The familiar dark : a novel / Amy Engel.

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

One of Publishers Weekly 's Best Books of 2020 (Mystery/Thriller)

"From its gripping beginning to its sobering finale, Amy Engel's The Familiar Dark never fails to enthrall with surprising twists."- Associated Press

A spellbinding story of a mother with nothing left to lose who sets out on an all-consuming quest for justice after her daughter is murdered on the town playground.

Sometimes the answers are worse than the questions. Sometimes it's better not to know.

Set in the poorest part of the Missouri Ozarks, in a small town with big secrets, The Familiar Dark opens with a murder. Eve Taggert, desperate with grief over losing her daughter, takes it upon herself to find out the truth about what happened. Eve is no stranger to the dark side of life, having been raised by a hard-edged mother whose lessons Eve tried not to pass on to her own daughter. But Eve may need her mother's cruel brand of strength if she's going to face the reality about her daughter's death and about her own true nature. Her quest for justice takes her from the seedy underbelly of town to the quiet woods and, most frighteningly, back to her mother's trailer for a final lesson.

The Familiar Dark is a story about the bonds of family--women doing the best they can for their daughters in dire circumstances--as well as a story about how even the darkest and most terrifying of places can provide the comfort of home.

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

ONE I'd had one eye on the clock all day. Had taken heaps of shit for it, too. Every time I'd leaned over the counter to pick up an order, Thomas had swatted at my hand with his grease-spattered spatula. "You got somewhere else you need to be?" he asked, tsking under his breath. "Yeah, somewhere better than this crap hole," I shot back, laughing when he went for me with the spatula again. That was about the only good thing I could find in having worked in this dump for more than a decade: I didn't have to mind my manners anymore. "It's almost five o'clock," I called out, after watching the minute hand creep around the clock one final time. "What's your hurry today, anyway?" Louise asked, retying her apron around her thick waist. "You're like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Keep it up and you're gonna give Thomas a heart attack. You know he hates it when we're distracted." I threw a glance back through the pickup window, winked at Thomas, who couldn't quite manage to keep his scowl in place. "I don't know," I admitted. "Antsy, I guess." Maybe it was the strange, unexpected weather. Yesterday had been a budding, whispery green, the air scented with wildflowers. Today snow had splattered against the diner's plate glass windows, tiny swirls sneaking inside every time someone opened the door. But now the sun was starting to peek out from behind the cloud cover, just in time for it to set. Already rivulets of melting snow were forming on the edges of the parking lot. By morning it would be spring again. But that was Missouri for you. Like the old-timers always said, if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes. "Coulda been those sirens," Thomas offered. "Damn things about drove me insane earlier." Louise nodded, motioned for me to pass her the half-empty ketchup bottles so she could get to refilling them. "Must have been a heap of accidents. Heard there was a bunch of activity over by the old playground. Nobody around here can drive worth a good goddamn." Thomas snorted his agreement from the kitchen, and Louise turned to glance at him. "When's the last time we had snow in April? Seems like it's been ages." "Right before Junie was born," I said without hesitation. "Thirteen years." I remembered how big I'd been, ankles swollen to the point I couldn't shove my feet into snow boots and had to navigate the drifts in my worn tennis shoes. "Oh Lord, that's right," Louise said. She finished filling a ketchup bottle and slid it back down my direction. "You have big Saturday night plans?" She did a sideways shimmy. "Maybe a little dancing? A little drinking? A little something-something?" "I promised Junie I'd be home early and we'd have pizza and watch a movie. I haven't seen her since yesterday." I didn't need to see Louise's eye roll to know how pathetic she found my version of an exciting Saturday night. She'd already told me enough times that youth was wasted on me. Thirty going on fifty was one of her favorite commentaries on my nonexistent social life. "When mine were that age, I'd a been happy if someone had taken them away for a week at a time. Little smart-asses." Louise shook her head. "Where's she been, anyway?" "She stayed over with Izzy Logan." I kept my gaze on the swath of counter I was wiping. Ignored the pinch in the base of my skull. "Those two are thick as thieves," Louise said, and I didn't miss the slight note of disbelief in her voice. I was used to it by now, understood that girls like Junie and girls like Izzy didn't usually run in the same crowd. Especially not in this town, which might as well have a neon strip painted down the middle. Poor white trash on this side. Do not cross. Didn't seem to matter that 90 percent of the