The House Across the Lake: A Novel

By Riley Sager

THE INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

Named a most-anticipated summer book by USA Today, People, E! News, Cosmopolitan, PureWow, CNN.com, New York Post, CrimeReads, POPSUGAR, and more 

The bestselling author of Final Girls and Survive the Night is back with his “best plot twist yet.” (People, "Best Summer Books")

Be careful what you watch for . . .

Casey Fletcher, a recently widowed actress trying to escape a streak of bad press, has retreated to the peace and quiet of her family’s lake house in Vermont. Armed with a pair of binoculars and several bottles of bourbon, she passes the time watching Tom and Katherine Royce, the glamorous couple living in the house across the lake. They make for good viewing—a tech innovator, Tom is powerful; and a former model, Katherine is gorgeous.

One day on the lake, Casey saves Katherine from drowning, and the two strike up a budding friendship. But the more they get to know each other—and the longer Casey watches—it becomes clear that Katherine and Tom’s marriage isn’t as perfect as it appears. When Katherine suddenly vanishes, Casey immediately suspects Tom of foul play. What she doesn’t realize is that there’s more to the story than meets the eye—and that shocking secrets can lurk beneath the most placid of surfaces.
 
Packed with sharp characters, psychological suspense, and gasp-worthy plot twists, Riley Sager’s The House Across the Lake is the ultimate escapist read . . . no lake house required.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
• Release date: Jun 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9780593183205

Riley Sager

Riley Sager is the New York Times bestselling author of seven novels, most recently Survive the Night and The House Across the Lake. A native of Pennsylvania, he now lives in Princeton, New Jersey.

Book preview

The lake is darker than a coffin with the lid shut.

That’s what Marnie used to say, back when we were children and she was constantly trying to scare me. It’s an exaggeration, to be sure. But not by much. Lake Greene’s water is dark, even with light trickling through it.

A coffin with the lid cracked.

Out of the water, you can see clearly for about a foot beneath the surface before it starts to get cloudy. Then inky. Then dark as a grave. It’s worse when you’re fully submerged, the shimmer of light coming from above a stark contrast to the black depths below.

When we were kids bobbing in the middle of the lake, Marnie often dared me to swim past the point of visibility until I touched bottom. I tried many times but never succeeded. Lost in the darkness, I always got disoriented, turned around, swam up when I thought I was headed down. I’d emerge breathless, confused, and slightly unnerved by the difference between water and sky.

On the surface, it was bright day.

Just below, the night waited.

On shore, five houses sit beside the dark water of Lake Greene, ranging in style from comfortably quaint to conspicuously modern. In the summer, when the Green Mountain State is at full splendor and each house is packed with friends, family members, and weekenders, they glow like beacons signaling safe port. Through the windows, one can see well-lit rooms filled with people eating and drinking, laughing and arguing, playing games and sharing secrets.

It changes in the off-season, when the houses go quiet, first during the week, then on weekends as well. Not that they’re empty. Far from it. Autumn lures people to Vermont just as much as summer. But the mood is different. Muted. Solemn. By mid-October, it feels like the darkness of the lake has flooded the shore and seeped into the houses themselves, dimming their light.

This is especially true of the house directly across the lake.

Made of glass, steel, and stone, it reflects the chilly water and the gray autumn sky, using them to mask whatever might be happening inside. When the lights are on, you can see past the surface, but only so far. It’s like the lake in that regard. No matter how much you look, something just beneath the surface will always remain hidden.

I should know.

I’ve been watching.

NOW

I stare at the detective on the other side of the table, an untouched mug of coffee in front of me. The steam rising from it gives her a gauzy air of mystery. Not that she needs help in that regard. Wilma Anson possesses a calm blankness that rarely changes. Even at this late hour and soaked by the storm, she remains unperturbed.

Have you watched the Royce house at all this evening? she says.

Yes. There’s no point in lying.

See anything unusual?

More unusual than everything I’ve already seen? I say.

A nod from Wilma. That’s what I’m asking.

No. This time a lie is required. I’ve seen a lot this evening. More than I ever wanted to. Why?

A gust of wind lashes rain against the French doors that lead to the back porch. Both of us pause a moment to watch the droplets smacking the glass. Already, the storm is worse than the TV weatherman said it would be—and what he had predicted was already severe. The tail end of a Category 4 hurricane turned tropical storm as it swerved like a boomerang from deep inland back to the North Atlantic.

Rare for mid-October.

Rarer still for eastern Vermont.

Because Tom Royce might be missing, Wilma says.

I tear my gaze from the French doors’ rain-specked panes to give Wilma a look of surprise. She stares back, unflappable as ever.

Are you sure? I say.

I was just there. The house is unlocked. That fancy car of his is still in the driveway. Nothing inside seems to be missing. Except for him.

I turn again to the French doors, as if I’ll be able to see the Royce house rising from the lake’s opposite shore. Instead, all I can make out is howling darkness and lightning-lit flashes of water whipped into a frenzy by the wind.

Do you think he ran?

His wallet and keys are on the kitchen counter, Wilma says. It’s hard to run without cash or a car. Especially in this weather. So I doubt it.

I note her word choice. Doubt.

Maybe he had help, I suggest.

Or maybe someone made him disappear. You know anything about that?

My mouth drops open in surprise. You think I’m involved in this?

You did break into their house.

"I snuck in, I say, hoping the distinction will lessen the crime in Wilma’s eyes. And that doesn’t mean I know anything about where Tom is now."

Wilma remains quiet, hoping I’ll say more and possibly incriminate myself. Seconds pass. Lots of them. All announced by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room, which acts as a steady beat backing the song of the storm. Wilma listens to it, seemingly in no rush. She’s a marvel of composure. I suspect her name has a lot to do with that. If a lifetime of Flintstones jokes teaches you anything, it’s deep patience.

Listen, Wilma says after what feels like three whole minutes. I know you’re worried about Katherine Royce. I know you want to find her. So do I. But I already told you that taking matters into your own hands won’t help. Let me do my job, Casey. It’s our best chance of getting Katherine back alive. So if you know anything about where her husband is, please tell me.

I have absolutely no clue where Tom Royce could be. I lean forward, my palms flat against the table, trying to summon the same opaque energy Wilma’s putting off. If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to search the house.

Wilma considers it. For the first time since we sat down, I can sense her mind ticking as steadily as the grandfather clock.

I believe you, she finally says. For now. But I could change my mind at any moment.

When she leaves, I make sure to watch her go, standing in the doorway while being buffeted by rain slanting onto the front porch. In the driveway, Wilma trots back to her unmarked sedan and slides behind the wheel. I wave as she backs the car out of the driveway, splashes through a puddle that wasn’t there an hour ago, and speeds off.

I close the front door, shake off the rain, and go to the kitchen, where I pour myself a supersized bourbon. This new turn of events requires a kick coffee can’t provide.

