{"product_id":"the-disappearing-isbn-9781524741945","title":"The Disappearing","description":"\u003cb\u003eTwo-time Edgar Award-winning author Lori Roy spins a twisted, atmospheric tale about a small Southern town where girls disappear and boys run away.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Lane Fielding fled her isolated Florida hometown after high school for the anonymity of New York City, she swore she'd never return. But twenty years later, newly divorced and with two daughters in tow, she finds herself tending bar at the local dive and living with her parents on the historic Fielding Plantation. Here, the past haunts her and the sinister crimes of her father--the former director of an infamous boys' school--make her as unwelcome in town as she was the day she left.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOstracized by the people she was taught to trust, Lane's unsteady truce with the town is rattled when her older daughter suddenly vanishes. Ten days earlier, a college student went missing, and the two disappearances at first ignite fears that a serial killer who once preyed upon the town has returned. But when Lane's younger daughter admits to having made a new and unseemly friend, a desperate Lane attacks her hometown's façade to discover whether her daughter's disappearance is payback for her father's crimes--or for her own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith reporters descending upon the town, police combing through the swamp, and events taking increasingly disturbing turns, Lane fears she faces too many enemies and too little time to bring her daughter safely home. Powerful and heart-pounding, \u003ci\u003eThe Disappearing\u003c\/i\u003e questions the endurance of family bonds, the dangers of dark rumors and small-town gossip, and how sometimes home is the scariest place of all.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Disappearing\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] sinuous slow burn... evocative writing and a tense, kaleidoscopic narrative conspire to create a tale that thrills and chills.”\u003cb\u003e --\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This contemporary slow burner oozes with atmosphere, and Roy effortlessly weaves numerous plot threads together without sacrificing her characters, who are very flawed and all too human…A twisted Southern gothic winner.”\u003cb\u003e --\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Exceptional... [with a] stunning conclusion.\" --\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eMilwaukee Journal Sentinel, \u003c\/i\u003eBest Books of 2018\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Another creepily atmospheric, cunningly plotted suspense tale… Excruciating tension throughout.” --\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eBooklist\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An eerie atmosphere churns the Southern gothic-esque story…An abandoned scary place and hidden graveyards add to the chills.” –Oline Cogdill, (Best 2018 Mystery Novel Pick)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Lori Roy’s writing oozes atmosphere. You can hear the katydids.”\u003cb\u003e --\u003ci\u003eThe Star Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Gripping... [Roy is a] rising star.\" \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e--O, The Oprah Magazine\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“As atmospheric as a sultry night.\" \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e--Family Circle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An irresistibly propulsive mystery wrapped in the haunted atmosphere of Southern Gothic, and inspired by real Florida crimes…her best book yet.”\u003cb\u003e --\u003ci\u003eTampa Bay Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Powerful and heart-pounding…Another deftly crafted read by a master of narrative storytelling.” \u003cb\u003e--\u003ci\u003eThe Midwest Book Review \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A dark thriller that delves into what families will do to keep secrets buried, readers will be awaiting the next twist.” --\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eParkersburg News and Sentinel\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You won’t be able to put this one down.” --\u003cb\u003eHelloGiggles\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Roy has created a town with a frightening past that just keeps getting worse. You get the chills just reading her hypnotic tale, which makes this four in a row when it comes to fantastic books written by Lori Roy.” \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Suspense Magazine\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Roy’s new novel is impossible to put down or forget, a masterful show of suspense.”\u003cb\u003e --CrimeReads\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Roy cloaks \u003ci\u003eThe Disappearing\u003c\/i\u003e with a chilling atmosphere resplendent with an abandoned scary place, hidden graveyards and sudden disappearances....Roy's affinity for haunting, lyrical prose that elevates the noir elements continues..\" --\u003cb\u003eOline Cogdill, \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eSun Sentinel\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Lori Roy is one of the most elegant and enchanting writers to cross my path in a long, long time. I was transfixed by \u003ci\u003eThe Disappearing\u003c\/i\u003e. A story of buried secrets rising to the light, it unfolds with a hypnotic grip that won’t let go until the last secrets are revealed on the final page. This is a deep, dark and wonderful book.” \u003cb\u003e--Michael Connelly, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"As dark and atmospheric as a Northern Florida summer night, \u003ci\u003eThe Disappearing\u003c\/i\u003e is Lori Roy at the top of her game.  Her simmering tale is, at the heart, a compelling mystery.  But it’s also a deep meditation on family and the secrets and lies that can twist through our lives like a strangler fig. The powerful sense of place and a haunting cast of characters linger long after the book is closed. If you haven’t read Lori Roy, now is the time.