town was stranded on the wrong side. The invisible line wasn't budging based on majority rule, at least not when it came to mixing with Jenny Logan's family. When I was in junior high, out searching the roadside ditches for cans I could recycle, I used to see Jenny tooling around in her little white convertible. She left for college when I was a sophomore in high school, and I'd assumed she was gone for good. But she'd returned two years later with half a degree she'd never used and a college boy groomed to take over her dad's boat dealership. They weren't anything special by city standards, but around here the Logans were practically royalty. It didn't take much. A decent job and a house that wasn't moveable usually did the trick. "Yep," I said. I hated how everyone acted like I ought to be grateful that Izzy liked my daughter, that Izzy's parents welcomed Junie into their home. No one ever asked me what I thought, probably would have been surprised to discover that I wasn't grateful at all. That I would've put a stop to the friendship a long time ago if I could have figured out a way to do it without breaking my daughter's heart. I resented the phone calls from Jenny arranging get-togethers, always assuming, even after constant reminders to the contrary, that my schedule was endlessly flexible. I looked away from the perfunctory waves Izzy's father, Zach, gave from the front porch when I pulled up in my ancient Honda, the back window jury-rigged out of cardboard and duct tape. I kept waiting (and wishing) for the first bloom of friendship to fade, for some stupid drama to tear the girls apart. But it had been years now, and so far, the bond they had was made of stronger stuff. And I didn't like that, either. Hated thinking about what it might mean. I dropped the rag on the counter and pressed my hands into my lower back. I was too young to feel like such shit at the end of the day, my legs aching and spine a dull throb. You would have thought the snow might've made for a quiet day at the diner, but weather was everyone's second-favorite topic, right behind politics. The place had been hopping all day, only now emptying out as everyone made their way home for dinner. The pie rack had been cleared out, and I didn't want to estimate how many cups of coffee I'd poured in the last eight hours. Lots of jawing and not a whole lot of tipping. My least favorite kind of day. "Looks like your brother's pulling in," Louise said. "Hope he doesn't want a piece of apple. He's shit outta luck." I straightened up, watched Cal's car slide to a stop out front. Even after all these years, the sight of my brother behind the wheel of a patrol car came as a little shock. We'd spent the majority of our childhoods evading the cops, grew up always keeping one eye out for the law. The kind of public service that might earn us an extra dollar from the dealers using our mama's cracked countertop as a storefront. So cop hadn't exactly been at the top of my list of promising potential professions for my brother. But he'd surprised me, first by becoming one and then turning out to be good at the job. Word around town was he was tough but always fair. Which was more than could be said for his boss and the other lazy-ass deputies. Once, when Thomas had spent a night in jail after he'd made a drunken mess of himself, he'd told me that Cal had "a real nice way about him, even when he was putting on the cuffs." Praise for the law didn't come higher than that, not around here. "He's not usually in town on Saturdays," I said. The cops around here were spread thin, patrolling not just Barren Springs but multiple small towns and the long stretches of almost empty highway in between. "Maybe the man needs a cup of coffee," Louise said. "I'm sure he's had a long day." She fluffed her hair with one hand. Louise was old enough to be Cal's mom and then some, but even she turned ridiculous in his presence, wanting to baby him and flirt with him in equal measure. "Maybe," I said, but something heavy settled in my stomach as Cal unwound himself from the front seat of his cruiser. He shut the door and then stood there, head hanging down, dishwater-blond hair catching the light. After a moment, he straightened up, set his shoulders. Steeling himself, I thought, and the heavy knot in my stomach bottomed out through the floor. Those sirens . . . I told myself they had nothing to do with Junie, who was too young to drive and too old to be fooling around on a playground. I grabbed the rag and looked away from the window, went back to scrubbing at the cracked Formica countertop, didn't look up even when I heard the bell jangle over the door. "Hey, Cal," Louise said, her voice pitched high and girlish. "You want-" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my brother hold up one hand, stopping Louise's voice in its tracks. "Eve," he said quietly, walking toward me. His cop shoes were loud on the ancient linoleum floor. I didn't look up, kept scrubbing. Whatever he was here for, whatever had been nipping at me all day, it wouldn't be true, it wouldn't have happened, if I could keep him from saying it. "Eve," he said again. I could see his belt buckle pressed up against the edge of the counter now, and he reached over, laid his hand on mine. "Evie . . ." I