The last thing he told me A novel

Review by Booklist Review

Owen Michaels has disappeared, and all he left his wife Hannah is a note that says "protect her." That, and a duffel bag containing over half a million dollars in cash. Could his disappearance have to do with his company's recent financial-fraud scandal? Hannah seems to think so, especially when a US Marshal shows up on her doorstep. But why is a Texas-based US Marshal investigating a purported crime committed in Sausalito, California? This question convinces Hannah to go to Austin, along with her 16 year-old stepdaughter Bailey, to see if that city holds the answer to Owen's disappearance, and maybe even Owen himself. What Hannah discovers is nothing she could have ever imagined, and she is soon forced to choose between finding her husband and keeping Bailey safe. Bestselling author Dave's latest (after Hello, Sunshine, 2017) is a well-written story, and though readers may have trouble connecting with the characters, the plot is strong enough that the mystery will keep them hooked.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In Dave's suspenseful latest (after Hello Sunshine), a Bay Area woman copes with her husband's sudden disappearance. Owen Michaels, a coder for a prominent tech company, vanishes just before his boss is arrested for corruption, leaving his 16-year-old daughter, Bailey, over half a million dollars in cash. Bailey and her stepmother, Hannah Hall, aren't close, but they work together to uncover what made Owen flee, convinced he is innocent. Still, Hannah remains uncertain, and after she remembers how a man claimed to have recognized Owen from high school in Austin, Tex., despite Owen having said he's from the East Coast, Hannah and Bailey travel there in hopes of triggering Bailey's early childhood memories. Bailey does remember Texas, though her memories don't track with what Owen had told both of them. Meanwhile, a U.S. Marshal who's familiar with Owen's past encourages Hannah to cooperate as Hannah and Bailey find themselves in danger. The first two-thirds are riveting, with mysteries unspooled at a steady pace and believable stepfamily angst, but unfortunately the final act slips into some loopy turns. The author's fans, though, won't have a hard time forgiving the flaws. Agent: Suzanne Gluck, WME. (May)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

Hannah's husband of two years, Owen, disappears amidst a work scandal; the only things he leaves her are a duffel bag full of money and a cryptic note that says "protect her," referring to his teenage daughter Bailey. When investigators reveal that Owen is not who he says he is, the mystery deepens, and Dave (Hello, Sunshine) heightens the stakes with the dynamic between Hannah and stepdaughter Bailey. Will Bailey come to trust her? Will Hannah be able to protect her as Owen asked? Dave focuses the action by filtering it through only Hannah's perspective, which keeps the plot tight where it could have been complicated, as Hannah chases leads to figure out who her husband used to be and meets people from his past. The first-person, present-tense point of view makes the pace quick; readers will be hooked from the start. Skillfully woven into the present mystery are flashbacks of scenes between Hannah and Owen, showing their tender relationship and Owen's behavior that hints at his past. VERDICT For readers who like a resilient, resourceful heroine and a compelling domestic suspense story.--Sonia Reppe, Stickney-Forest View P.L., IL

