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Summary
Summary
When a young wife and mother disappears from her suburban home, it's not long before the cops have their first suspect: the missing woman's husband, whose behavior is distinctly suspicious.
Author Notes
Lisa Gardner received a degree in international relations from the University of Pennsylvania in 1993. At the age of 20, she sold her first novel, Walking after Midnight, under the pseudonym Alicia Scott. After graduating from college, she became a management consultant and continued to write romance novels in her spare time. She eventually became a full-time author. She wrote 13 romance novels before turning to thrillers. Under the pseudonym Alicia Scott, her romance novels include The Quiet One, Brandon's Bride, and Marry Me...Again. Under Lisa Gardner, her thrillers include The Other Daughter, I'd Kill for That, Touch and Go, and Crash and Burn. She also writes the FBI Profiler series and the Detective D.D. Warren series.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (2)
Publisher's Weekly Review
In bestseller Gardner's gripping 11th thriller, Sgt. Det. D.D. Warren, last seen in 2007's Hide, looks into the curious disappearance of Sandra Jones, a sixth-grade social studies teacher, from her South Boston home: Sandra's keys and purse were on the kitchen counter, nothing was disturbed, and her four-year-old daughter, Ree, to whom she was devoted, was asleep upstairs. The missing woman's reporter husband, Jason, becomes an immediate suspect because he refuses to answer questions and appears to have destroyed evidence. As a media frenzy envelopes the case, Warren's investigation reveals the couple's life as anything but perfect or normal. Full of inventive twists, this highly entertaining novel delivers a shocking solution as well as a perfectly realized sense of justice. Fans will appreciate the deft way Gardner weaves in a key character from 2008's Say Goodbye. (June) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Library Journal Review
Gardner's (Say Goodbye) new suspense novel intertwines several "ripped from the headline" themes. Sandra Jones is a pretty, blonde, 23-year-old schoolteacher who's gone missing. Her husband, Jason, claims to have returned home late at night to find their four-year-old daughter asleep in her bed and his wife nowhere to be found. When Boston detective sergeant D.D. Warren arrives on the scene, she finds a house that is almost a fortress and a husband who seems to be more concerned with protecting his secrets than with finding his wife. As the case explodes in the press, the police race against time. Was Jason responsible for Sandra's disappearance? Or was it the convicted sex offender down the street? Or someone else altogether? VERDICT Gardner's compelling narrative keeps her readers guessing, and her latest is sure to appeal to fans of Linwood Barclay's domestic thrillers. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 2/1/09.]-Jane Jorgenson, Madison P.L., WI (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
Chapter One I've always wondered what people felt in the final few hours of their lives. Did they know something terrible was about to occur? Sense imminent tragedy, hold their loved ones close? Or is it one of those things that simply happens? The mother of four, tucking her kids into bed, worrying about the morning car pool, the laundry she still hasn't done, and the funny noise the furnace is making again, only to catch an eerie creak coming from down the hall. Or the teenage girl, dreaming about her Saturday shopping date with her BFF, only to open her eyes and discover she's no longer alone in her room. Or the father, bolting awake, thinking, What the fuck? right before the hammer catches him between the eyes. In the last six hours of the world as I know it, I feed Ree dinner. Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, topped with pieces of turkey dog. I slice up an apple. She eats the crisp white flesh, leaving behind curving half-smiles of red peel. I tell her the skin holds all the nutrients. She rolls her eyes--four going on fourteen. We already fight over clothing--she likes short skirts, her father and I prefer long dresses, she wants a bikini, we insist she wear a one-piece. I figure it's only a matter of weeks before she demands the keys to the car. Afterward Ree wants to go "treasure hunting" in the attic. I tell her it's bath time. Shower, actually. We share the old claw-foot tub in the upstairs bath, as we've been doing since she was a baby. Ree lathers up two Barbies and one princess rubber duckie. I lather up her. By the time we're done, we both smell like lavender and the entire black-and-white checkered bathroom is smothered with steam. I like the post-shower ritual. We wrap up in giant towels, then make a beeline down the chilly hallway to the Big Bed in Jason's and my room, where we lie down, side by side, arms cocooned, but toes sticking out, lightly touching. Our orange tabby cat, Mr. Smith, jumps on the bed, and peers down at us with his big golden eyes, long tail twitching. "What was your favorite part of today?" I ask my daughter. Ree crinkles her nose. "I don't remember." Mr. Smith moves away from us, finding a nice comfy spot by the headboard, and begins to groom. He knows what's coming next. "My favorite part was coming home from school and getting a big hug." I'm a teacher. It's Wednesday. Wednesday I get home around four, Jason departs at five. Ree is used to the drill by now. Daddy is daytime, Mommy is nighttime. We didn't want strangers raising our child and we've gotten our wish. "Can I watch a movie?" Ree asks. Is always asking. She'd live with the DVD player if we let her. "No movie," I answer lightly. "Tell me about school." "A short movie," she counters. Then offers, triumphantly, "Veggie Tales!" "No movie," I repeat, untucking an arm long enough to tickle her under the chin. It's nearly eight o'clock and I know she's tired and willful. I'd like to avoid a full tantrum this close to bedtime. "Now tell me about school. What'd you have for snack?" She frees her own arms and tickles me under my chin. "Carrots!" "Oh yeah?" More tickling, behind her ear. "Who brought them?" "Heidi!" She's trying for my armpits. I deftly block the move. "Art or music?" "Music!" "Singing or instrument?" "Guitar!" She's got the towel off and pounces on me, tickling anyplace she can find with fast, poky fingers, a last burst of energy before the end-of-the-day collapse. I manage to fend her off, rolling laughing off Excerpted from The Neighbor by Lisa Gardner All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.