jerked my hand away, took a step backward. "Don't," I said. I meant it to come out fierce and commanding enough to stop him from speaking, but my voice wobbled and broke, the single word dribbling away into nothing. "Look at me," Cal said, gentle but firm. His big-brother voice. I raised my eyes slowly, not wanting to see, not wanting to know. Cal's eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. He'd been crying, I realized with a little electric jolt. I couldn't remember ever seeing Caleb cry, not once in our shitty shared childhood. I stared into his bright blue eyes, and he stared back. As always, it was like looking into a mirror, but one that threw my reflection back crisper and clearer. Same hair, same eyes, same smattering of freckles, but all of it overlaid with a sheen I simply didn't have. As if nature had blown its entire genetic wad on my brother, and when I came along eleven months later there was only enough left over for a faded, second-rate replica. "What?" I said. Ready now, suddenly, for whatever hell was waiting for me behind his lips. When he didn't answer, I threw the rag at him, watching it slap into his chest and leave a wet stain against his shirt. "What?" I practically screamed. Louise moved up next to me and laid one hand on my forearm. Her touch, usually the closest thing I had to a mother's comfort, burrowed under my skin, and I jerked away, my whole body buzzing like a downed power line. "It's Junie, Eve," Cal said. "It's Junie." His voice broke and he glanced away, his throat working. "You need to come with me." I felt rooted to the spot, my feet sinking into the floor, my body heavy and leaden. "Is she dead?" Next to me Louise sucked in a sharp breath. That one sound letting me know that I'd gone a step too far, made a leap that Louise never would have. But Louise hadn't grown up the same way I had. No money, yeah. Food stamps and government cheese, yeah. But not violence. Not raised in a double-wide that stunk of random men and meth burners. Not strange faces and too much laughter, most of it jagged and mean. All of it nestled in the armpit of the Ozarks, a place only fifteen miles down the road, but so backwater, so hidden from the wider world, that it felt like its own dark pocket of time. But Cal knew. He looked back at me, held my gaze. My brother never lied, not to me. Whatever came next would be the truth, whether I could stand it or not. "Yeah," he said finally. "She's gone. I'm sorry, Evie." "How?" I heard myself say, voice far away like a helium balloon drifting above my head. Cal's jaw tightened, and he sucked in a breath through his nose. "It looks like she was murdered." It wouldn't be until later, when I knew all the awful details, that I would remember this moment and realize how, even then, my brother was trying to spare me from something. In my mind, I fell to the floor, mouth twisted and howling. Screamed my throat raw. Ripped out my own hair. Slammed face-first into the linoleum until my nose burst and dark blood flowed. But in reality, I simply turned and grabbed my coat and purse off the hook behind me, catching a single glimpse of Thomas's shocked face, his mouth open and eyes wide. Walked past Louise's outstretched hand and around my brother's reaching arm. Pushed out into the cold, snow-scented air, squinted against the weak sunlight tearing through the clouds. It had happened now, finally. The disaster I'd been anticipating from the second Junie was born. And I had never even seen it coming. TWO It's never the thing you're expecting that wallops you. It's always something sneaky, sliding up behind you when your attention's fixed on something else. How many times had my mama told us that growing up? One tiny tidbit of valuable insight in her otherwise alcohol- and drug-fueled existence. The lesson learned from her own father, who suffered from a bum ticker, his every hiccup or wheeze a sure sign of impending death. Until the day stomach cancer crept up out of nowhere and snuffed him out before his heart knew what was happening. When I was a kid, my mama doled out wisdom so rarely that I clutched onto this nugget like a lifeline. Spent my time trying to foresee every single disaster that might befall us in hopes that nothing could catch us unawares. And when my daughter was born, I had anticipated a million ways my clawing, desperate love for her could go sideways: SIDS or choking on a piece of hot dog when Junie was little; a car accident or childhood leukemia as she grew; some dangerous older boy or her grandmother's taste for drugs reaching down through the generations now that she was approaching her teenage years. But her throat slit in the park where she'd played as a little girl? No, that was never a horror story I had entertained. Not in this small, middle-of-nowhere town, where if you didn't know someone you at least knew their kin, who they belonged to, where they came from. All of this was my fault, really. Because if I'd had a little more imagination, stolen the idea before the universe had grabbed on to it, maybe my girl would still be alive. Excerpted from The Familiar Dark: A Novel by Amy Engel 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.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Library Journal Review

