Podcaster and true crime author Ashley Flowers is back with a new crime novel, and PEOPLE has an exclusive first look.
The missing halfwhich comes out on May 6, 2025, follows two women haunted by the unsolved disappearances of their sisters. Since two brains are better than one, they team up to find out how their family members could have disappeared.
“I can’t wait for the fans to experience The missing half — that’s a story that I think is really going to get lost,” Flowers tells PEOPLE exclusively. “This book is so special to me because it allows me to explore the thrill of solving mysteries in a way that feels lighter than my day job, but still deeply related to my passion for mysteries. It was an exciting challenge to find out how to keep the smartest detective guessing until the last page.”
‘Crime Addict’ host Ashley Flowers talks about her debut novel and how she fell in love with true crime
The A crime addict The podcast co-host and audiochuck founder also previously told PEOPLE that she wanted the book to highlight “the bond between sisters and how far people will go — both good and bad — for a family member.”
“This story allowed me to delve into the complexities of sibling relationships and how secrets can shape, strengthen or destroy them,” she explains. “I wanted to explore the nuances of loyalty and betrayal and how our closest connections can sometimes be the most mysterious and challenging to navigate.”
Are you hooked yet? Read an exclusive excerpt from The missing halfbelow.
‘The Missing Half’ by Ashley Flowers.
Bantam books
I’m wiping up vomit with a claw machine when I notice him watching me.
He is sitting in the booth where the tables end and the arcade begins, near the old pinball machines that no one uses anymore. In his early to mid-30s, with the slightly haggard look of his parents, he fits the mold of our customers here at Funland, the birthday destination for all pre-teens in Mishawaka, Ind. But there isn’t the usual evidence of children around her desk, no chewed-up cheese sticks or packs of wet wipes or discarded action figures. Only half drunk juice. When he notices me looking, he nods and then turns away.
There’s something off about that gesture that makes me think she’s nervous, like a bad private detective who’s casual. I keep watching to see if she’s checking out the kid in the crowded playroom, but she’s just staring at her drink, rubbing the glass with her thumb. Our dinner options are greasy pizza or gummy burgers, the undersides of the tables are dotted with chewing gum, and the background noise is the voices of children shouting. If she doesn’t have kids, what the hell is she doing here?
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The woman looks in my direction and then away again.
The hair on the back of my neck is standing up.
I make a few last quick swipes at the puddle of yellow sickness, rinse the mop and bucket so I can put them back in the cleaning supplies closet, then search the place for my manager, Brad. I can see the back of his head as he makes his way to the computer where we call up customer accounts and half walk, half run to catch up. “Hey, Brad?”
He turns around, and a friendly smile spreads across his face. “Nothing, hey. What’s up?”
Brad Andrews gave me the job at Funland eight years ago, back when I was working summers in high school, out of pure nepotism. He was the best man at my parents’ wedding, and growing up, our families went on vacation together every summer. He and his wife, Sandy, are more uncle and aunt to me than they are blood relatives. Neither of us could have predicted how long I would be here, and sometimes it shows that our relationship is frayed.
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Podcaster and author Ashley Flowers.
John Bragg
“That woman.” I nod in her direction. “I think she’s here alone. We might want to keep an eye on her.”
“Which woman?” Brad peeks over my head. “The one in blue?”
“She has no children here.” I don’t need to elaborate. At Funland, we have a certain breed from time to time – middle-aged, childless men whose gaze lingers too long. We usually ask these people to leave.
“Looks pretty harmless to me. A little lonely, maybe, but harmless. Don’t you think so?”
I roll my eyes. Brad’s brand of sexism manifests as an unwavering belief in the fairness of the fairer sex. He probably thinks that his wife, Sandy, doesn’t masturbate when he’s away or that she ever fantasizes about having a one-night stand with the young cashier at the grocery store. He would be stunned by the thought of a woman with bad intentions.
“She was watching me.” I regret the words before I say them.
He glances in the woman’s direction again, but she is looking at her drink. “Are you sure?”
“You know what, it doesn’t matter. I’m probably just—” The end of my sentence hangs in the air between us. Brad doesn’t need me to tell him that my paranoia and doubt are a habit. He was there seven years ago when my life turned upside down, and he’s seen me almost every day since. .
“Are you sure? I can go and check if you—”
“No,” I say. “It’s okay.” I know it’s just offering brownie points anyway.
Brad studies my face. “Are you okay, Nic?” “I’m fine.”
“It’s just—I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, what with the… program and all.”
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At first I tried to keep the details of my “program” quiet, but my hometown is small and DWI is juicy gossip. Besides, I never had a chance to keep it from Brad. He and my dad drink together every week. “I’m fine,” I say again.
“Good. Good.” Brad nodded. “Well, listen. You’ll let me know if you need anything, okay? If you ever want to talk…”
I’ve softened a bit over this, but we both know I won’t bother him about it. Between working this job to pay off my state fine, going to my weekly AA meeting, preparing for court appearances, and doing mandatory community service at the local animal shelter, I don’t have much emotional latitude for a heart-to-heart. But more than that, I learned years ago that numbness is better than pain. Long time no talk, not sure if I would even know how to start.
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My eyes turn to the woman in blue, but she is not there, her table is empty, her drink is still half full. Did she see me talking to the manager and leave before we kicked her out? Stop, I tell my scrambled mind. You’re getting paranoid.
“I should probably get back to that,” I tell Brad.
He taps me on the shoulder. “She should come to dinner soon. Sandy would like to see you.”
As he turns to leave, I look for the woman one last time, but she is nowhere to be found.
Excerpt from THE MISSING HALF copyright © 2025 by Ashley Flowers. Used by permission of Bantam, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. All rights reserved. No part of this extract may be reproduced or reprinted without the written permission of the publisher.
The missing half will be published on May 6, 2025 and is now available for pre-order wherever books are sold.
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