{"product_id":"the-other-daughterisbn-9780553576795","title":"The Other Daughter","description":"\u003cb\u003eFrom the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eBefore She Disappeared\u003c\/i\u003e comes a propulsive thriller exploring “the dark side of family life, where the ties that bind also gag, choke, and strangle” (\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e).\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Lisa Gardner always delivers heart-stopping suspense.”—Harlan Coben\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe family you love the most may be the people you should trust the least. . . . \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eTwenty years ago, Melanie Stokes was abandoned in a Boston hospital, then adopted by a wealthy young couple. Gifted with loving parents, a doting brother, and an indulgent uncle, Melanie has always considered herself lucky. \u003ci\u003eUntil tonight.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eTonight, a has-been reporter turns up, investigating her past. Tonight, the first note arrives, saying, “You Get What You Deserve.” And tonight, Melanie has her first, horrifying vision of the past.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eMelanie has no memory of her life before the adoption. Now someone wants to give it back, even if it includes the darkest nightmare the Stokes family ever faced: the murder of their first daughter in Texas. As Melanie pursues every lead, chases every shadow in search of her real identity, two seemingly unrelated events from her past will come together in a dangerous explosion of truth.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eWinner of the Daphne Du Maurier Award for Suspense\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for Lisa Gardner and \u003ci\u003eThe Other Daughter\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“To read Lisa Gardner is to put yourself in the hands of a master storyteller.”\u003cb\u003e—Riley Sager, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eHome Before Dark\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Lisa Garner is the master of the psychological thriller.”\u003cb\u003e—Associated Press\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Just when you thought Lisa Gardner couldn’t get any better . . . she does.”\u003cb\u003e—Lee Child\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A dark, powerful tale of nerve-shattering suspense.”\u003cb\u003e—Tami Hoag\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Readers get loads of angst, great procedural stuff, some hair-raising action scenes, and a villain to keep you awake at night. What more can any thriller reader want?”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eAlfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Scary, gritty, terrifying. Lock the door, leave on a light.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eOakland Press\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A page-turner.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eRocky Mountain News\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] suspenseful, engrossing page-turner . . . Totally absorbing, it’s one of those books that keeps you up late, enslaved by the ‘just one more chapter’ syndrome.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eMystery News\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Sheer terror . . . a great read.”\u003cb\u003e—Iris Johansen\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eLisa Gardner\u003c\/b\u003e is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of thirteen novels. Her Detective D. D. Warren novels include \u003ci\u003eLive to Tell, Hide, Alone, \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eThe Neighbor\u003c\/i\u003e, winner of the International Thriller Writers’ Award. Her FBI Profiler novels include \u003ci\u003eSay Goodbye, Gone, The Killing Hour, The Next Accident, \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e The Third Victim\u003c\/i\u003e. She lives with her family in New England.She was late, she was late, oh, God, she was so late!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Melanie  Stokes came bounding up the stairs, then made the hard left turn down the hall, her  long blond hair whipping around her face. Twenty minutes and counting. She hadn't  even thought about what she was going to wear. Damn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She tore into her room with  her sweatshirt half pulled over her head. A strategic kick sent the heavy mahogany  door slamming shut behind her as she shed the first layer of clothes. She toed off  her tennis shoes and sent them sailing beneath the pine bureau that swallowed nearly  a quarter of her bedroom. A lot of things came to rest beneath the battered dresser.  One of these days she meant to clean it out. But not tonight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Melanie hastily shimmied  out of her ripped-up jeans, tossed her T-shirt onto the sleigh bed, and hurried to  the closet. The wide plank floorboards felt cool against her toes, making her do  a little cha-cha-cha along the way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Come on,\" she muttered, ripping back the silk  curtain. \"Ten years of compulsive shopping crammed into one five-by-five space. How  hard can it be to locate a cocktail dress?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e To judge by the mess, pretty hard. Melanie  grimaced, then waded in fatalistically. Somewhere in there were a few decent dresses.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At the age of twenty-nine, Melanie Stokes was petite, capable, and a born diplomat.  She'd been abandoned as a child at City General Hospital with no memory of where  she came from, but that had been a long time ago and she didn't think of those days  much. She had an adoptive father whom she respected, an adoptive mother whom she  loved, an older brother whom she worshiped, and an indulgent godfather whom she adored.  Until recently she had considered her family to be very close. They were not just  another rich family, they were a tight-knit family. She kept telling herself they  would be like that again soon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Melanie had graduated from Wellesley six years earlier  with her family serving as an enthusiastic cheering section. She'd returned home  right afterward to help her mother through one of her \"spells,\" and somehow it had  seemed easiest for everyone if she stayed. Now she was a professional event organizer.  Mostly she did charity functions. Huge black-tie affairs that made the social elite  feel social and elite while simultaneously milking them for significant sums of money.  Lots of details, lots of planning, lots of work. Melanie always pulled them off.  Seamless, social columnists liked to rave about the events, relaxed yet elegant.  Not to mention profitable.