Estranged siblings discover their father has been keeping a secret for over fifty years, one that may have been fatal…

Liam Noone was many things to many people. To the public, he was an exacting, self-made hotel magnate fleeing his past. To his three ex-wives, he was a loving albeit distant family man who kept his finances flush and his families carefully separated. To Nora, he was a father who often loved her from afar—notably a cliffside cottage perched on the California coast from which he fell to his death.

The authorities rule the death accidental, but Nora and her estranged brother Sam have other ideas. As Nora and Sam form an uneasy alliance to unravel the mystery, they start putting together the pieces of their father’s past—and uncover a family secret that changes everything.

As countless writers and critics have pointed out before, writing a good story is a lot like building a house. The big aspects—the foundation, the roof—matter a lot; so do the small things like how a splash of color creates surprise, or the way light fills a room. The Night We Lost Him is a rich and deftly-plotted story where no detail goes unconsidered. This is a book to walk around in and marvel over. But be forewarned—once you’re inside, not all is as it appears…

When respected hotel magnate Liam Noone tumbles from a cliff to his death near his remote California cottage, his daughter Nora has no reason to suspect anything other than a bourbon-fueled accident. Enter Sam: her brash, estranged half-brother, who adamantly claims foul play. As Nora finds herself drawn into Sam’s quasi-investigation, she can’t help but notice the odd questions building up around her father’s untimely demise. Questions that those closest to Liam can’t seem to answer—or won’t.

It’s one thing to write an incredibly good story. (For the record, Laura Dave has done this several times.) It’s another thing to craft a book as well-constructed as a Frank Lloyd Wright home. This is one of those puzzling stories that will subvert all your expectations, challenging you to take a closer look at the razor-thin edge between a push and fall. Between grief and guilt. Between family and friend. And foe.