Donna Weaver has put everything she has into restoring The Breakers, an old bed and breakfast on a remote stretch of beach in Galloway. Now it sits waiting—freshly painted, richly furnished, filled with flowers—for the first guests to arrive.

But Donna’s guests, a contentious group of estranged cousins, soon realize that they’ve been here before, years ago. Decades have passed, but that night still haunts them: a sixteenth birthday party that started with peach schnapps and ended with a girl walking into the sea.

Each of them had made a vow of silence: “lock it in a box, stitch my lips, and go to my grave.”

But now someone has broken the pact. Amid the home-baked scones and lavish rooms, someone is playing games, locking boxes, stitching lips. And before the weekend is over, at least one of them will go to their grave.

Review:

Atmospheric, menacing, and twisty!

Go To My Grave is an ominous, character-driven thriller that delves into the complex dynamics between friends and family and highlights just how parasitic some of those relationships can truly be.

The prose is gritty and taut. The characters are deceptive, plagued, and self-involved. And the plot using a back-and-forth, past/present style does a nice job of building tension as it unfolds a tortuous tale of friendship, lies, secrets, manipulation, jealousy, obsession, revenge, violence, and murder.

There is no doubt that McPherson can weave a suspicious tale that’s dark, gloomy, and tragic and highlights the scheming, selfish, dark side of human nature. And even though I thought the storyline itself was quite clever, unfortunately for me the lack of characters with any sort of moral or ethical conscience in Go To My Grave made it a little hard to like, connect, or even want to root for any of them.

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Excerpt:

Prologue

This is the story of three days last September when eight old friends gathered in a beautiful house by the sea. There was food, wine and laughter, and then the friends went their separate ways. That’s the truth and nothing but the truth. The story is over. We have locked the box, swallowed the key and stitched our lips shut. Will that be enough? I don’t know. It took twenty-five years, after last time, for the stitches to unravel, the key to burn through our guts, the box to rust and weaken. But this time’s different. There’s so much more to lose. I can’t speak for the others but I’ll keep this secret and go to my grave.