The Detour (18 page)

I didn't want my hair like that ever again. “Just a ponytail maybe.”

“I'll tell them to go light on the makeup,” said Billy.

Upstairs I took a shower; then Mom dried my hair and put it back in a low ponytail. I dressed in jeans, flip-flops, and a white linen sleeveless button-down. I chose a pair of silver hoop earrings and looked at myself in the mirror. Definitely almost back to normal.

When I returned downstairs, a cameraman was setting up out on the veranda, which afforded the same fabulous view of Mount Bachelor as out my window. A thin blond woman in a gray sheath dress and high black pumps held out her hand to me. “I'm Lucy Voss, NBC News.”

She looked familiar as I shook her hand. “I feel underdressed.”

Ms. Voss smiled. “Oh, don't feel that way. You look great, Olivia.” She beckoned to another woman, who had long dark hair and purple lipstick and wore a flimsy black tank dress and black combat boots. “Delilah, she's ready.”

Delilah patted the chair in front of her. “Over here.”

I sat down, and she rubbed something nice-smelling into my skin. Her eyes were brown, golden circles bordering the pupils. She said, “We won't do a whole makeover or anything. Your agent wants people to see the truth.”

“The truth?”

Delilah nodded. “You've been through something, and you came out the other side. Let the public see what bravery costs.”

Bravery?
“I guess I hadn't thought of myself as brave.”

She smiled. “Maybe you should start.”

Delilah plucked my brows a bit, then added a touch of mascara, and put something on my lips. She stepped back and frowned, then relaxed. “Good to go.”

The cameraman took a little more time to get the lighting right before he waved me over. I sank into a cushy green chair, Lucy Voss opposite me. She leaned in, fastened a microphone to the collar of my shirt, and said, “Since we're taping this and have time to edit, I'd rather just ask you questions and have your reactions, instead of prepping you.”

I glanced over at Billy. He was on his phone, but gave me a thumbs-up.

I nodded.

My parents were a few feet away off camera. Dad wore a frown and had his arms crossed, but Mom was grinning. Delilah had disappeared. It was just me and the reporter, plus the camera guy hidden behind his equipment. “I'm ready,” I said.

“Great. I will make an intro segment that tells the basic story, based on the sheriff's report, so America will know what happened. But we want you to fill us in on how you felt during the ordeal.”

I nodded.

Lucy Voss and the cameraman conferred a bit. Then the camera was rolling, the lights were bright in my eyes, and she asked her first question. “Livvy, America has been captivated by your story, from the first reports that you were missing until you were found. You're a well-known, bestselling author. This is almost like a Stephen King novel come to life. Tell us, how are you feeling today?”

I smiled and gestured at my shoulder. “Other than having to wear this sling, I'm feeling pretty good.”

“Excellent,” said the reporter. “Can you tell us when you knew you were in trouble?”

In trouble? “Um, I guess when my car flipped. I knew my shoulder was hurt, and I maybe had a concussion. I knew that I needed help. But…” Would America believe me if I told them about Flute Girl? “I guess the worst moment was waking up in that basement. I was in bad shape and didn't know where I was.”

“And that's when the woman took you captive?” Her voice held a tad too much enthusiasm for me.

“I guess so. I mean, I was already captive. That was just when I realized that help wasn't coming, and she wasn't letting me go. I realized that I was on my own.” A stray piece of hair fell into my eyes. I swiped it away.

“So you had no idea why the woman might have wanted to keep you there as her prisoner?”

I shook my head.

My mom was still grinning; my dad just looked nervous.

The reporter continued, “So, at the time, you had no idea who she was.”

Why was she dwelling on that? My tone held a tinge of snark when I parroted her line. “No, I had no idea who she was.”

Lucy Voss reached behind her and picked up a box of waxed paper.

Did she have that there the whole time?

She handed it to me. “Do you mind showing us what you did to escape that horrible basement?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I stuck the waxed paper between my legs. My hand was shaking a little, but I managed to tear off the cutting edge. I bent the metal back and forth, separating it into two pieces, just like I did in the basement. I held up the piece to the camera.