In the opening pages of this uncompromising and absorbingly written new novel by the author of The Roanoke Girls, 12-year-olds Junie and Izzie are murdered, and Engel does right by them, not using their tragedy as mere plot point to hook readers but genuinely letting us feel the rubbed-raw grief of Junie's mother, Eve Taggert, and showing how it turns swiftly into action. Eve was raised dirt poor by an abusive, meth-dealing mother and regrets never having made it out of her scrappy Missouri Ozarks town and given Junie a better life. But now she ignores warnings from her police officer brother and returns to her mother, for information and then for inspiration, because she'll need all her mother's plug-ugly toughness to untangle what she knows has to be a crime by a local. Along the way, we're unsettled by secrets from Eve's sordid run-in with the sheriff to Junie's paternity, but that's nothing compared to the gut-punch discovery of who wielded the knife. VERDICT Not just a fine thriller but a fine character study, plumbing family and particularly mother-daughter relationships and showing Eve, her mother, and Izzie's mother, too, as women unbendable as oak. [See Prepub Alert, 8/25/19.]--Barbara Hoffert, Library Journal

Publishers Weekly Review

The stark prologue of this harrowing thriller from Engel (The Roanoke Girls) recounts the final moments of 12-year-old best friends Izzy Logan and Junie Taggert, slaughtered on an abandoned playground in their impoverished hometown in the Missouri Ozarks. Junie's single mom, Eve, a feisty, funny, sometimes foulmouthed diner waitress, is shattered by the news, but she swiftly becomes enraged by what she sees as a less than vigorous probe by the local police, including her idolized older brother, Cal, who she suspects may be writing off the murders as collateral damage from the meth ring run by their own abusive, long-estranged pit bull of a mother. Feeling she has nothing left to lose, a vengeance-bent Eve ignores Cal's warnings to leave investigating to the professionals and begins asking questions of dangerous people with plenty to hide. Without sacrificing any of the narrative's ferocious urgency, Engel gradually discloses a few of Eve's own guilty secrets--on the way to some gut-wrenching final revelations. This rural noir stakes Engel's claim to that dystopian terrain somewhere between Gillian Flynn's Sharp Objects and Daniel Woodrell's Winter's Bone. Agent: Jodi Reamer, Writers House. (Apr.)

Booklist Review

The only bright spot in single mother Eve Taggert's hardscrabble life is her 12-year-old daughter, Junie. Eve, who was raised by an alcoholic, abusive mother in a childhood made bearable only with the help of her older brother, Cal, gave Junie the love that Eve, now a waitress in a diner, had longed for as a child. So when Cal, now a cop in their small town of Barren Springs in the Missouri Ozarks, tells Eve that Junie and her best friend, Izzy Logan, have been murdered at the local playground, Eve is both bereft and furious, aching for vengeance against the person who inflicted this loss and embarking on her own investigation. Secrets are gradually revealed: Junie's hidden notebook describes Izzy's crush on an older man, and the long-hidden identity of Junie's father becomes known, as Eve uses all of her contacts to ferret out the motive and the murderer. Engel, author of The Roanoke Girls (2017), masterfully creates a milieu in which women struggle against all odds to provide the best lives possible for their daughters. Tension arises as Eve, heeding advice from her former boyfriend, an abusive meth dealer, is faced with a dreadful choice in a stunning conclusion.

Kirkus Book Review

A bleak drama of rural America that offers grim lessons but minimal hope.In a small-town park, Izzy and Junie, two 12-year-old girls, meet a grisly end. Junie's fading consciousness sheds no light on the murderer's identity. This is Engel's second adult novel (after The Roanoke Girls, 2017) to unfold in a meth-ridden, dying town. The setting is somewhere in Missouri, but this could be any American town, in any area left behind by the concentration of wealth and the exodus of youth. In towns like the aptly christened Barren Springs, many young people never make it out, and Junie's single mother, Eve Taggert, is one of these. The deck is stacked against Eve and her brother, Cal, from birthin a trailer in a remote "holler" to a drug-addicted mother who starves them, abuses them, but manages to instill in them fierce family loyalty and an implacable eye-for-an-eye mentality. Now in their 30s, Cal and Eve have succeeded up to a point: Each has a small apartment in town; Cal is a cop, and Eve works as a waitress. Thanks to Eve's efforts, Junie had a modicum of a normal life and a best friend, Izzy, daughter of Zach and Jenny, who by Barren Springs standards are middle class. Through a fog of grief, Eve vows to find the killer and begins tracking the short list of suspects. These include her violent ex-boyfriend, Jimmy Ray, and his meth-cooking sidekick, strip club bartender Matt. An unforeshadowed revelation about Zach halfway through adds nothing to the suspenseinstead, we are brought up short, wondering how a first-person narrator like Eve, blunt, plainspoken, and obsessed with the truth, could conceal this glaring fact from herself for half the book. In fact, her unerring instincts will lead to a completely unexpected conclusion. These pages are replete with lessons about the choices women have in such environmentsthat is to say, none, except to toughen up or give up.Readers craving some nod at redemption may have to be satisfied with rough justice. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.