The Lost and the Found

by Cat Clarke Narrated by Katharine McEwan

Overview

Fans of Lucy Christopher's*Stolen,*Caroline B. Cooney's*The Face on the Milk Carton,*and Natasha Preston's*The Cellar*will be captivated by this twisty psychological thriller about an abducted girl who finally returns home to her family-but is she really who she claims to be?
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THE LOST
When six-year-old Laurel Logan was abducted, the only witness was her younger sister, Faith. Since then, Faith's childhood has revolved around her sister's disappearance-from her parents' broken marriage and the constant media attention to dealing with so-called friends who only ever want to talk about her missing sister.
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THE FOUND
Now, thirteen years later, a young woman is found in the front yard of the Logans' old house, disoriented and clutching the teddy bear Laurel was last seen with. Can her sister finally be back? Faith always dreamed of her sister coming home; she just never believed it would happen. But soon a disturbing series of events leaves Faith increasingly isolated from her family and paranoid about her sister's motives. Before long, Faith begins to wonder if it's the abduction that's changed her sister, or if it's something else. . . .

“An intriguing story from start to finish.” -Kirkus Reviews

“Clarke's true success lies in crafting a realistic and haunting story of two young women who redefine what it means to be sisters.” -PW

“This mystery will have wide appeal and keep teens riveted.” -SLJ

“A compelling story with sympathetic and credible characters.”*-The Bulletin*

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

06/27/2016
Clarke (Undone) explores how a family fractures when a child goes missing, as well as the emotional roller-coaster they undergo when that child returns home. Faith Logan was three years old when her older sister, Laurel, was abducted by a stranger. For the next 13 years, Faith cobbled together a mostly normal existence, though constantly under the shadow of her missing sister. When Laurel miraculously reappears, Faith’s carefully constructed life slowly begins to fall apart as she grapples with mixed emotions concerning Laurel’s return. Blending coming-of-age elements with psychological suspense, Clarke carefully weaves a story in which the unnerving truth is slowly unveiled. As with the best thrillers, the truth is far from a straight line, and what readers believe changes with every turn of the page. In this fast-paced and darkly entertaining novel, Clarke’s true success lies is in crafting a realistic and haunting story of two young women who redefine what it means to be sisters. Ages 14–up. Agent: Julia Churchill, A.M. Heath. (Sept.)

School Library Journal

07/01/2016
Gr 9 Up—Clarke delivers a suspenseful, timely tale with a plot taken straight from the headlines. Faith's sister Laurel reappears after her kidnapping 13 years ago. What begins as a story about readjusting to life after the unimaginable happens gradually morphs into a gripping thriller. Slowly, Laurel reveals subtle discrepancies that lead Faith to believe something is amiss. Is Laurel an imposter? Or is Faith jealous? Readers share Faith's doubt and cheer her on as she starts to discover the truth. Instead of confiding her fears in Michel, her father's partner and Faith's most trusted adult, Faith confronts Laurel, and what follows is a convoluted but page-turning conclusion that Clarke cleverly lays tracks for earlier. The strong hook and trail of clues keep readers guessing and overshadow slight weaknesses, such as a brief lull in the pace, an unfinished thread regarding the betrayal of Faith's boyfriend, and fuzzy setting details. Clarke's indictment of vulturelike media and a poetic metaphor about cuckoo birds will linger in readers' minds, lending this novel a bit more gravity than typical teen thrillers. VERDICT This mystery will have wide appeal and keep teens riveted.—Laura Falli, McNeil High School, Austin, TX

OCTOBER 2016 - AudioFile

From the moment this production begins, narrator Katharine McEwan imbues her performance with seriousness and a sense of foreboding appropriate to main character. Faith is a 17-year-old whose older sister, Laurel, was abducted more than a decade earlier. McEwan’s British accent establishes the setting, and the voices she develops for Faith and Laurel add to their characterizations when Laurel’s sudden reappearance sets the events of the story in motion. Supporting characters are well developed textually and through McEwan’s interpretations—particularly Faith’s steadfast stepfather and her intense mother—as Faith’s carefully controlled life begins to fray in unexpected ways. The suspense never flags in this engrossing and surprising story about trauma, loyalty, and love. A.F. © AudioFile 2016, Portland, Maine

Kirkus Reviews

2016-07-02
Faith’s big sister, Laurel, was kidnapped when Laurel was 6 and Faith was 4, and now, 13 years later, she has been found.Faith and her family, all white, are certain that the 19-year old woman really is Laurel. She has memories that only Laurel could have. Laurel had been held captive by a man who imprisoned her in his basement and abused her yet also tried to give her a rudimentary education. As might be expected, Laurel has some difficulty coping with her newfound freedom and fitting in with the family. She sometimes hides under a desk, blocking off the rest of the room. Yet she also tosses away the beloved teddy bear that she had clung to when she was kidnapped and kept all those years, and Faith notices Laurel sneaking off. Meanwhile, Laurel adamantly refuses to take a DNA test required by the police. By the time Laurel tells Faith all, readers may have guessed some of it but probably not all. Clarke keeps the story moving along through Faith’s present-tense account, balancing understandable jealousy of the attention lavished on Laurel while trying to cope with her own boyfriend and with Laurel’s fame. The narrative never details the abuse Laurel suffered but provides enough about her imprisonment to heighten the question of what really happened. An intriguing story from start to finish. (Mystery. 14-18)

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169323887
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	09/13/2016
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

C H A P T E R
1
 
 
She knows. She definitely knows.
 