\" \u003cb\u003e--Lisa Unger,\u003ci\u003e New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Red Hunter\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Lori Roy has been on my must-read list since her debut. There's a reason she's already won two Edgar Awards -- exemplary plotting, clever twists, and compelling characters -- but for me it is her voice that holds the most power. She writes with an ingenious, whispering menace and a masterful understanding of the way the past works on the present, and on the human heart. \u003ci\u003eThe Disappearing\u003c\/i\u003e is her finest work to date.\" \u003cb\u003e--Michael Koryta, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eRise the Dark\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003c\/i\u003eBeautifully written and expertly plotted, \u003ci\u003eThe Disappearing \u003c\/i\u003eis a twisty, haunting, and utterly riveting thriller.  Lori Roy just gets better and better.” \u003cb\u003e--Alafair Burke,\u003ci\u003e New York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e The Wife\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Lori Roy is an impeccable writer—original, fearless, and insightful.  \u003ci\u003eThe Disappearing\u003c\/i\u003e, with its dark secrets and damaged souls, is another triumph of Roy’s skill: it’s insidiously sinister, seamlessly plotted, and relentlessly haunting.\" \u003cb\u003e--Hank Phillippi Ryan, bestselling author of\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e Trust Me\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"A well-crafted, gripping story.\"\u003cb\u003e --AARP\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eLori Roy\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of \u003ci\u003eBent Road\u003c\/i\u003e, winner of the Edgar Award for Best First Novel; \u003ci\u003eUntil She Comes Home\u003c\/i\u003e, finalist for the Edgar Award for Best Novel; \u003ci\u003eLet Me Die in His Footsteps\u003c\/i\u003e, winner of the Edgar Award for Best Novel; and most recently, \u003ci\u003eThe Disappearing\u003c\/i\u003e. She lives in St. Petersburg, Florida, with her family.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lane\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lane Wallace is alone inside Rowland's Tavern when the front door      flies open. A man stumbles inside, bringing with him a spray of      rain that throws a shine on the hickory-brown floors. He scans the      dark room, stomps his feet, and draws both hands over his round,      wet face. If the man says anything, Lane doesn't hear him for the      rain pounding the tin roof and the palm fronds slapping the front      windows. It's supposed to rain through the night, and all around      Waddell, people will be keeping a close eye on the river.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lane smiles because maybe the man is a friend of a friend and not      a stranger. She's expecting a big crowd tonight, and one of her      regulars might have invited him. But he doesn't smile back.      Slipping her phone from her back pocket, she lays it on the bar      top where the man will be sure to see it. It's a subtle warning,      but if the man is looking for trouble, it'll make him reconsider.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He's a little on the heavy side; doughy, a person might say. From      behind the bar, Lane asks the man if a beer'll do him, and as he      slides into a booth near the front door, he nods. Her regulars,      men who've known her all her life, or rather who have known her      father, won't show up for another hour or so, but Rowland Jansen      will be back any time now. He ran out to move his car and Lane's      to the higher and drier ground of the parking lot out front, so      she won't be alone with the man for long.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Even though it's raining, her regulars will come, because after      twenty years, this is the night Lane Wallace becomes Lane Fielding      again. They'll come to toast the occasion of her divorce and tell      her they never liked that no-good, cheating Kyle or the twelve      novels he's written. These regulars are Lane's only friends here      in town. Since moving back to Waddell six months ago, a move her      divorce demanded after living up north for the last twenty years,      she's managed to avoid the friends she had when she was growing up      here. To her, they're painful reminders of a past she'd rather      forget.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her regulars, men twice her age, have been enough for Lane since      moving home. They've even managed to forgive her one indiscretion      three months ago with Rowland, her married boss, or to at least      ignore it. She's one of them again now that she's back in town,      and they're always telling her it's high time she be proud of      Waddell and of the family she was born into. Not one of them      believes what they call the hogwash that's been spread about      Lane's father by the newspapers and television for the last five      years. We're glad to have you back, they say instead. Yours is a      fine Southern name passed down by fine Southern gentlemen. No need      for anymore shame. Damn the newspapers. Damn the state too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Maybe if the man, this stranger, had sat at the bar like most      singles do, Lane wouldn't bother calling Sheriff Mark Ellenton.      But he didn't, so she grabs her phone and dials, because she did,      after all, make the sheriff a promise.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e About ten days ago, a student from Florida State disappeared. Even      before the Tallahassee police made their way to Waddell in search      of Susannah Bauer, Mark stopped by the bar and made Lane promise      to call him if ever she found herself alone with a customer she      didn't know. Having two daughters to think of, Lane couldn't      afford to be careless, and Mark couldn't bear the thought of      anything happening to her. That's what he said, but what he meant,      and what hung in the air as it has for more than twenty years, was      that he couldn't bear anything happening to her again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This latest girl's disappearance has brought back bad memories for      those old enough to remember the late seventies and a man named      Ted. Lane was too young to remember when he passed through      Waddell, taking with him a twelve-year-old girl who was never seen      again, but plenty of her customers remember. He ate lunch at      Olson's Cafe that day and had a tire patched just down the road      from Rowland's. Such an ordinary-looking fellow, folks remember.      