Outside, another gust of wind jostles the house. The eaves creak and the lights flicker.

Signs the storm is getting worse.

Tail end, my ass.

Bourbon glass in hand, I head upstairs, into the first bedroom on the right.

He’s exactly how I left him.

Splayed out across the twin bed.

Ankles and wrists tied to the bedposts.

Towel stuffed into his mouth to form a makeshift gag.

I remove the towel, sit on the identical bed on the other side of the room, and take a long, slow sip of bourbon.

We’re running out of time, I say. Now tell me what you did to Katherine.

BEFORE

I see it out of the corner of my eye.

A breach of the water’s surface.

Ripples.

Sunlight.

Something rising from the water, then sinking back under.

I’ve been watching the lake at a mental remove, which happens when you’ve seen something a thousand times. Looking but not really. Seeing everything, registering nothing.

Bourbon might have something to do with that.

I’m on my third.

Maybe fourth.

Counting drinks—another thing I do at a remove.

But the motion in the water now has my full attention. Rising from the rocking chair onto legs unsteady after three (or four) day drinks, I watch the lake’s glassy surface again break into sun-dappled circles.

I squint, trying to emerge from the bourbon haze long enough to see what it is. It’s useless. The movement is located in the dead center of the lake—too far away to see clearly.

I leave the back porch of the lake house, step inside, and shuffle to the cramped foyer just beyond the front door. A coatrack is there, buried under anoraks and rain slickers. Among them is a pair of binoculars in a leather case hanging from a frayed strap, untouched for more than a year.

Binoculars in hand, I return to the back porch and stand at the railing, scanning the lake. The ripples reappear, and in the epicenter, a hand emerges from the water.

The binoculars drop to the porch floor.

I think: Someone’s drowning.

I think: I need to save them.

I think: Len.

That last thought—of my husband, of how he died in this same deep water—propels me into action. I push off the railing, the movement jiggling the ice in the bourbon glass next to the rocking chair. It clinks lightly as I leave the porch, scurry down the steps, and spring across the few yards of mossy ground between the house and the water’s edge. The wooden dock shudders when I leap onto it and continues to shake as I run to the motorboat moored at its end. I untie the boat, wobble into it, grab a paddle, and push off the dock.

The boat twirls a moment, doing a less-than-elegant pirouette atop the water before I straighten it out with the paddle. Once the boat’s pointed toward the center of the lake, I start the outboard motor with an arm-aching tug. Five seconds later, the boat is gliding over the water, toward where I last saw the circular ripples but now see nothing.

I start to hope that what I saw was merely a fish leaping out of the water. Or a loon diving into it. Or that the sun, the reflection of the sky on the lake, and several bourbons caused me to see something that wasn’t really there.

Wishful thinking, all of it.

Because as the boat nears the middle of the lake, I spot something in the water.

A body.

Bobbing on the surface.

Motionless.

I cut the motor and scramble to the front of the boat to get a better view. I can’t tell if the person is faceup or facedown, alive or dead. All I can see are the shadows of outstretched limbs in the water and a tangle of hair floating like kelp. I get a mental picture of Len in this very position and yell toward the shore.

Help! Someone’s drowning!

The words echo off the flame-hued trees on both sides of the lake, likely heard by no one. It’s the middle of October, and Lake Greene, never crowded to begin with, is all but abandoned. The only full-time resident is Eli, and he’s gone until evening. If someone else is around, they aren’t making their presence known.

I’m on my own.

I grab the paddle again and start to row toward the person in the water. A woman, I see now. Her hair is long. A one-piece bathing suit exposes a tanned back, long legs, toned arms. She floats like driftwood, bobbing gently in the boat’s wake.

Yet another image of Len pushes into my brain as I scramble for the anchor tied to one of the cleats on the boat’s rim. The anchor isn’t heavy—only twenty pounds—but weighty enough to keep the boat from drifting. I drop it into the water, the rope attached to it hissing against the side of the boat as it sinks to the lake’s bottom.

Next, I snag a life vest stowed under one of the seats, stumble to the side of the boat, and join the anchor in the water. I enter the lake awkwardly. No graceful dive for me. It’s more of a sideways plop. But the coldness of the water sobers me like a slap. Senses sharpened and body stinging, I tuck the life vest under my left arm and use my right to paddle toward the woman.

I’m a strong swimmer, even half drunk. I grew up on Lake Greene and spent many summer days more in the water than out of it. And even though fourteen months have passed since I’ve submerged myself in the lake, the water is as familiar to me as my own bed. Bracing, even on the hottest days, and crystal clear for only a moment before darkness takes over.

Splashing toward the floating woman, I search for signs of life.

There’s nothing.

No twitch of her arms or kick of her feet or slow turn of her head.

One thought echoes through my skull as I reach her. Part plea, part prayer.

Please don’t be dead. Please, please be alive.

But when I hook the life vest around her neck and flip her over, she doesn’t look alive. Hugged by the life vest and with her head tilted toward the sky, she resembles a corpse. Closed eyes. Blue lips. Frigid skin. I connect the straps at the bottom of the life vest, tightening it around her, and slap a hand to her chest.

No trace of a heartbeat.

Fuck.

I want to shout for help again, but I’m too winded to get the words out. Even strong swimmers have their limits, and I’ve reached mine. Exhaustion pulls at me like a tide, and I know a few more minutes of paddling in place while clinging to a maybe/probably dead woman might leave me just like her.

I put one arm around her waist and use the other to start paddling back to the boat. I have no idea what to do when I reach it. Cling to the side, I guess. Hold on tight while also holding on to the likely/definitely dead woman and hope I regain enough lung power to scream again.

And that this time someone will hear me.

Right now, though, my main concern is getting back to the boat at all. I didn’t think to grab a life vest for myself, and now my strokes are slowing and my heart is pounding and I can no longer feel my legs kicking, even though I think they still are. The water’s so cold and I’m so tired. So scarily, unbearably exhausted that for a moment I consider taking the woman’s life vest for myself and letting her drift into the depths.

Self-preservation kicking in.

I can’t save her without saving myself first, and she might already be beyond rescue. But then I think again about Len, dead for more than a year now, his body found crumpled on the shore of this very lake. I can’t let the same thing happen to this woman.

So I continue my one-armed paddling and numb kicking and tugging of what I’m now certain is a corpse. I keep at it until the boat is ten feet away.

Then nine.

Then eight.

Beside me, the woman’s body suddenly spasms. A shocking jolt. This time, I do let go, my arm recoiling in surprise.

The woman’s eyes snap open.

She coughs—a series of long, loud, gurgling hacks. A spout of water flies from her mouth and trickles down her chin while a line of snot runs from her left nostril to her cheek. She wipes it all away and stares at me, confused, breathless, and terrified.

