The President’s House – Christie Phetteplace


A well-publicized emotional breakdown in the Shop-n-Save isn’t Caroline Parker’s finest moment

President's House cover

Faced with nothing but an empty nest, a rusty marriage and wicked pre-menopausal hormones, it’s all she can do to get out of bed. But when her mysterious new neighbour goes missing without a trace Carri seems to be the only person bold enough to question the circumstances.

Thirty years earlier, good fortune befalls Walter Carrington lll with his father’s untimely death. Poised to take over as President of Mapleton College, he vows to overcome anything—or anyone—that stands in his way.

The two-story lines alternate as the actions of a reprehensible man blinded by power reverberate through the decades to affect an increasingly twisted mystery. In this comical yet intricately woven depiction of small town life, Carri and her old flame Detective Jim Perkins must work against the clock to solve the case before it’s too late.

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Amazing book! Made me laugh! Interesting ending…looking forward to next book. Janet Evanovich you have some competition!” – Barbara Glynn

About the Author

AuthorPic2Christie Phetteplace grew up in southern Wisconsin.

She says, “After completing a bachelor’s Degree in Accounting, I decided I needed a creative outlet (Accounting is BORING!) I like to write what I call “Hen Lit,” an older, more mature version Chick Lit with hot flashes and chin whiskers.”

Inspired by her own personal experiences (“always laughable and never boring”) and by small towns and daily life in Wisconsin, The President’s House is Christie’s first completed work of fiction, although she is currently working on a follow up.

Along with her husband (also named Chris) and their two daughters, Christie divides her time between their hometown of Janesville and the Northwoods of Minocqua, WI., which she describes as her favorite place in the whole word. She also enjoy boating, wine and Wisconsin Badger sports.

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Darcy. Her name was Darcy, a name he could not believe he’d forgotten and he repeated it over and over at increasingly louder decibels even though he could not hear himself speaking. In spite of this, his lips continued to move as he carried on a wordless conversation consisting only of slurred gibberish and drool. Darcy the redhead flung herself off the bed and stared in horror at him, his handsome features frozen in time. Oh My God, she whispered, the look on her face suggesting the sight of him was less than flattering.

If he were being honest—which he hardly ever was—he’d have to admit that his Doctor had been warning him about such things for years. His own father, Walter Carrington the Original, fell over flat at the age of 59 with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other. Still, this couldn’t really be the end for him, could it? He’d always assumed his passing would come with a bit more fanfare, like a plane crash or fiery car wreck.

A crack of lightening lit up the sky and punctuated the darkness in the room, a rumble of thunder following quickly in its wake. Darcy the redhead had moved from his line of sight but he knew she was still there by virtue of her desperate, labored breathing and panicked bursts of whispering. Why wasn’t she calling for help for Christ’s sake, there was a goddamned telephone right on the desk? All she had to do was dial the Operator and call for an ambulance. How fucking hard was that?

The stillness in the room was littered with only an occasional interruption; the snap of an elastic undergarment against bare skin, the swish of a silk dress over milky flesh, the hum of a zipper. Walter strained to hear the shrill of sirens in the distance, of the cavalry racing through Mapleton on its way to save the illustrious President of Mapleton College, but that was just wishful thinking. She scurried barefooted past the bed without throwing as much as a passing glance his way. A moment later the screen door off the kitchen slammed shut. Then, nothing but the scratch of the needle stuck on the last groove of the vinyl record, the brush of branches from an old oak tree against the window pane.

As Walter Carrington II took his final breaths he thought not of his wife or his family or even of his old, moldy money, but instead of his dearest and most prized possession: Mapleton College. It was the very thing that had shaped his life and defined his family for as far back as he could remember. He was nothing if not realistic, by the time rigor mortis set in the Third Walter Carrington would be circling like a vulture, poised to take over the reins. It was a heady trip, this position in the community, the prestige, this house—one that could easily go to one’s head if that man were so inclined. Regrettably, his only son was by all accounts a spoiled, self-involved skirt chaser with flagrant spending habits.

Still, the fact remained that it was imperative that a Carrington remain at the helm and so with God’s good grace and the board of Director’s approval it would be his son’s turn now. He hoped against hope that the little bastard was up to the challenge, but even as the good Lord called him home he had his doubts.

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Loved it! Was so easy to get involved with the characters in this book, that I had a hard time putting it down. Found it to be a great read over the weekend. Looking forward to whatever she writes next!” – J.R.