Just as they surely did in 1974 following the disappearance of      that young girl, when news of Susannah Bauer's disappearance hit      ten days ago, folks started locking doors and taking note of      out-of-state license plates.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e With her phone pressed to one ear, Lane leans against the bar and      studies the back of the strange man's head. The call to Mark's      phone rings a few times, but before it rolls to voicemail, the      front door opens again. Much like the first man who stumbled      inside, the three men who cross over the threshold bring with them      another spray of rain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Towels are there by the bar,\" Lane says to the men, and ends the      call because four strangers are safer than one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e If she's being honest with herself, the strange man had only been      an excuse for her to reach out to Mark. He's the only one she's      been happy to see again in the months she's been back, and given      that he never married and that he finds reason to stop by the bar      more often than necessary, he's seemed happy to have Lane back as      well. But since the night she slept with Rowland, Mark hasn't been      coming around as much.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She takes the three men for Southerners and whiskey drinkers, and      she's right. She hollers to the man sitting at the booth that      she'll be right with him, and as she tips a bottle of Woodford      over the first tumbler, the ice inside popping and cracking, the      men talk among themselves, poke at their cell phones, jot things      on small spiral notepads. These three aren't tourists, and they      aren't locals here for Lane's party. They've been here before,      though not these three exactly, but ones just like them, and      they'll certainly come again. Many years ago, Lane was one of      them. But then Kyle's fifth book became a bestseller, and he said      to Lane, why bother with your career when you have the girls to      look after now, and so she quit. These three men are reporters.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Think you fellows should stick to one round,\" Lane says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Just getting started,\" the dark-haired one says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lane grabs a dry towel from the stack and pulls a longneck from      the cooler. \"You're journalists?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"That we are, ma'am.\" It's the one with silver hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"How do you know we're reporters?\" the smallest one says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"If ever there was a news-weary town, gentlemen,\" Lane says,      walking toward the end of the bar, \"this is it. Trust me. You're      best off sticking to one round.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It hadn't taken the Tallahassee police long to make their way to      Waddell after Susannah disappeared. The newspapers and television      stations were bound to follow, so it's possible these reporters      are here to cover Susannah, but not likely. It'll be Lane's father      who has brought them to town. Reporters have been coming to cover      Neil Fielding's story for at least five years, long before Lane      returned home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Stories like the one about Lane's father win awards and launch      careers. In the beginning, the reporters came only from Florida,      but as the story grew, they began driving in from all over the      South. From her Brooklyn apartment where she lived with Kyle and      the girls for the last twenty years, Lane tracked the reporters'      bylines across the country. And within the last six months that      Lane's been back, they've begun flying in from New York, Illinois,      and from as far away as California. With every new development,      the details become more shocking and more reporters come, and the      wound here in Waddell so many had hoped would heal has instead      festered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It's the rain and thunder that make Lane creep instead of walk      toward the man sitting alone at the booth. It's divorce and being      on her own for the first time in twenty years. It's her body being      softer than when she last lived here and her blond hair having      faded to a blurry brown. It's living in her parents' house and      hating that she knows which floorboards creak and which kitchen      drawer comes off its track. And it's the music, the soulful slow      notes plucked on an acoustic guitar that float through the      speakers overhead and remind her how many years are lost and that      she's right back where she started.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Here you go,\" Lane says, setting the beer on the table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The man, new to the bar and having come here on the same day as      the reporters, is probably a relative of one of the men her father      harmed. As the man reaches for the beer, he turns toward Lane, but      not in the sudden way she feared. He turns slowly, his eyes not      looking quite at her but instead at an empty spot over her      shoulder. He's not much older than her oldest daughter, Annalee.      Twenty-one at most. Like the rest of him, his face is doughy. His      eyes, an icy blue, jump from the beer to that empty spot over      Lane's shoulder and back again. As if the man wants to say      something but has to think it over, he works his lips together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Annalee's not at work,\" he says. He stares at the tabletop, and      his voice barely rises above the rain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Pardon?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Annalee,\" he says. \"She's your daughter.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The man isn't about Annalee's age. Lane was wrong to think so.      He's mid-twenties at least. He could be nearly thirty.