What just happened?

Don’t freak out, I say, recalling her blue lips, her ice-cold skin, her utter, unnerving stillness. But I think you almost drowned.

Neither one of us speaks again until we’re both safely in the boat. There wasn’t time for words as I clawed, kicked, and climbed my way up the side until I was able to flop onto the boat floor like a recently caught fish. Getting the woman on board was even harder, seeing how her near-death experience had sapped all her energy. It took so much tugging and lifting on my part that, once she was in the boat, I was too exhausted to move, let alone speak.

But now, after a few minutes of panting, we’ve pulled ourselves into seats. The woman and I face each other, shell-shocked by the whole situation and all too happy to rest a few minutes while we regroup.

"You said I almost drowned," the woman says.

She’s wrapped in a plaid blanket I found stowed under one of the boat’s seats, which gives her the look of a kitten rescued from a storm drain. Battered and vulnerable and grateful.

Yes, I say as I wring water from my flannel shirt. Because there’s only one blanket on board, I remain soaked and chilly. I don’t mind. I’m not the one who needed rescue.

"Define almost."

Honestly? I thought you were dead.

Beneath the blanket, the woman shudders. Jesus.

But I was wrong, I add, trying to soothe her obvious shock. Clearly. You came back on your own. I did nothing.

The woman shifts in her seat, revealing a flash of bright bathing suit deep within the blanket. Teal. So tropical. And so inappropriate for autumn in Vermont it makes me wonder how she even ended up here. If she told me aliens had zapped her to Lake Greene from a white-sand beach in the Seychelles, I’d almost believe it.

Still, I’m sure I would have died if you hadn’t seen me, she says. So thank you for coming to my rescue. I should have said that sooner. Like, immediately.

I respond with a modest shrug. I won’t hold a grudge.

The woman laughs, and in the process comes alive in a way that banishes all traces of the person I’d found floating in the water. Color has returned to her face—a peachy blush that highlights her high cheekbones, full lips, pencil-line brows. Her gray-green eyes are wide and expressive, and her nose is slightly crooked, a flaw that comes off as charming amid all that perfection. She’s gorgeous, even huddled under a blanket and dripping lake water.

She catches me staring and says, I’m Katherine, by the way.

It’s only then that I realize I know this woman. Not personally. We’ve never met, as far as I can remember. But I recognize her just the same.

Katherine Royce.

Former supermodel.

Current philanthropist.

And, with her husband, owner of the house directly across the lake. It had been vacant the last time I was here, on the market for north of five million dollars. It made headlines when it sold over the winter, not just because of who bought the house but because of where it was located.

Lake Greene.

The Vermont hideaway of beloved musical theater icon Lolly Fletcher.

And the place where troubled actress Casey Fletcher’s husband tragically drowned.

Not the first time those adjectives have been used to describe my mother and me. They’ve been employed so often they might as well be our first names. Beloved Lolly Fletcher and Troubled Casey Fletcher. A mother-daughter duo for the ages.

I’m Casey, I say.

Oh, I know, Katherine says. Tom—that’s my husband—and I meant to stop by and say hello when we arrived last night. We’re both big fans.

How did you know I was here?

Your lights were on, Katherine says, pointing to the lake house that’s been in my family for generations.

The house isn’t the biggest on Lake Greene—that honor goes to Katherine’s new home—but it’s the oldest. Built by my great-great-grandfather in 1878 and renovated and expanded every fifty years or so. From the water, the lake house looks lovely. Perched close to shore, tall and solid behind a retaining wall of mountain stone, it’s almost a parody of New England quaintness. Two pristinely white stories of gables, latticework, and gingerbread trim. Half the house runs parallel to the water’s edge, so close that the wraparound porch practically overhangs the lake itself.

That’s where I was sitting this afternoon when I first spotted Katherine flailing in the water.

And where I was sitting last night when I was too drunk to notice the arrival of the famous couple that now owns the house directly across the lake.

The other half of my family’s lake house is set back about ten yards, forming a small courtyard. High above it, on the house’s top floor, a row of tall windows provides a killer view from the master bedroom. Right now, in mid-afternoon, the windows are hidden in the shadow of towering pines. But at night, I suspect the glow from the master bedroom is as bright as a lighthouse.

The place was dark all summer, Katherine says. When Tom and I noticed the lights last night, we assumed it was you.

She tactfully avoids mentioning why she and her husband assumed it was me and not, say, my mother.

I know they know my story.

Everyone does.

The only allusion Katherine makes to my recent troubles is a kind, concerned How are you, by the way? It’s rough, what you’re going through. Having to handle all that.

She leans forward and touches my knee—a surprisingly intimate gesture for someone I’ve just met, even taking into account the fact that I likely did save her life.

I’m doing fantastic, I say, because to admit the truth would open myself to having to talk about all that, to use Katherine’s phrasing.

I’m not ready for that yet, even though it’s been more than a year. Part of me thinks I’ll never be ready.

That’s great, Katherine says, her smile as bright as a sunbeam. I feel bad about almost ruining that by, you know, drowning.

If it’s any consolation, it made for one hell of a first impression.

She laughs. Thank God. My sense of humor has been described as dry by some, cruel by others. I prefer to think of it as an acquired taste, similar to the olive at the bottom of a martini. You either like it or you don’t.

Katherine seems to like it. Still smiling, she says, The thing is, I don’t even know how it happened. I’m an excellent swimmer. I know it doesn’t look that way right now, but it’s true, I swear. I guess the water was colder than I thought, and I cramped up.

It’s the middle of October. The lake is freezing this time of year.

Oh, I love swimming in the cold. Every New Year’s Day, I do the Polar Plunge.

I nod. Of course she does.

It’s for charity, Katherine adds.

I nod again. Of course it is.

I must make a face, because Katherine says, I’m sorry. That all sounded like a brag, didn’t it?

A little, I admit.

Ugh. I don’t mean to do it. It just happens. It’s like the opposite of a humblebrag. There should be a word for when you accidentally make yourself sound better than you truly are.

A bumblebrag? I suggest.

Ooh, I like that, Katherine coos. That’s what I am, Casey. An irredeemable bumblebragger.

My gut instinct is to dislike Katherine Royce. She’s the kind of woman who seems to exist solely to make the rest of us feel inferior. Yet I’m charmed by her. Maybe it’s the strange situation we’re in—the rescued and the rescuer, sitting in a boat on a beautiful autumn afternoon. It’s got a surreal Little Mermaid vibe to it. Like I’m a prince transfixed by a siren I’ve just plucked from the sea.

There doesn’t seem to be anything fake about Katherine. She’s beautiful, yes, but in a down-to-earth way. More girl-next-door than intimidating bombshell. Betty and Veronica sporting a self-deprecating smile. It served her well during her modeling days. In a world where resting bitch face is the norm, Katherine stood out.