Ms. Voss took it from me. “May I say that this is the most ingenious weapon?” She started to touch it to her own hand.

“Careful, that's kinda sh—”

She exclaimed a bit as she drew blood. “Oh, that's sharp.”

What a dolt
. “Yeah.”

She set the thing down and continued, “What did you do with this?”

I swallowed. I didn't exactly want to go in to the part where I let Wesley stick his tongue down my throat. “She had a cousin, this guy. He came into the basement when she wasn't home. I cut him with that, surprised him, and then I ran out and locked the door.”

Lucy Voss nodded a few times. “Can you tell us what happened after you got out of the basement?”

“I went upstairs and tried to get out of the house.” My heartbeat sped up. Just talking about it brought it all back. I was beginning to wonder if this interview was a good idea.

She frowned, but not like a real, ugly frown. More like a pensive, thoughtful one that didn't detract from her looks. I wondered how long she'd practiced that in the mirror. “Was there someone else in the house you encountered?”

I nodded. “The daughter of the woman.”

“Did you have to attack the daughter as well?”

I vehemently shook my head. Telling America I beat up a kid would not help my sales whatsoever; I knew that, even though she was the one who killed her mother. “I … I was able to get her in the basement stairway and lock her in as well.” I swallowed. “She wasn't hurt.” I couldn't exactly say the same for her flute.

Lucy Voss shook her head. “So amazing you were able to escape on your own, with your injury.” She glanced at her notes. “And then the woman, known only to you as Peg, came home.”

I nodded, but didn't say anything.

Lucy Voss prompted me. “What happened then?”

I hesitated. Did I want America to know what I had done? Hell, they already had the news version. They might as well get the actual truth. “I took a knife from the kitchen and planned to defend myself.” I straightened up in my chair and lifted my chin. “I just wanted to get home.”

“And then a state patrolman was alerted to your situation, and the woman was shot with his weapon during a struggle, correct?”

“But he didn't shoot her.” I didn't know how many details were out. I wished I had asked. “The girl got the gun.”

“Yes, we're aware of that.” The reporter looked at her notes and seemed to pause before asking, “And now that you know who she is, does that change things? Knowing that perhaps this was on her agenda all along?”

I frowned and glanced over at Billy. Did they know about the novelist boot camp? That Peg and I had crossed paths before? He didn't look shocked. I shook my head and decided to play dumb. “I don't know what you mean by that.”

The reporter said, “Peg, as you call her, is Judith Margaret Cutler. You weren't aware of that?”

Judith Margaret Cutler.
Something about it seemed familiar. But why should that mean anything to me? I shook my head. “I don't know what…”

My words faded as Lucy Voss held up a paperback copy of
The Quest for the Coven.

My mouth dropped open.

“J. M. Cutler is the author of this young adult novel, which was published about six months after Livvy's own novel,
The Caul and the Coven
.”

I gripped the edge of the chair with my one good hand. “What the hell?” My heartbeat throttled up. I had been worried about my side of the story, that people might feel sorry for Peg since she was dead. And I could only imagine what Peg considered to be her side of the whole story. She'd been vilified on the Internet, thanks to my fans. Whether she was guilty of plagiarism or not. But this revelation meant that I was on even more solid footing where my side of the story was concerned. Not only had Peg been aware of who I was, she held a long-standing grudge against me. “Billy? Did you know this?”

The reporter rolled her eyes and did a slashing motion across her throat. “We'll cut that. Let's go back.”

“No.” I didn't want the country to see my reaction to the discovery that not only had my abductor caused me bodily harm and mental anguish over the past few days, but she had caused me considerable stress when her book came out long before this all happened. Lucy Voss was not getting her freaking scoop. Not from me, anyway. “No way. I'm done.” I tore the microphone off my shirt and threw it at her feet. “This interview is
over
.” I flung myself out of the chair. “Billy! When did you find out?!” I stomped over to where he was pretending to be busy on his phone. “Billy!”