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's Monday,\" the man says, now holding one hand with the other      as if trying to trap it. \"And she works at the restaurant on      Mondays.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Do you have a job there too?\" Lane asks, letting out the breath      she'd been holding. He must be asking about Annalee because they      work together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Butchers and whores,\" the man says, working his lips in that same      way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lane glances at the three reporters sitting at the bar. They heard      what the man said because they've all turned to face Lane, and the      dark-haired reporter is preparing to stand, one foot resting on      the ground. She waves them off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This isn't the first time someone has called the Fieldings      butchers and whores. While Lane's regulars won't let themselves      believe what the papers report about Lane's father, plenty of      others in town do, and they branded the Fieldings butchers. Plenty      of those same people, especially parishioners over at the New      Covenant, branded Lane a whore after her one night with Rowland.      Or rather, Hettie Jansen, Rowland's wife, branded her a whore, and      like a snappy headline, it caught on. Butchers and whores.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But Hettie wasn't the first to call Lane such a thing. She had      been a girl when first someone called her a whore, and back then,      her own father had been the one to do it. You're a whore, he had      said to the thirteen-year-old Lane, his warm breath making her      eyelids flutter. That's the day she began hatching a plan to leave      Waddell. Her marriage to Kyle had been her way out, and her      divorce from him twenty years later had forced her return.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I understand you're angry with my father,\" Lane says, backing      away. It's her standard response, the thing Mark-Sheriff      Ellenton-advised her to say. Defuse and evade. \"And you have every      right to be, but please leave my daughter out of it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She was right after all. The missing girl hasn't brought the      reporters to town. Something is getting ready to break in her      father's story, and that's why this man and these reporters have      come. Like the others before him, the man is angry because Lane's      father has never been punished. Still, she can't allow such      hatred, no matter how justified, to settle on her children. This      is the reason she'll have to leave Waddell as soon as she can save      some money.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Trouble?\" the dark-haired reporter asks as Lane walks back to the      bar.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ignoring the man's question, Lane grabs her cell phone and punches      in a message to Annalee. what's up, she types. Lane already knew      Annalee isn't at work. The restaurant called her early in the day      and told her not to come in because of the rain. A message pops      up. putting on supper, it reads. anyone causing trouble at the      house today, Lane types. Annalee answers, nope. all quiet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For the third time, the bar's door opens, and Rowland Jansen walks      inside. As he pulls off his hat, Lane tucks her phone back in her      pocket. People used to notice Rowland for his blond hair, but it's      long since darkened, and now they most notice his height-a good      six and a half feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Reporters,\" Lane says, and nods toward the three men.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Not looking to cause any trouble.\" It's the small one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Well, here's the thing about reporters,\" Rowland says, brushing a      hand over Lane's hip and stomach as he passes her by. \"I have a      bar full of regulars coming here tonight, and I don't care to deal      with them dealing with the three of you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lane slips around to the other side of the bar to put herself      beyond Rowland's reach. Though he hasn't said out loud that he      hopes their one night together will lead to more, he's become ever      more familiar in the weeks since-too familiar.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Draining his glass in one swallow, the silver-haired reporter      slaps a twenty on the bar. \"The Fielding Mansion,\" he says. \"You      know it? Place where Neil Fielding lives? GPS can't find it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Never heard of it,\" Rowland says, a lie he has often told.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Leaning against the bar where Rowland won't happen to brush      against her again, Lane glances at the odd man still sitting      alone. He has swung his legs around the end of the booth as if      preparing to stand and is slapping himself in the forehead, again      and again, with one hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"We were told to look for the giant elm,\" the silver-haired one      says. \"What about you, ma'am? You know where we'll find the      Fielding Mansion?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Nope,\" Lane says. \"Never heard of it.\" She's told the lie a good      many times too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Pulling a business card from his wallet, the reporter slides it      under the tip jar. \"If you happen to remember.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lane nods but says nothing. It's an oak tree, she could tell them      but won't. She could also tell them she's a Fielding and she grew      up in that house and lives there now. But she won't do that      either. First thing tomorrow morning, she'll have to prepare Erma      and the girls. They all need to brace themselves for whatever has      brought the reporters to town.","brand":"Dutton","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299857813733,"sku":"NP9781524741945","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781524741945.jpg?v=1767739029","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-disappearing-isbn-9781524741945","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}