I first became aware of her seven years ago, when I was doing a Broadway play in a theater on 46th Street. Just down the block, in the heart of Times Square, was a giant billboard of Katherine in a wedding dress. Despite the gown, the flowers, the sun-kissed skin, she was no blushing bride. Instead, she was on the run—kicking off her heels and sprinting through emerald green grass as her jilted fiancé and stunned wedding party watched helplessly in the background.

I didn’t know if the ad was for perfume or wedding dresses or vodka. I really didn’t care. What I focused on every time I spotted the billboard was the look on the woman’s face. With her eyes crinkling and her smile wide, she seemed elated, relieved, surprised. A woman overjoyed to be dismantling her entire existence in one fell swoop.

I related to that look.

I still do.

Only after the play closed and I continued seeing the woman’s picture everywhere did I match a name with the face.

Katherine Daniels.

The magazines called her Katie. The designers who made her their muse called her Kat. She walked runways for Yves Saint Laurent and frolicked on the beach for Calvin Klein and rolled around on silk sheets for Victoria’s Secret.

Then she got married to Thomas Royce, the founder and CEO of a social media company, and the modeling stopped. I remember seeing their wedding photo in People magazine and being surprised by it. I expected Katherine to look the way she did on that billboard. Freedom personified. Instead, sewn into a Vera Wang gown and clutching her husband’s arm, she sported a smile so clenched I almost didn’t recognize her.

Now she’s here, in my boat, grinning freely, and I feel a weird sense of relief that the woman from that billboard hadn’t vanished entirely.

Can I ask you a very personal, very nosy question? I say.

You just saved my life, Katherine says. I’d be a real bitch if I said no right now, don’t you think?

It’s about your modeling days.

Katherine stops me with a raised hand. You want to know why I quit.

Kind of, I say, adding a guilty shrug. I feel bad about being obvious, not to mention basic. I could have asked her a thousand other things but instead posed the question she clearly gets the most.

The long version is that it’s a lot less glamorous than it looks. The hours were endless and the diet was torture. Imagine not being allowed to eat a single piece of bread for an entire year.

I honestly can’t, I say.

That alone was reason enough to quit, Katherine says. "And sometimes I just tell people that. I look them in the eye and say, ‘I quit because I wanted to eat pizza.’ But the worst part, honestly, was having all the focus be on my looks. All that nonstop primping and objectification. No one cared about what I said. Or thought. Or felt. It got real old, real quick. Don’t get me wrong, the money was great. Like, insanely great. And the clothes were amazing. So beautiful. Works of art, all of them. But it felt wrong. People are suffering. Children are starving. Women are being victimized. And there I was walking the runway in dresses that cost more than what most families make in a year. It was ghoulish."

Sounds a lot like acting. I pause. Or being a show pony.

Katherine laugh-snorts, and I decide right then and there that I do indeed like her. We’re the same in a lot of ways. Famous for reasons we’re not entirely comfortable with. Ridiculously privileged, but self-aware enough to realize it. Yearning to be seen as more than what people project onto us.

Anyway, that’s the long story, she says. Told only to people who save me from drowning.

What’s the short version?

Katherine looks away, to the other

Reviews for The House Across the Lake

[jen_bartels-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Well that was bananas!! Just when you think you figured it out...you did not. And then when you think it's all out there, it is not. What a fun ride! Sager you did it again! If you've heard negative things about this book, it may be that the narrator on the audiobook is terrible, and that is 100% correct, thankfully I listen at 2.25 speed so it alters the voice enough to make it a little more palatable. I definitely suggest reading it instead of listening to it.

[bookofsecrets · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book made me think of The Woman in the Window and the Kristen Bell thriller parody on Netflix. The protagonist in Riley Sager’s latest is an alcoholic woman spying on her neighbors. The wife goes missing, and she decides to investigate.

I’m keeping this as vague as possible. There are a few fantastic twists in this book, but one of the big ones I had figured out very early on, then I was annoyed with myself for ruining the surprise. Ha.

I thought the pacing was a bit slow during the first half or so, then things got kind of wacky. THE HOUSE ACROSS THE LAKE was entertaining for the most part, but it was no HOME BEFORE DARK. That one scared the crap out of me, and I loved every minute.

[jacsun · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book comes with surprises at a mysterious lake in Vermont where someone is intensely watching another with high-powered binoculars.

Casey’s family has owned property at Lake Greene for generations and she is staying at the house temporarily to get a handle on grief and alcohol consumption. It doesn’t work. She enjoys not one but several glasses of bourbon every day. She sees someone from across the lake who appears to be drowning and scrambles to help her. It’s Katherine. She gets her in her boat and manages to save her. Her husband, Tom, is so grateful, he shows up with his wife later at her place with two bottles of wine to share – each with a $5,000 price tag. How can she say no to that?

She is entertained with her binoculars during the quiet evenings looking at Tom and Katherine in their beautiful $5 million glass house across the lake. Katherine is a former super model and walks with an “effortless grace of a ghost.” Her net worth is $35 million and she worries that her husband needs her too much. Casey can’t seem to take her eyes off of everything they do. That’s where the story gets interesting.

Each character is well-developed -- some to the point that made me despise them. I wanted the actress, Casey, to stop spying on her neighbors and put the drinks down. Maybe I was the one that needed a drink. I felt sorry for her neighbor, Boone, who was grieving for the death of his wife. Just as I thought I was able to predict the ending, the book took a peculiar turn. It’s where anything can happen and you just have to smile.

[boufaroni · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Fans of the movies Rear Window and The Night House will enjoy this twisting thriller steeped in grief and paranoia. If you are looking for a pretty quick read, thrillers that keep you in the dark, and multi-leveled twists - try this out.

Actress Casey Fletcher has been exiled to her family's lake house by her mother after a booze-filled binge made tabloid headlines. Casey's been through a lot - 14 months ago she lost her husband in a tragic drowning accident at the very lake she is now confined to. Her only comfort comes in the form of a bottle - and lots of them. While Casey contemplates her struggles, she becomes fascinated with the couple across the lake - tech billionaire, Tom Royce, and his super model wife, Katherine. After saving Katherine from a near drowning, dredging up memories of her deceased husband, Casey becomes a fly on the wall in the Royce's lives as she watches them through a pair of binoculars. She becomes suspicious of both Tom and Katherine's behavior as she fears for Katherine's life, and soon becomes entwined in a mystery which pulls her even deeper into the darkness.

For me personally - I am a huge Riley Sager fan and was so looking forward to this book, but I have to say I was disappointed. Much like his last book, the shocking reveals fell rather flat for me. Without revealing spoilers I cannot say why I was disappointed. Sager took a different approach to this story than his other books which I don't know how I feel about. It's still a page turner of course, it just didn't resonate with me in the same way some of his prior works did. If you have read other Sager books it is worth the read because the storyline is great and I was totally sold most of the book. Overall, up to the reader whether the twists work for them, but expect the unexpected for sure!