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

When a devoted husband and father disappears, his wife and daughter set out to find him. Hannah Hall is deeply in love with her husband of one year, Owen Michaels. She's also determined to win over his 16-year-old daughter, Bailey, who has made it very clear that she's not thrilled with her new stepmother. Despite the drama, the family is mostly a happy one. They live in a lovely houseboat in Sausalito; Hannah is a woodturner whose handmade furniture brings in high-dollar clientele; and Owen works for The Shop, a successful tech firm. Their lives are shattered, however, when Hannah receives a note saying "Protect her" and can't reach Owen by phone. Then there's the bag full of cash Bailey finds in her school locker and the shocking news that The Shop's CEO has been taken into custody. Hannah learns that the FBI has been investigating the firm for about a year regarding some hot new software they took to market before it was fully functional, falsifying their financial statements. Hannah refuses to believe her husband is involved in the fraud, and a U.S. marshal assigned to the case claims Owen isn't a suspect. Hannah doesn't know whom to trust, though, and she and Bailey resolve to root out the clues that might lead to Owen. They must also learn to trust one another. Hannah's narrative alternates past and present, detailing her early days with Owen alongside her current hunt for him, and author Dave throws in a touch of danger and a few surprises. But what really drives the story is the evolving nature of Hannah and Bailey's relationship, which is by turns poignant and frustrating but always realistic. Light on suspense but still a solid page-turner. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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1. If You Answer the Door for Strangers... If You Answer the Door for Strangers... You see it all the time on television. There's a knock at the front door. And, on the other side, someone is waiting to tell you the news that changes everything. On television, it's usually a police chaplain or a firefighter, maybe a uniformed officer from the armed forces. But when I open the door--when I learn that everything is about to change for me--the messenger isn't a cop or a federal investigator in starched pants. It's a twelve-year-old girl, in a soccer uniform. Shin guards and all. "Mrs. Michaels?" she says. I hesitate before answering--the way I often do when someone asks me if that is who I am. I am and I'm not. I haven't changed my name. I was Hannah Hall for the thirty-eight years before I met Owen, and I didn't see a reason to become someone else after. But Owen and I have been married for a little over a year. And, in that time, I've learned not to correct people either way. Because what they really want to know is whether I'm Owen's wife. It's certainly what the twelve-year-old wants to know, which leads me to explain how I can be so certain that she is twelve, having spent most of my life seeing people in two broad categories: child and adult. This change is a result of the last year and a half, a result of my husband's daughter, Bailey, being the stunningly disinviting age of sixteen. It's a result of my mistake, upon first meeting the guarded Bailey, of telling her that she looked younger than she was. It was the worst thing I could have done. Maybe it was the second worst. The worst thing was probably my attempt to make it better by cracking a joke about how I wished someone would age me down. Bailey has barely stomached me since, despite the fact that I now know better than to try to crack a joke of any kind with a sixteen-year-old. Or, really, to try and talk too much at all. But back to my twelve-year-old friend standing in the doorway, shifting from dirty cleat to dirty cleat. "Mr. Michaels wanted me to give you this," she says. Then she thrusts out her hand, a folded piece of yellow legal paper inside her palm. HANNAH is written on the front in Owen's writing. I take the folded note, hold her eyes. "I'm sorry," I say. "I'm missing something. Are you a friend of Bailey's?" "Who's Bailey?" I didn't expect the answer to be yes. There is an ocean between twelve and sixteen. But I can't piece this together. Why hasn't Owen just called me? Why is he involving this girl? My first guess would be that something has happened to Bailey, and Owen couldn't break away. But Bailey is at home, avoiding me as she usually does, her blasting music (today's selection: Beautiful: The Carole King Musical ) pulsing all the way down the stairs, its own looping reminder that I'm not welcome in her room. "I'm sorry. I'm a little confused... where did you see him?" "He ran past me in the hall," she says. For a minute I think she means our hall, the space right behind us. But that doesn't make sense. We live in a floating home on the bay, a houseboat as they are commonly called, except here in Sausalito, where there's a community of them. Four hundred of them. Here they are floating homes--all glass and views. Our sidewalk is a dock, our hallway is a living room. "So you saw Mr. Michaels at school?" "That's what I just said." She gives me a look, like where else ? "Me and my friend Claire were on our way to practice. And he asked us to drop this off. I said I couldn't come until after practice and he said, fine. He gave us your address." She holds up a second piece of paper, like proof. "He also gave us twenty bucks," she adds. The money she doesn't hold up. Maybe she thinks I'll take it back. "His phone was broken or something and he couldn't reach you. I don't know. He barely slowed down." "So... he said his phone was broken?" "How else would I know?" she says. Then her phone rings--or I think it's a phone until she picks it off her waist and it looks more like a high-tech beeper. Are beepers back? Carole King show tunes. High-tech beepers. Another reason Bailey probably doesn't have patience for me. There's a world of teen things I know absolutely nothing about. The girl taps away on her device, already putting Owen and her twenty-dollar mission behind her. I'm reluctant to let her go, still unsure about what is going on. Maybe this is some kind of weird joke. Maybe Owen thinks this is funny. I don't think it's funny. Not yet, anyway. "See you," she says. She starts walking away, heading down the docks. I watch her get smaller and smaller, the sun down over the bay, a handful of early evening stars lighting her way. Then I step outside myself. I half expect Owen (my lovely and silly Owen) to jump out from the side of the dock, the rest of the soccer team giggling behind him, the lot of them letting me in on the prank I'm apparently not getting. But he isn't there. No one is. So I close our front door. And I look down at the piece of yellow legal paper still folded in my hand. I haven't opened it yet. It occurs to me, in the quiet, how much I don't want to open it. I don't want to know what the note says. Part of me still wants to hold on to this one last moment--the moment where you still get to believe this is a joke, an error, a big nothing; the moment before you know for sure that something has started that you can no longer stop. I unfold the paper. Owen's note is short. One line, its own puzzle. Protect her. Excerpted from The Last Thing He Told Me: A Novel by Laura Dave 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.

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