Hiding Place (9781101606759)

PRAISE FOR
CEMETERY GIRL

“
Cemetery Girl
is more than just an utterly compelling thriller—and it certainly is that. David Bell’s stellar novel is also a haunting meditation on the ties that bind parent to child, husband to wife, brother to brother—and what survives even under the most shattering possible circumstance. An absolutely riveting, absorbing read not to be missed.”

—Lisa Unger,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Heartbroken

“
Cemetery Girl
is my favorite kind of story because it takes the familiar and darkens it. This story is essentially about a missing little girl, but trust me: you have never read a missing-persons story like this one. The reader is taken down the rabbit hole in this novel, and when he comes out at the end—just beyond that mysterious and hopeful last page—he is all the better for having been invited inside Bell’s disturbing, all-too-real world…. A fast, mean head trip of a thriller that reads like a collaboration between Michael Connelly and the gothic fiction of Joyce Carol Oates,
Cemetery Girl
is one of those novels that you cannot shake after it’s over. A winner on every level.”

—Will Lavender,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Obedience

“Grabbed me by the throat on page one and never let up. An intense, unrelenting powerhouse of a book, and the work of a master.”

—John Lescroart,
New York Times
bestselling author of
The Hunter

“
Cemetery Girl
is a smasher. It twists and turns and never lets go, and…it could happen just this way.”

—Jacquelyn Mitchard,
New York Times
bestselling author of
The Deep End of the Ocean
and
Second Nature

“A smart, tense, creepy take on the story of a missing daughter, told by her far-from-perfect father. If you think you know this tale—from all-too-familiar newspaper accounts, from lesser movies and books—then this terrific novel will make you think otherwise.”

—Brock Clarke, author of
Exley

“[Bell] writes with a clarity of both vision and purpose, and his characters are eerily familiar because they are just like you and me.”

—Thomas F. Monteleone, Bram Stoker Award–winning author of
Night of Broken Souls

“With the psychologically twisted
Cemetery Girl
, Bell stakes his claim as a writer to watch…. Consider me a fan.”

—Jonathan Maberry,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Assassin’s Code

“Every parent’s worst nightmare carries the story on a tense and terrifying journey that brims with emotional authenticity. Bell manages not only to build suspense effectively but also tell a story that goes way beyond simple thrills. Anyone with children who reads this will think twice about security and what is best for young people on the road to adulthood.”

—
Booklist

“The story is engaging and tugs at the reader’s heartstrings immediately…fast-paced and compelling.”

—Fiction Addict

“Suspenseful [and] disquieting.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“A nail-biting page turner…. David Bell has delivered a first-rate thriller that provides the reader with enough sketchy characters to engage and challenge even the most seasoned reader. Followers of the genre can celebrate the addition of another gifted storyteller.”

—LitStack

“A gripping and intense novel, keeping the reader on their toes until the end. Spellbinding and filled with angst, this absorbing story proves to be a page-turner.”

—Reader to Reader Reviews

“Smart, stark, and haunting. This is perfect reading for a spooky autumn night, but be forewarned you might have to later sleep with the light on.”

—
Tucson Citizen

“Disturbing, brilliantly engaging, and a must read for thriller fans.”

—
Suspense Magazine

ALSO BY DAVID BELL

Cemetery Girl

ALWAYS LEARNING

PEARSON

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Acknowledgments

About the Author

What do you remember from that day, Janet?

Janet remembered the heat. The way it shimmered in waves in the distance, making the edges of the trees, the cars in the parking lot blurry and indistinct. Wherever she stepped, the grass crackled or the dirt puffed. The heat rose from the ground and scorched her feet through the soles of her cheap plastic shoes.

She was seven years old and in charge of her baby brother for the first time ever.

Janet watched Justin. She thought of him as a dumb four-year-old, a silly kid with a bowl of blond hair and a goofy smile. He sat with the other kids in the sandbox, scooping piles of sand into mounds with his hands, then smoothing them over. Back and forth like that. Sand up, sand down. Dumb and pointless. Something little kids would do. She watched him. Carefully.

But no, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all…

Justin wasn’t silly. And he didn’t smile all the time. He was a quiet kid. A loner. He sat in the sandbox alone that day. And he didn’t smile much. Not much at all. No one in her family smiled much, not when she looked back on her childhood…or even her life now.

What did she remember from that day? What did she really remember? It was so hard to—

Michael showed up.

She remembered that.

Michael showed up, her seven-year-old playmate, the boy from the neighborhood and school. Their parents were friends. They played together all the time. Her boyfriend, she liked to think and giggle to herself, although they never touched each other. Never hugged or kissed or held hands. They were too young for that, too young for a lot of things.

But Michael showed up wearing denim shorts with a belt like a long rope and sneakers with holes in them. His hair hung in his face, and he brushed it out of his eyes constantly. He lived on the other side of the park. And so Michael called her name, and when he did her heart jumped and she turned away from the sandbox and the swings and the other kids. And she followed Michael wherever he went. Across the playground, over the baseball diamond, over by the trees. She followed him.

Is that all she did? Run across the playground?

It was enough. She let Justin out of her sight. Dad was at work and Mom was at home, and Mom let them go to the playground alone that day for the first time ever, but it didn’t seem like a big deal. The park was near the school and the church and the other kids would be there, other kids they knew and even some parents. And all Mom said on that day when they left the house was, “Janet, don’t let Justin out of your sight. He’s a little boy…”