Thanks to NetGalley and Penguin Group Dutton for the eARC of this title.

[carol420 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Casey Fletcher grew up watching her mother thrill audiences, so it was only natural that she enters the show business profession herself. She never reached the “America’s sweetheart” status her mother had, Casey still made a decent career of bit parts in movies and TV and larger, more professional parts onstage. Then tragedy strikes...the death of her husband. This sends her into an alcoholic spiral that ends her career with her getting fired from a Broadway play. When paparazzi report her substance abuse, her mother sends her off to the family retreat, lake Greene, in Vermont. Casey has a dry, droll perspective that persists until circumstances overwhelm her. The Vermont hideaway doesn't do much except hide her away since she passes the time drinking bourbon and watching her nearest neighbors, Katherine. a former supermodel and Tom, a tech mogul who live across the lake...and she does this through a pair of binoculars. Casey makes friends with Katherine after rescuing her when she almost drowns and soon comes to the conclusion that all is not well in Katherine and Tom’s marriage. Then... Katherine disappears…. and more creepy coincidences begin to pile up. Eventually, Casey has to face the possibility that maybe some of the eerie legends she had always heard about Lake Greene just might have more than a smidgeon of truth to them. I have always liked this author. He delivers a story with twists, that cultivates into a more than a satisfying and enjoyable ending. Perhaps there are there some things that didn't quite add up at the end...but that does nothing to spoil this highly entertaining read...it's still a wild ride.

[bragan_8 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

After the death of her husband, actress Casey Fletcher has holed up in her family's lakeside summer home, where she does very little besides drinking... until the day she saves her across-the-lake neighbor, a former supermodel, from drowning, then finds that she can't keep herself from spying on the woman and her husband in their all-glass house. And something weird and dramatic seems to be happening over there.

So. There's a problem I often have with thrillers like this, that all but shout "Hey, there is AN INCREDIBLE TWIST in this one!" from the dust jacket before you even open them. Which is that I spend far too much of my time while reading trying to imagine what the INCREDIBLE TWIST might be, and I can imagine enough possibilities that whatever it is, it likely will involve something I've already thought of. Well, that's true for one or two of the INCREDIBLE TWISTs in this one, but not all of them. Mainly because the biggest of them is batshit insane.

Which, in itself, isn't a problem, actually. I've enjoyed stories with batshit insane twists before. But I think there are some important criteria for a good twist, batshit or otherwise, and it may be that the crazier it is, the more important it is to get it right. Ideally, a narrative twist should recontextualize everything we already knew, or thought we knew, about what's going on in the story in a way that snaps everything into a new and clearer focus until it all suddenly makes a different, better kind of sense. Done really well, it can lead to a "Holy shit!" epiphany that feels like nothing so much as an orgasm for the brain. What a twist should not do, in my view, is make you feel like the author has been dishonest with you in order to make the twist work. Which is a different thing from having an unreliable narrator, and can be the case even if technically you were never told anything false.

There is one pretty good moment here that made me go "Oh, I see, you didn't actually ever say the thing I was assuming. OK, clever." There was a less-good moment where I was just kind of, "WTF? We're really going here? Well, OK..." And there was a bad one where I genuinely felt like the author had lied to me, or at least misled me in an unfair way. Which might have been less annoying if I'd found more to love in other aspects of the books, but... Eh. It was... fine? Diverting enough, I guess. A quick read, for sure. But I am left sort of wondering whether or not it was actually worth even the relatively short time I took to read it.

[yshd91 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Weird turn of events. Certainly entertaining but not my cup of tea!

[hazeyrecollect · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I really enjoyed this book! It was given to me as a gift. I am now looking forward to reading more from Riley Sager!

[thessaly_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Casey is awful (also where’s the show not tell part about her alcoholism?) the end is Meh and it feels like more “twists” than necessary, for a very cheap payoff.

[familiar_diversions · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Casey Fletcher is a widowed actress whose drinking problem, acquired after her husband's death, has all but ended her career. Her mother has banished her to the family vacation home by Lake Greene, but since that's also where Casey's husband, Len, drowned to death, it's questionable whether she's any better off there than she was when she was in the public eye.

Casey is trying out Len's old binoculars when she sees someone drowning in the lake. Thankfully, she gets there in time to save famous model Katherine Royce's life. Katherine and her husband Tom have recently moved into the house across the lake from Casey's, and Casey finds herself spying on the couple. Gradually, she comes to the conclusion that there's something going on in the Royce household, and when Katherine seemingly disappears, Casey is sure Tom had something to do with it.

Maybe I've been reading too many thrillers, but the first half of this book felt really stale. The perpetually drunk main character (I don't drink, and even I felt like I might go into sympathetic liver failure while reading about Casey's constant drinking). The suspicious interactions between husband and wife. The scene shifts between past and present, with an omission so obvious that the book's first twist felt half-hearted at best.

There was more going on than there initially appeared to be, and although those developments did take me by surprise, I'm not sure I can say that they were any good. Mostly, they just struck me as ridiculous. That feeling only grew more pronounced when Sager managed to fit a few more twists in before the book's final pages.

It wasn't necessarily a terrible way to spend a few hours, but overall my feelings are lukewarm at best.

(Original review posted on A Library Girl's Familiar Diversions.)

[laytonwoman3rd · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Ummm...well....this is a suspense thriller sort of story, told in first person present tense "Now" sections, and first person past tense "Before" sections. It includes a fair amount of misdirection and convenient omissions by our unreliable narrator, an actress who has been banished by her mother to the family's house on a secluded lake in Vermont, where she's supposed to stay out of the public eye and get a handle on her drinking. Her husband drowned in this lake a little over a year ago, and it seems an extremely cruel and probably hopeless situation she's been railroaded into. Still, she has no intention of giving up the booze, and routinely lies to her mother about it. In fact, she lies a fair bit to other people too, so it's no surprise to discovery she's lying to the reader...but what's the TRUTH, then? I had several quibbles with the writing style here--a lot of repetition and belaboring the obvious. There's a decent psychological mystery embedded in there, though, and a few quite clever bits of clue-dropping, but the whole thing just didn't work well for me. I never got lost in the story the way one really should with this kind of tale. YMMV.

