happening to them.”

And what is better than a relentlessly fast-paced, nail-biting, and deeply moving story about family, love, and justice? If told by the incomparable Scottoline, absolutely nothing. What Happened to the Bennetts is Scottoline at her best and that is very good indeed. It is thoroughly engrossing, entertaining, and thought-provoking.

Excerpt from What Happened to the Bennetts

Chapter One

I glanced in my rearview mirror at the pickup truck, which was riding my bumper. I hated tailgaters, especially with my family in the car, but nothing could ruin my good mood. My daughter’s field hockey team had just beat Radnor, and Allison had scored a goal. She was texting in the back seat, one of a generation that makes better use of opposable thumbs than any prior.

My son Ethan turned around next to her, shielding his eyes against the pickup’s headlights. “Dad, what’s up with this guy?”

“God knows. Ignore him.”

“Why don’t you go faster?” Ethan shifted, waking up Moonie, our little white mutt, who started jumping around in the back seat. I love the dog but he has two speeds: Asleep and Annoying.

“Why should I? I’m going the limit.”

“But we can smoke this guy now.”

We had just gotten a new car, a Mercedes E-Class Sedan in a white enamel that gleamed like dental veneers. Ethan said the E stood for his name, but I said Exorbitant. My wife and kids had lobbied for the car, but I felt like a show-off behind the wheel. I missed my old Explorer, which I didn’t need a tie to drive.

“Dad, when I get my license, I’m gonna burn guys like him.”

I heard this once a week. My son counted the days until his learner’s permit, even though he was only thirteen. I said, “No, you’re not. You’re gonna let him pass.”

“Why?”

“We have a right to enjoy the drive.”

“But it’s boring.”

“Not to me. I’m a scenic-route kind of guy.” I moved over to let the pickup pass, since Coldstream Road was a single lane winding uphill through the woods. We were entering the Lagersen Tract, the last parcel of woodland preserved by Chester County, where Nature had to be zoned for her own protection.

I lowered the window and breathed in a lungful of fresh, piney air. Thick trees flanked the road, and scrub brush grew over the guardrails. Crickets and tree frogs croaked a chorus from my childhood. I grew up on a dairy farm in Hershey, home of the famous chocolate manufacturer. I loved living in a company town, where the air smelled of sweet cocoa and corporate largesse. Everyone worked toward the same goal, even if it was capitalism.

“He’s not passing us,” Ethan said, bringing me out of my reverie.

I checked the rearview mirror, squinting against the headlights. Moonie was facing backward, his front paws on the back seat and his ears silhouetted like wispy triangles.

“Come on, Dad. Show ’em who’s boss.”

“That’s well-established,” I said. “Mom.”

Lucinda was in the passenger seat, the curve of her smile illuminated by the phone screen. She was a natural beauty, with gray-blue eyes, a small nose, and dark blond hair gathered into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She had been on Facebook since we’d left the school, posting game photos and comments. Great save by Arielle!!! Lady Patriots rock!!! Woohoo, Emily is MVP!!! My wife never uses fewer than three exclamation marks on social. If you only get one, you’ve done something wrong. Or as my father would say, You’re in the doghouse.

Lucinda looked over. “Jason, speed up, would you?”

“You, too? What’s the hurry?”

“They have homework.”

“On Friday night? Have you met our kids?”

Lucinda smiled, shaking her head. “Whatever, Scenic-Route Kind of Guy.”

“Aw, I feel so seen.”

Lucinda laughed, which made me happy. I love my wife. We met at Bucknell, where she was an art major and I was a work-study jock slinging mac and cheese in the dining hall, wearing a hairnet, no less. She could’ve had her pick, but I made her laugh. Also she loves mac and cheese.

“Dad, listen to this.” Allison looked up, her thumbs still flying. She could text without looking at the keyboard, which she called her superpower. “My friends just voted you Hottest Dad.”

I smiled. “They’re absolutely right. There’s a reason I was Homecoming King.”

“Dude, no. Never say that again.” Allison snorted, texting. “We don’t even have that anymore.”

Lucinda rolled her eyes. “Allison, who came in second?”

I added, “Yeah, what troll came in second?”

Allison kept texting. “Brianna M’s dad.”

I scoffed. “Ron McKinney? Please, no contest. I got the bubble butt.”

Allison smiled. “Stop it!”

“I bet I can twerk, Al. Show you when we get home.”

“Nobody twerks anymore.” Allison snorted again, texting away. “OMG, they’re saying you look like Kyle Chandler.”

“Who’s that?”

“The dad from Friday Night Lights. We watched it together. You remember. Also the dad in Bloodline.”

“What’s that?”

“A show on Netflix.”

“Never saw it.”

“Anyway, you look like him, except he’s way hotter.”

I smiled. “Okay, but can he twerk?”