 
I’m not sure how she knows. I’m not stupid enough to keep a diary, and I’m not one of those weirdos who’s all Mom’s-my-best-friend-and-we-tell-each-other-everything. Maybe it’s some kind of sixth sense unique to mothers?
 
 
It’s there in her eyes every time she looks at me. The problem is, I can’t tell how she feels about it. Why can’t that show up in her eyes, too? Is she angry? Disappointed? Disapproving? Resigned? A little bit proud?
 
 
“How’s Martha’s mom doing at work? Have they announced the layoffs yet?”
 
 
It’s a trap. Classic. Of course there’s no way I’m falling for it. I shrug. “Dunno. She came in pretty late last night. I think she went out for drinks after her evening class.” I sip my tea, cool as you like. “Martha says she’s been pretty stressed about it.”
 
 
Mom nods. She knows when she’s beaten. “It must be tough.”
 
 
“They’re loaded, though, aren’t they? Martha’s dad earns enough for both of them. I don’t know why she bothers working in the first place.”
 
 
This was the wrong thing to say. I wouldn’t normally be so careless, but I’m exhausted. Mom’s big-time into feminism and equal opportunities and not relying on men. Funny thing is, I agree with her, but I’d never tell her that. Arguing is much more fun. But Mom’s not biting today; she’s obviously got other things on her mind.
 
 
“Are you okay, Mom?” I try not to ask more than three times a day, but it’s a habit. One that I learned at a very early age. When she retreated into herself, into that hellish world inside her head, sometimes it was the only way I could get her to talk to me. I never believed the answer, which was always the same, no matter what sort of day it was: I’m fine, love.
 
 
There’s no deviation from the script today, which is oddly reassuring. I was half expecting her to come out with something like, No, I’m not okay, thanks for asking. My daughter lied to me about where she was last night so that she could go and lose her virginity to Thomas Bolt in the back of a van.
 
 
There’s a newspaper lying facedown on the kitchen table. I hadn’t noticed it before, because I was too busy trying to work out how I feel about losing my virginity to Thomas Bolt in the back of a van.
 
 
All I can see is the sports page: some team beat some other team, and some guy scored more points than he’d ever scored before. But I know the kind of thing I’ll see if I flip over the newspaper. That’s why Mom is giving me all these weird looks. That’s why she put the newspaper down as soon as I came into the kitchen; she doesn’t want me to see it.
 
 
In a normal house—in Martha’s house and Thomas’s house and houses all over the country—a newspaper is just that: some paper with news in it. Wars and politics and celebrities doing inane celebrity things. In our house—our anything-but-normal house—a newspaper is often an unexploded bomb.
 
 
I don’t let on that I’ve noticed the paper. Mom gets up to wash the dishes, her shoulders slumped with the unbearable weight she carries with her every day. While her back is turned, I slide the paper over and onto my lap. Unexploded bomb or not, I need to know.
 
 
It’s always bad. Even when it looks like it’s good, it turns out to be bad. That’s actually worse: getting your hopes up only to have them dropped from a great height and splattered on the pavement. It’s hardest for Mom; that’s what everyone always says. And I suppose they’re right, but it’s hard for Dad, too. And it’s not exactly a walk in the park for me, either. But Dad’s got Michel and I’ve got Thomas; Mom has no one.
 
 
I pray that this won’t send her into full-on tortoise mode. Last time she didn’t leave her bedroom for a week. I brought her meals on a tray, but she barely ate a thing. She wouldn’t talk to me and she wouldn’t answer the phone. When Dad came over to see her, I listened at the door. “You have to snap out of this, Olivia. For Faith’s sake. She needs you.” He was wrong about that. I was coping perfectly well, even though the timing was hardly ideal—right in the middle of my exams. I don’t need her, not like when I was little. It’d just be nice if she talked to me about it once in a while. I wish she knew that there are other options besides “complete and utter breakdown” and “plastic smile, everything’s fine.” There’s a middle ground, waiting to be found.
 
 
I turn the paper over. It’s bad.
 
 
i killed laurel logan!
 
 
An involuntary noise escapes my mouth and Mom turns around. She whips the paper out of my hands and crumples it up. She stuffs it into the trash even though the can needs emptying. Some of the headline’s huge black letters are still visible because the lid won’t shut. Mom sees me staring at it and swears and stuffs the paper as deep as it will go. The lid swings back and forth.
 
 
She sits down and takes my hand. Her hand is cold— her hands are always cold. I often wonder if they used to be warm. Before. “I was going to talk to you about that.” Lie. “I’ve already talked to the police, and it’s nothing. The man’s a lunatic. They would lock him up for this if he weren’t already serving two life sentences.” She sighs. “It’s just more irresponsible journalism—it even says inside that there’s no way he could have done it. But that wouldn’t sell papers, would it?”
 
 
There are tears in my eyes, and I’m not even sure why. This happens on a regular basis—these stories in the papers or on TV or online. It’s been happening almost my whole life, so you’d think I would be immune to it by now. And I usually am immune, but for some reason today I’ve decided to be pathetic.
 
 
Mom doesn’t like it when I cry. I’m sure that’s true of all mothers about their daughters, but there’s something about Mom saying, Oh, darling, please don’t cry, that always makes me think it’s more about her than me. As if it just makes things harder for her. So I try not to cry when she’s around, because there’s nothing worse than being upset and then being made to feel guilty for being upset.
 

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