[srms.reads · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

2.5⭐

After a drunken debacle causes her to lose her latest role and earns her bad press, 35-year-old actress, Casey Fletcher retreats to her family’s vacation home on Greene Lake in Vermont. A little over a year ago, Casey's husband drowned in the lake which seems to have triggered her alcohol dependence. Haunted by her memories, she spends most of her time in an alcohol-induced haze and spying on her neighbors with her late husband’s binoculars. The “house across the lake” is owned by a power couple - tech entrepreneur Tom and his wife Katherine, a famous model. After saving Katherine from drowning in the lake, Casey and Katherine become friendly. Casey witnesses ( with her binoculars, of course) what she thinks is a disagreement between the couple ( very “Rear Window”, which coincidentally was her and her late husband's favorite movie), and when Katherine disappears, Casey suspects that Tom had something to do with it. As Casey tries to find out what happened to Katherine, she seeks the help of Boone Conrad, an ex-cop who is temporarily staying in the neighborhood while doing some work on another resident’s home, who also has secrets of his own. Will Casey be able to find Katherine before it is too late?

To be honest, up to the 70% mark, the story seemed formulaic –alcoholic protagonist/unreliable narrator, Rear Window style snooping into a neighbor’s window witnessing an altercation of sorts between a couple in a presumably troubled marriage, the wife goes missing and then alcoholic nosy neighbor becomes alcoholic super sleuth et cetera et cetera. Long-drawn and overly descriptive, I found the first half of the novel more than a tad boring. But then, everything I predicted turned out to be WRONG! Usually, I love being proved wrong but in this case, I would have preferred a predictable ending. While the initial 70% was boring and unoriginal but readable, the final segment and the major twist made things worse. Given the time I had already invested in the book, I forced myself to finish it. I wasn’t particularly thrilled with the weird direction the story took but yes, I was surprised as all my theories got tossed into the lake! Though not quite original in concept, Riley Sager’s The House Across the Lake is suspenseful and twisty and I can see how it might appeal to others but unfortunately, it did not work for me!

[authorjanebnight · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Synopsis: An actress hides at her lake house after the untimely death of her husband. She rescues a woman from drowning and starts to fear that the woman in question is in danger.

My rating: 4/5

This book had a slow start for me and I struggled to get through the beginning of it but it did pick up and when it did I couldn't put it down.

This book has some neat twists and turns. A few I saw coming but several I did not.

I found I really enjoyed the setting more than I expected to. It felt isolated and desolate as it is the off season at the lake where most residents are only there seasonally. The lake is clearly shown as ominous and I liked the way it was used both in the plot and the mood of the book.

One of my biggest struggles with this book was that I didn't like any of the characters. Our narrator was unsympathetic, partially due to her alcoholism, and right off the bat I didn't feel like we could trust her.
Throughout the book she makes really bad decisions and so many times I was just growling at her character in frustration.

My lack of attachment to any of the characters made me minimally invested in the things that were happening to them.

At the end of the day I liked the setting and plot but didn't care about any of the characters. The twists were fun and unexpected but also I wasn't prepared for them (though if I had read more from this author I probably would have been).

I am not sure who the right audience for this book is. Maybe people who like Stephen King books.

[lynnmpk · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This reads like a parody of the mystery thriller genre. I don’t know if that’s what the author was going for though. It was readable and kept my interest well enough.

[kiaya40 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I liked this more than I thought I would, but it was a little bit crazy, the idea/concept presented relating to death/life after death. It did have some language, which is kind of the norm for books by Riley Sager. Anyway, this book kept my interest, but after I was done I wasn't sure what I just read lol. It was kind of wacky with the twists and everything.

[postsbygina · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The House Across the Lake was an intriguing story. It reminded me quite a bit of Hitchcock's The Rear Window starring James Stewart and Grace Kelly (which was referenced in the book itself) but with an unexpected twist.
The story takes place at Lake Greene in Vermont, and follows widowed actress Casey Fletcher as she attempts to solve what she believes is a murder in the quiet lakefront community.

Casey’s drinking results in her getting fired from acting, and banished to her family’s lake house. While there, she passes the time with too much drinking and a pair of binoculars for what ends up being too much snooping into the house across the lake.

As you read this you think you know where things are going. The structure is a familiar one of most crime thrillers but then woah. I’m sorry. Come again? You’re shaking your head. You’re doing a double, no, a triple maybe a quadruple head shake because the unexpected rushes into your face like a bat out of nowhere in an old attic.

[nyiper · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Oh my goodness the twists and turns in this book....turning things up-side-down more than once. A very fast read because it's almost impossible to put down!

[flourgirl49 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This book was percolating along fairly nicely, and then about two-thirds of the way through, it went completely off the rails into fairy tale land. It was totally unexpected, and I read the rest of the book shaking my head and sniggering at how ridiculous it was. Not to mention that the main character is obnoxious and thoroughly unlikable. I have liked Riley Sager's previous books, but this one was really bad.

[spaceandsorcery · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

When I started reading The House Across the Lake I was already aware that this mystery/thriller contained a huge, supernatural twist thanks to the review of fellow blogger Mogsy who had showcased this book previously, so when it happened (and Mogsy’s comparison to Sarah Pinborough’s Behind Her Eyes was indeed spot-on) I was not surprised, nor put off, but still I would like to warn potential readers who don’t enjoy the addition of the uncanny to their thrillers that this kind of element is there.

The story focuses on Casey Fletcher, a former actress whose career floundered after the tragic death of her husband: she’s now a grief-stricken alcoholic who stopped caring long ago about the media frenzy over her drunken public appearances. Casey’s mother sent her to the family’s lake-house in Vermont to keep her out of the media’s voracious eye, and with the not-so-high hope of sobering her up, but unfortunately the choice of location is the wrong one since Len, Casey’s husband, drowned in the same lake on whose shore the house stands, so that heartbreak and loneliness are driving Casey to drink practically nonstop from morning to night.

Something however breaks that self-destructive routine when one day Casey spots someone in danger of drowning in the lake: taking to her boat, she’s able to save the person, only to discover that it’s Katherine Royce, a famous former model and her neighbor on the other side of the lake, where the woman lives with her husband Tom in a new house whose big glass windows seem to invite a peek into the life of the rich and famous Royces. And that’s exactly what Casey starts to do, pointing her binoculars at the Royces’ house and seeing that apparently her neighbors’ marriage is not the modern fairy-tale told by the tabloids; so, when Katherine suddenly disappears, Casey becomes convinced that Tom must have killed her, and she launches into an alcohol-fueled, often messy crusade to uncover the truth. Only to discover that appearances can be very, very misleading….

It’s going to be very difficult to write about this book while steering away from spoilers, particularly where that famous narrative twist is concerned, but what I can and will share are the reasons why this book proved quite disappointing - and certainly not for the supernatural element: being aware that it would be there made me look forward to it, curious about what it would be, and it turned out to be an intriguing one indeed, even though it came with little or no foreshadowing, unless one takes into account a passing mention that might very well have been overlooked. No, what disappointed me were the characters and their actions, which often made little or no sense, and a feeling of… narrative flimsiness - for want of a better definition - that employed some well-known tropes without trying to invest them with some much needed uniqueness.