Allison burst into laughter, and I glanced in the rearview mirror to see her, but the headlights of the pickup truck were too bright. The outline of her head bent over her phone, then I saw the bump of a skinny headband, and the spray of shorter hairs coming from her double ponytail. Those ponytail holders were all over the house, and I fished them from the dog’s mouth on a weekly basis.

Ethan kept twisting around. “Dad, if I were driving, I’d speed up.”

Allison added, “Seriously.”

“Me, too,” Lucinda joined in, still on her phone.

“Okay, I’m convinced.” I pressed the gas pedal, and the Mercedes responded instantly. We accelerated up the hill, hugging the sharp curve to the left.

Oddly the black pickup truck chose that moment to pass us, a dark and dusty blur roaring by with two men in the cab. It crammed us against the guardrail, and I veered to the right, barely fitting on the street.

Suddenly the pickup pulled in front of us and stopped abruptly, blocking our way.

I slammed on the brakes and we shuddered to a stop, inches from the truck. We lurched forward in our seat belts. Lucinda gasped. Moonie started barking.

“It’s okay,” I said, instinctively reversing to put distance between us and the truck. I scanned for an escape route, but there wasn’t one. I couldn’t fit around the truck. I couldn’t reverse down the street because of the blind curve.

Two men emerged from the pickup, illuminated by our headlights. The driver was big, with shredded arms covered by tattooed sleeves. His eyes were slits under a prominent forehead and long, dark hair. His passenger wasn’t as muscular, but had on a similar dark T-shirt and baggy jeans. The driver said something to him as they approached.

I inhaled to calm myself. If it was road rage, I could defuse the situation. I had a year of law school, so I could bullshit with anybody. Otherwise I was six foot three, played middle linebacker in high school, and stayed in decent shape.

Lucinda groaned. “Should I call 911?”

“Not yet.”

“Dad?” Allison sounded nervous.

“What do they want?” Ethan stuck his head between the seats, and Moonie barked, the harsh sound reverberating in the car.

“Don’t worry. Lucinda, lock the doors.”

“Okay, but be careful.”

I climbed out of the car and closed the door behind me, hearing the reassuring thunk of the locks engage. The men reached me, and I straightened. “Gentlemen, is there a-”

“We’re taking the car.” The driver pulled a handgun and aimed it at my face. “Get everybody out.”

“Okay, fine. Relax. Don’t hurt anybody. This is my family.” I turned to the car and spotted Lucinda’s phone glowing through the windshield. She must have been calling 911. The carjackers saw her at the same time.

“Drop it!” The passenger pulled a gun and aimed it at her.

“No, don’t shoot!” I moved in the way, raising my arms. “Honey, everybody, out of the car!”

Lucinda lowered the phone, the screen dropping in a blur of light.

Allison emerged from the back seat, her eyes wide. “Dad, they have guns.”

“It’s okay, honey. Come here.” I put a hand on her shoulder and maneuvered her behind me. Lucinda was coming around the back of the car with Ethan, who held a barking Moonie, dragging his leash. They reached me, and I faced the men.

“Okay, take the car,” I told them, my chest tight.

“Wait.” The passenger eyed Allison, and a leering smile spread across his face. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

No. My mouth went dry. “Take the car and go.”

Suddenly Moonie leapt from Ethan’s arms and launched himself at the men. They jumped back, off-balance. The driver fired an earsplitting blast, just missing Moonie.

My ears rang. I whirled around.

Allison had been struck. Blood spurted from her neck in a gruesome fan. She was reeling.

No! I rushed to her just as she collapsed in my arms. I eased her down to the street. Her mouth gaped open. Her throat emitted gulping sounds. Blood poured from her neck. My hand flew there to stop the flow. The blood felt hideously wet and warm.

Allison’s lips were moving. She was trying to talk, to breathe.

“Honey, you’ve been hit,” I told her. “Stay calm.” I tore off my shirt, breaking the buttons. I bunched it up and pressed it against her neck. I couldn’t see the wound. It scared me to death. “Lucinda, call 911.”

“My phone’s in the car!” Lucinda grabbed Allison’s hand, beginning to sob.

Suddenly the gun fired again behind us, another earsplitting blast.

We crouched in terror. Lucinda screamed. I didn’t know who had been shot. I looked around wildly, shocked to find that one carjacker had shot the other. The driver stood over the passenger, who lay motionless on the street, blood pooling under his head. The driver dropped the gun and ran to the pickup. I spotted his license plate before he sped off. A sudden brightness told me another car was coming up Coldstream.

“Dad, there’s Allison’s phone!” Ethan thrust it at me. My bloody fingers smeared the screen, which came to life with a photo of Moonie in sunglasses.

I thumbed to the phone function and pressed 911. The call connected. I held the phone to my ear to hear over the dog’s barking.

The 911 dispatcher asked, “What is your emergency?”