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then there were the nights like tonight. Tonight was  the seventh annual Donate-A-Classic for Literacy reception, held right there in her  parents' house, and, apparently, cursed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The caterer hadn't been able to get enough  ice. The parking valets had called in sick, the Boston Globe had printed the wrong  time, and Senator Kennedy was home with a stomach virus, taking with him half the  press corps. Thirty minutes ago Melanie had gotten so frustrated, tears had stung  her eyes. Completely unlike her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But then, she was agitated tonight for reasons  that had nothing to do with the reception. She was agitated, and being Melanie, she  was dealing with it by keeping busy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Melanie was very good at keeping busy. Almost  as good as her father.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Fifteen minutes and counting. Damn. Melanie found her favorite  gold-fringed flapper's dress. Encouraged, she began digging for gold pumps.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e During  the first few months of Melanie's adoption, the Stokeses had been so excited about  their new daughter, they'd lavished her with every gift they could imagine. The second  floor master bedroom suite, complete with rose silk wall hangings and a gold-trimmed  bathroom, where she needed a stool just to catch her reflection in the genuine Louis  IV mirror, was hers. The closet was the size of a small apartment, and it had been  filled with every dress, hat, and, yes, gloves ever made by Laura Ashley. All that  in addition to two parents, one brother, and one godfather who were shadowing every  move she made, handing her food before she could think to hunger, bringing her games  before she could think to be bored, and offering her blankets before she could think  to shiver.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It had been a little weird.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Melanie had gone along at first. She'd been  eager to please, wanting to be happy as badly as they wanted to make her happy. It  seemed to her that if people as golden and beautiful and rich as the Stokeses were  willing to give her a home and have her as a daughter, she could darn well learn  to be their daughter. So she'd dressed each morning in flounces of lace and patiently  let her new mom cajole her straight hair into sausage curls. She'd listened gravely  to her new father's dramatic stories of snatching cardiac patients from the clutches  of death and her godfather's tales of faraway places where men wore skirts and women  grew hair in their armpits. She spent long afternoons sitting quietly with her new  brother, memorizing his tight features and troubled eyes while he swore to her again  and again that he would be the perfect older brother for her, he would.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Everything  was perfect. Too perfect. Melanie stopped being able to sleep at night. Instead,  she would find herself tiptoeing downstairs at two a.m. to stand in front of a painting  of another golden little girl. Four-year-old Meagan Stokes, who wore flounces of  lace and sausage-curled hair. Four-year-old Meagan Stokes, who'd been the Stokeses'  first daughter before some monster had kidnapped her and cut off her head. Four-year-old  Meagan Stokes, the real daughter the Stokeses had loved and adored long before Melanie  arrived.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Harper would come home from emergency surgeries and carry her back to bed.  Brian grew adept at hearing the sound of her footsteps and would patiently lead her  back to her bedroom. But still she'd come back down, obsessed by the painting of  that gorgeous little girl whom even a nine-year-old girl could realize she was meant  to replace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jamie O'Donnell finally intervened. Oh, for God's sake, he declared.  Melanie was Melanie. A flesh-and-blood girl, not a porcelain doll to be used for  dress-up games. Let her pick her own clothes and her own room and her own style before  the therapy bills grew out of control.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That piece of advice probably saved them  all. Melanie left the master bedroom suite for a sunny third-story bedroom across  from Brian's room. Melanie liked the bay windows and low, slanted ceilings, and the  fact that the room could never be mistaken for, say, a hospital room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And she discovered,  during a clothing drive at school, that she liked hand-me-downs best. They were so  soft and comfortable, and if you did spill or rip something, no one would notice.  She became Goodwill's best customer for years. Then came the trips to garage sales  for furniture. She liked things banged up, scarred. Things that came with a past,  she realized when she was older. Things that came with the history she didn't have.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her godfather was amused by her taste, her father aghast, but her new family remained  supportive. They kept loving her. They grew whole.She was late, she was late, oh,  God, she was so late!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Melanie Stokes came bounding up the stairs, then made the  hard left turn down the hall, her long blond hair whipping around her face. Twenty  minutes and counting. She hadn't even thought about what she was going to wear. Damn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She tore into her room with her sweatshirt half pulled over her head. A strategic  kick sent the heavy mahogany door slamming shut behind her as she shed the first  layer of clothes. She toed off her tennis shoes and sent them sailing beneath the  pine bureau that swallowed nearly a quarter of her bedroom. A lot of things came  to rest beneath the battered dresser. One of these days she meant to clean it out.  But not tonight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Melanie hastily shimmied out of her ripped-up jeans, tossed her  T-shirt onto the sleigh bed, and hurried to the closet. The wide plank floorboards  felt cool against her toes, making her do a little cha-cha-cha along the way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Come  on,\" she muttered, ripping back the silk curtain. \"Ten years of compulsive shopping  crammed into one five-by-five space. How hard can it be to locate a cocktail dress?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e To judge by the mess, pretty hard. Melanie grimaced, then waded in fatalistically.  Somewhere in there were a few decent dresses.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At the age of twenty-nine, Melanie  Stokes was petite, capable, and a born diplomat. She'd been abandoned as a child  at City General Hospital with no memory of where she came from, but that had been  a long time ago and she didn't think of those days much. She had an adoptive father  whom she respected, an adoptive mother whom she loved, an older brother whom she  worshiped, and an indulgent godfather whom she adored. Until recently she had considered  her family to be very close. They were not just another rich family, they were a  tight-knit family. She kept telling herself they would be like that again soon.","brand":"Bantam","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304684343525,"sku":"NP9780553576795","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780553576795.jpg?v=1730758114","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-other-daughterisbn-9780553576795","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}