Casey takes of course the role of unreliable narrator (and toward the end we will discover just how unreliable…), but she is also an unsympathetic character I could not drive myself to care about: we are told that she’s grieving for the death of her husband, and we see her trying to drown that grief in the bottle, but I never truly felt her pain. If her alcohol-induced fugue state was a way of expressing that sorrow, I’m afraid it did not work for me; what’s worse, at some point we learn about a certain dramatic revelation from the past, and Casey’s harsh choice in dealing with it, but I’m afraid that the too-short time frame from discovery to action made the whole sequence totally unbelievable, because there was simply no time for her to truly process that momentous epiphany. I apologize if this sounds cryptic, but to do otherwise would lead to spoilers…

The other characters fare no better, from the potential victim’s husband’s suspicious attitude, to the avuncular protectiveness of the older neighbor, to the appearance of an attractive neighbor/caretaker who might be a romantic interest, they are barely sketched figures that left no lasting impression and serve only as a sort of foil for Casey’s reckless and ill-advised choices. I held some hope once the true villain of the story was revealed - and here I have to acknowledge that the author managed to work some very successful red herrings here in the narrative transitions between the “before” and “now” of the various chapters - but the exchanges with Casey destroyed that hope because instead of the hoped-for dramatic effect they bordered on the grotesquely outlandish and robbed those scenes of the required emotional impact.

As I said the weird element in the novel was an intriguing one, and being a fan of horror themes I did not find it objectionable, even though it might have been introduced a little more organically: what I find hard to accept is that the… phenomenon, let’s call it that way, did not manifest itself sooner and lay in wait for a very long time before coming to the surface, considering that there were many opportunities for that to happen before Casey’s arrival on site. And as a last complaint, I must add that once the main story seems to have reached its climatic end, we are treated to a second dramatic revelation, which not only steals the wind from the main ending, but adds what I felt was a ludicrous note by having a second baddie threaten Casey - I kid you not - with a five thousand dollars bottle of wine. If this sounds as insane as it is unbelievable, it’s because it IS.

In the end, I’ve come to view The House Across the Lake as a bundle of missed opportunities that turned what was a potentially intriguing story into an alcohol-soaked mess. From what I’ve seen online, this does not seem to be the author’s best offering, but still I’m not exactly encouraged to explore further….

[amyghilton · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Very reminiscent of Rear Window and several other recent thrillers from writers like Ruth Ware and A.J. Finn.

[pdebolt_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I think that I am as willing as most readers to suspend disbelief if the character and plot developments are good; however, this book falls into a new category for me - preposterous. There was mild suspense and speculation that involved the missing woman. When she was found, the entire plot dissolved into ludicrous. Riley Sager is a talented author, but count me way out for this one.

[ecataldi-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I was definitely got Girl on the Train/ The Woman in the Window vibes from this book because the main character is a falling down drunk and doesn't seem like the most reliable narrator on the planet. Casey Fletcher is a notorious drunk, she used to be a successful actress, but after her husband died she turned to the bottle and started her very public descent of despair. Eventually the public stops sympathizing with you the more you drink. Casey's mother (an even bigger celebrity) has decided to exile Casey to the family lake house to keep her out of the public eye and maybe even get sobered up. All alone and trapped at the place where her husband died, Casey immediately falls back to the bottle and takes to spying on her wealthy neighbors across the lake with a pair of binoculars. They have a huge glass house and when the lights are on at night it's easy to see everything that goes on. One night while she is drinking and spying she sees something that makes her blood run cold. But what if it's all in her head? A fast paced suspenseful novel that will keep you guessing right up to the deliciously unexpected twist at the end.

[candyh_64 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I’ve been a Riley Sager fan for a long time but this was one of the strangest books I ever read. It truly is not one of his best books.

[rmarcin-630843 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Casey Fletcher is a recent widow, after her husband drowned in the lake last summer. She drowns her loneliness and the end of her career by drinking all day and watching her neighbors with her husband's binoculars.. When she rescues Katherine from the lake, she becomes involved with the couple. Then, Katherine disappears, and Casey suspects Katherine's husband, Tom, of foul play.
As Casey investigates the disappearance, she has to face some secrets and truths about her husband.
You have to suspend disbelief as you read this book. When things become ridiculous and implausible, the book loses its luster.

[celticlibrarian · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

A washed up alcoholic actress lives alone in the family house on Lake Greene in Vermont. She spies on her neighbors using the binoculars left behind by her recently drowned husband, Len. As days go by, she becomes really interested in the couple who live directly across the lake - The Royces. Something strange is going on in that house and Casey Fletcher is determined to get to the bottom of it all.

If you are looking for a straight forward suspense or psychological thriller, this is not the book for you. To say it bordered on the preposterous might be a little strong, since this is fiction after all, but toward the last third of the book the author really goes way out there. That twist is what turned me off to the rest of the book and I ended up severely disappointed despite having read and generally enjoyed all of this author’s previous stories. I can’t say more without spoilers, so just leaving it here that I wish I had not wasted my time.

[micareads · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Casey Fletcher, an actress, is sent to the family cabin to sober up after being caught drinking by the paparazzi. At the cabin, she is haunted by the memory of her husband who passed away in their lake the year prior. She discovers that her newest neighbors are former model, Katherine, and her social media CEO, Tom. As Casey sits on her porch in a drunken fog, she sees a hand poke out of the water and realizes someone is drowning.

When she goes to help her neighbor, she realized Katherine looks very dead. Katherine spasms to life as she attempts to drag her body back onto the boat. Later that evening, Katherine and her husband Tom cross the river to thank Casey for her help. As the lake residents get to know each other, Casey realizes that maybe their marriage isn't as perfect as it seems.

While spying on the couple with her binoculars, Casey witnesses a fight and then is awakened by a scream that she believes is Katherine. The next day Tom states that his wife has left and returned to the city which Casey does not believe at all. She sets out to find proof that Tom has done something to Casey. Casey gets far more than she bargained for when she finds Katherine and she has quite the story to tell - one Casey is unsure if she should believe.

This was a fantastic new story by Riley Sager. I have come to expect a solid read from Sager but this went above that. I loved everything about this story. There was a mystery on top of mystery on top of mystery but it was all very easy to follow and came to a conclusion I was very happy with.

[silversurfer_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Not his best.
A Ho Hum, ridiculous thriller at best.
A bland and vapid homage to Hitchcock's brilliant Rear Window.