“My daughter’s been shot in the neck. Two men tried to carjack us on Coldstream Road near the turnpike overpass.” I struggled to think through my fear. Allison was making gulping sounds. She was losing blood fast, drenching my shirt. My hands were slick with my daughter’s lifeblood, slipping warm through my fingers.

“Sir, is she awake and responsive?”

“Yes, send an ambulance! Hurry!”

“Apply direct pressure to the wound. Use a compress-”

“I am, please send-”

“An ambulance is on the way.”

“Please! Hurry!”

Allison’s eyelids fluttered. She coughed. Pinkish bubbles frothed at the corners of her mouth. “Daddy?”

My heart lurched. She hadn’t called me that since she was little.

I told her what I wanted to believe: “You’re going to be okay.”

Chapter Two

The waiting room of the emergency department was harshly bright, and the mint-green walls were lined with idealized landscapes of foxhunts. Green-padded chairs had been arranged in two rectangles, forming rooms without walls. The front section held a handful of people, but we had the back to ourselves. Wrinkled magazines lay on end tables, ignored in favor of phones. There was a kids’ playroom behind a plexiglass wall next to vending machines.

I had been in this waiting room so many times over the years, for so many reasons. Allison’s broken arm. Ethan’s random falls. Once, a moth flew into Lucinda’s ear. Every parent knows the local emergency room, but not like this. Never before had I seen anyone look like us, right now.

The three of us huddled together, shocked and stricken. Allison had been taken to surgery. My undershirt was stiffening with drying blood, and Lucinda had spatters on her Lady Patriots sweatshirt and bloody patches on her jeans. She had stopped crying and rested her head on my right shoulder. Ethan’s T-shirt was flecked with blood, though the fabric was black and it didn’t show except for the white N in Nike. He slumped on my left, and I had an arm around each of them.

“She’ll be okay, right?” Lucinda asked, hushed.

“Yes,” I answered, but I was scared out of my mind. “How was she in the ambulance?”

“Okay. She didn’t panic. You know her.”

“Yes.” I nodded. Allison had a high pain threshold. At lacrosse camp, she broke her arm in the morning and didn’t tell her coach until lunch.

“The EMT was in the back, I had to sit in the front. He was nice. He talked to her. He called in her vital signs.”

“How were they?”

“Her blood pressure was low.” Lucinda started wringing her hands. I remembered her doing that when her sister Caitlin was dying of breast cancer, five years ago. I hugged her closer.

An older couple shuffled in together and took a seat in our section, glancing around. The husband had a walker with new tennis balls on the bottom, and he walked ahead with concentration. His wife noticed us, then plastered her gaze to the TV, showing the news on closed-captioning.

Lucinda wiped her nose with a balled-up Kleenex. “Jason, do you know what she said to me in the ambulance? She told me not to worry.”

Tears stung my eyes. “What a kid.”

“I know.” Lucinda sniffled. “I wonder how long the surgery will be.”

“They have to repair the vein. I think it was a vein, not an artery.”

“How do you know?”

“If it were an artery, like the carotid, the blood would have pulsed out.” I hoped I was right. Any medical information I had was from malpractice depositions, of which I’d done hundreds. I was a court reporter, which made me a font of information about completely random subjects. It wasn’t always a good thing.

“We were supposed to look for a homecoming dress tomorrow. She found one she liked at the mall. She saw it with Courtney.”

I remembered. Allison had shown me a picture on her phone. The dress was nice, white with skinny straps. She would have looked great in it. She had the wiry, lean build of an athlete. She worried it would make her butt look flat.

Allison, your butt isn’t flat.

Dad, you don’t know. You just love me.

I had so many nicknames for her. Al, Alsford, The Duchess of Alfordshire, and The Alimentary Canal because she ate like a horse. She called me Dad or Dude. I was an involved father, according to my wife. I was present in my children’s lives. I sold raffle tickets and bought gigantic candy bars that I gave out at work. I taught both kids to pitch and saw that Allison was the better athlete.

Lucinda sniffled again. “I assume they’ll keep her a few days, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose I could pick it up for her.”

“Pick what up?”

Ethan looked over, his wet eyes glistening. “The dress, Dad.”

“Right.” I was too upset to think, it just didn’t show. I couldn’t follow the conversation. My wife talked more when she was upset,but I talked less. I was lost in my own thoughts. I was lost.

Lucinda wiped her nose. “I hope she can still go to homecoming.She’s so excited. I think she really likes Troy.”

“I know.” Troy was Allison’s boyfriend of two months, already lasting longer than her last boyfriend. I liked Troy because he wasas smart as she was, a true scholar athlete. He was on the quiet side, but I learned from having Ethan that there’s more to introverts than meets the eye. My son had a circle of friends, butneeded time to himself.

“I got her a hair appointment the same day as the dance.They all want to get in the morning of, but they don’t want to miss the game. It was impossible, but I got her in.” Lucinda’s voice carried an unmistakable note of mom pride.