He sighed and met my gaze. “Yes. I was recently made aware and—”

“And you didn't bother to tell me?” I waved a hand at the reporter. “You set this all up knowing that she'd tell me who Peg was? How could you do that?”

Billy said, “Don't you see? This isn't just a random crazy person.”

Mom added, “This makes it a real story, sweetie.”

“It's not a story! It's my life!” The tears had finally arrived in the form of a knot in my throat. “I'm not doing this, not now. And I don't want any of that airing.”

Dad took my arm.

Lucy Voss had come up behind me. “We can continue whenever you're ready.”

I shook my head. “I'm done.” Then I ran inside, up the stairs to my room, and slammed the door. Then, only then, did I let the tears come.

 

{22}

FIRST MOM CAME
knocking on my door, then Dad, then Billy. I refused to open it for any of them. Then Lucy Voss actually tried. “Olivia, we can do this interview your way. We don't have to talk about J. M. Cutler if you don't want to.”

I snapped up my middle finger and shoved it in the air at the door. “Go away,” I whispered.

Finally, she did.

There was only one person I wanted to talk to. Only one person I wanted to see. Rory. I picked up the frame with his photo and kissed it. Then I turned on my laptop and Skype and clicked on the photo of Rory and
VIDEO CALL
. The thing beeped, but I quickly cut it off.

No. I didn't want to Skype.

That wasn't good enough. Not nearly. I deserved more. I wanted to see Rory in person. Face to face. I wanted to cry on his shoulder about this whole episode, not slobber on my laptop while he watched from across the country.

I stayed in my room until I was pretty sure everyone had left, and then I opened my door and listened. Mom and Dad were talking in the kitchen, but I heard no one else. I tiptoed down the stairs and stood by the kitchen door. Definitely only them. I stepped inside. “Where's Billy?”

They stopped talking. Mom said, “I had no idea about any of that. About that
woman
being that
plagiarist
.”

I asked again, “Where's Billy?”

Dad said, “Hotel. He wants to come see you later.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, he can wait.”

“Sweetie, are you hungry?” asked Mom.

I shook my head. “I want to go to Chicago.”

Dad frowned.

Mom shook her head. “You just got back, you're still recovering. We could take a vacation next week maybe—”

“It's not a vacation,” I said. “I want to see my boyfriend.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance. She said, “That boy you've been Skyping with?”

I nodded. “Yes, but he's not just the boy I've been Skyping with. I love him, and he loves me. I want to see him in person. I'm tired of waiting.”

Mom said, “You're not going alone. I'll book flights for us.”

I threw my hand up. “Fine. I don't care if you go with me. I just want to go. And I
am
going.”

Dad scratched his chin. “What do you even know about this boy?”

“Everything,” I said. “He's my age; he's in a million AP classes.” I sighed. “He's a good guy, Dad. Trust me.”

The corner of his lips turned up. “So where in Chicago does he live?”

I bit my bottom lip. “I'm not exactly sure. We've only Skyped.”

Mom and Dad exchanged another look.

“Don't do that!” I yelled. “Why can't you just help me find him? I just want to go there and surprise him.”

“We'll help,” Mom said. “I'm sure Billy's got people who can—”

“No!”

They both looked at me.

“This is personal! I don't want Billy involved, or it'll end up on the news.”

Dad said, “I'll do it.”

I sighed. “Thanks, Dad.”

He walked over to the phone for the pad of paper there, then grabbed a pen and clicked it. “Go. What's this boy's name?”

“Rory.” I smiled. “Rory Calhoun.”

Dad laughed. “Okay. But seriously.”

I frowned. “I am serious.”

Dad glanced at Mom.

“Stop it!” I yelled. “Stop exchanging these stupid glances like I'm an idiot.”

“Sweetie,” said Dad. “You're not an idiot. It just struck me as funny, because Rory Calhoun was in movies back in the fifties. Your grandmother had a huge crush on him.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well maybe Rory's mother was a fan or something.”