[jhscolloquium · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Bestselling author Riley Sager firmly believes he is a thriller writer who injects some horror elements into his books. He says he began watching the movies of Alfred Hitchcock movies at an early, very impressionable age and loves the artful way Hitchcock blended suspense, secrets, and character studies. And inspiration for The House Across the Lake struck in October 2020 when Sager spent a week in a Vermont lake house to which he escaped following the pandemic lockdown. "The first night there, I poured myself a bourbon, sat on the back porch that overlooked the water, and stared at the lights of the houses on the other side of the lake," he recalls. "It got me thinking about who lived there, what their lives were like, and, since I write about such things, what dark secrets they were hiding." Although Sager was supposed to be on vacation, he found his thoughts returning to the story and plotting the book, and acknowledges that The House Across the Lake "is totally Rear Window on a lake," paying homage to Hitchcock's classic film. But he promises "there is a lot more going on" in the tale than it initially appears.

From a show business family, Casey Fletcher has enjoyed her own successful career as an actress . . . until recently, when a very public meltdown made her fodder for paparazzi and cost her a role she loved in a Broadway play. At her mother's insistence, she has retreated to the family's charming house on the shore of Lake Greene in Vermont, built by her great-grandfather in 1878. Only five houses sit beside the dark waters of the lake and, as the book opens, it is mid-October and Casey is being questioned by Detective Wilma Anson. It seems that Tom Royce, a tech innovator who, along with his wife, Katherine, a former supermodel, owns the house directly across the lake from Casey's, is missing. He appears to have vanished, leaving his car, keys, and wallet behind, and his house unlocked. Katherine is also missing, and Wilma knows that Casey has been spending time watching the Royce home, as well as its occupants, from her porch. But Casey insists she has no idea where either of them are, and has not observed anything unusual that evening . . . . . . even though she has the prime tied up in her bedroom.

The action immediately shifts to a few days earlier. In Casey's first-person narrative, she describes her exile to the lake house, and her mother's daily calls to check in and see if Casey is drinking. She is. A lot. Her days revolve around her rigidly scheduled consumption of bourbon and vodka, ducking her mother's calls, and thoughts of the career she destroyed, as well as memories of her late husband, Len, a screenwriter, who died in the lake. Casey loved him deeply and they had a happy marriage for several years. Her drinking problem developed after Len's death. Alcohol is her coping mechanism -- it makes it possible for her to avoid confronting and dealing with her emotions.

One evening, despite having had several drinks, Casey is convinced she sees someone struggling in the water, so she clumsily navigates her boat out to the middle of the lake where she discovers Katherine's motionless body bobbing on the surface. There is no one to help her since Eli, the lake's only full-time resident, is out for the night. Casey manages to dive into the icy cold water and guide the woman's body toward the boat, convinced she is dead. But she surprises Casey by regaining consciousness and a budding friendship is born from gratitude, on Katherine's part, as well as an immediate camaraderie punctuated by crisp, humorous dialogue. Casey is witty, with a sharply self-deprecating sense of humor that Katherine does not understand at first. Casey explains, "I make jokes because it's easier to pretend I'm not feeling what I'm feeling than to actually feel it." Casey recognizes that she and Katherine have much in common. "Ridiculously privileged, but self-aware enough to realize it. Yearning to be seen as more than what people project onto us." But their relationship is short-lived.

Soon, Katherine mysteriously disappears and Casey becomes obsessed with finding her. After all, because the Royce home is a modern glass, steel, and stone structure with massive windows fronting the lake, Casey was able to peer directly inside the Royce home and, using binoculars, observe interactions between Tom and Katherine that Casey found troubling, including one physical altercation. The night before she went missing, Katherine and Tom joined Casey and Eli for drinks, and the tension between them was palpable. The couple is "so at odds that it sucks all energy from the area, making the porch seem stuffy and crowded." Katherine confides in Casey about the problems in their marriage, revealing that she pays for everything with her substantial earnings from her former modeling career. "Tom needs me too much to agree to a divorce," she tells Casey half-jokingly. "He'd kill me before letting me leave." Katherine also confides to Casey that she has not felt well for several days. "I feel weird. Weak." Exhaustion caused her to collapse while swimming and had Casey not discovered her, she would surely have drowned. The next day, there is no trace of Katherine.

Tom claims that Katherine returned to their New York City apartment, unnerved at the prospective of the forecasted storm passing through the area, Casey simply does not believe his explanation. Undaunted, Casey launches her own investigation, enthusiastically joined by handsome Boone Conrad, who is staying in the house next door while he completes renovations for the owners. Casey finds herself drawn to the former police officer and recovering alcoholic whose wife died under mysterious circumstances. Sager reveals that creating the character was motivated by his own struggle during the pandemic. "Everything was scary and uncertain and we were all stuck at home, so why not drink up?" But after a few months, he recognized that drinking every day could become a problem for him, so he "wanted Boone to be that voice of reason," he says. "He represents the part of me that realized my actions were close to getting out of hand." When Casey voices her suspicions, Detective Anson insists that Boone is a sincere voice of reason, and he is honorable and intent on putting his life back together. But could Boone be playing Detective Anson, along with Casey? Sager slyly brings his character and motivations into question, along with those of Tom and Eli, as the story proceeds and Katherine's whereabouts and fate remain unknown.

Casey is a deeply sympathetic and likable character. She is self-aware: she knows exactly why she is drinking too much and consciously chooses to continue doing so, even as she acknowledges that it does not solve any of her problems or resolve the past she is not yet ready to face. Her concern for Katherine and her well-being is genuine -- she is a loyal and supportive friend. As the story proceeds and Casey relates details about the past, explaining how she came to be a drunken voyeur, it becomes clear that she has experienced loss and profound disappointment, including the loss of the husband she loved under tragic circumstances, and has a strong sense of right and wrong. She is stubborn and resilient.

The House Across the Lake is replete with shocking revelations and surprising plot developments that keep the story moving forward at a relentless pace. And yes, Sager eventually demonstrates there is indeed "a lot more going on," with an inventive, mind-bending, and cohesive twist that readers will not anticipate. He acknowledges that anyone can dream up a plot twist, but the "hard part is making it work in a way that feels organic to the story that’s being told while also playing fair with the reader. The best twists are something you don’t see coming, even though the book has been secretly guiding you to that point the entire time." Sager seamlessly weaves the surprising twist into the story such that, once revealed, it is apparent that he injected clues throughout the narrative, but readers never saw it coming until he unveiled the truth at an expertly-timed juncture calculated to yield maximum impact. No hints can be revealed, but readers are reminded that Sager is devoted to writing thrillers that contain "some horror elements." And his observation "that you think you’ve read this story before. Trust me, you haven’t," is apt.

The House Across the Lake is an engrossing and entertaining thriller, at the center of which is an emotionally complex woman that readers will find themselves cheering on as she searches for her new friend, but the truth eludes her until Sager dramatically unveils a twist that feels completely organic and satisfying. But take Sager's advice and go "in blind, . . . The less you know, the better."

Thanks to NetGalley for an Advance Reader's Copy of the book.