Page 1 of Misdirection

CHAPTER 1

EIGHT YEARS AGO

Olive Sterling meandered down the dark sidewalk, in no hurry to get back to her house.

Her fight with her parents earlier in the evening replayed in her mind. She’d never been so angry with them before.

“You’re such hypocrites!” Olive shouted.

“Don’t talk to your mother and me that way,” her father shot back.

“But you are.” Olive couldn’t stop herself from snapping. “You act so morally righteous, and everyone here loves you. But they don’t know you like I do. They don’t know who you’ve been.”

“Olive Louise Sterling . . . that’s enough!” Her mother sliced her hand through the air. “Go to your room, and don’t come out until you’ve thought about how you’re acting right now.”

“I can’t wait until I turn eighteen and can move out,” Olive called over her shoulder as she hurried up the stairs to her bedroom.

When Olive had been sure they were asleep, she’d climbed out her window to go to a party one of her classmates washosting. She didn’t even want to go. She didn’t like parties that much.

She’d gone mostly out of rebellion.

Right now, the soft pad of her footfalls was the only sound in the air. The rest of the neighborhood slept snugly in their warm beds, waiting for another ho-hum day to start in the morning. That meant school for her, and work for everyone else.

This small Indiana town of Galax had to be the most boring place she’d ever lived. It was 98 percent white, 68 percent of the people worked in the local paper factory, and the average income was well below the national average, meaning everyone—except upper management at the paper factory, one of the town’s sole employers—lived in small, identical square houses built and owned by the paper factory itself. Much like the old coal mining towns she’d heard stories about.

This town represented everything Olive didn’t want in her future. She wasn’t a cookie-cutter type of person. She didn’t like the same routine day in and day out.

Small-town expectations stifled her.

What was it about taking risks that excited her so much? That couldn’t be healthy, right?

Or if she did like taking risks, why couldn’t it be by doing things like rock climbing or learning to fly a plane?

But, no, her idea of taking a risk was sneaking out of the house and returning before her parents realized she was gone—tiny acts of rebellion by the preacher’s daughter.

It wasn’t as if Olive had ever asked to be given that title, as if she’d ever asked to live in a fishbowl.

Act like a good girl.That was what her father said. Notbea good girl.Actlike one.

The nuance hadn’t been lost on her.

She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her leather coat, the chilly nighttime air closing in on her. The temperatures were dropping as a cold front breezed into town.

This was her first winter in Indiana, and it had been so cold—much colder than she liked.

She missed her days in Florida. Then Georgia. Then Alabama. Then Texas.

Her family had moved around a lot, but this was the farthest north she’d lived.

Her steps slowed as she spotted the white steepled building in the distance.

The community church her father pastored. In a town of only nine thousand people, there were six churches. Eighty-nine percent of the people in town attended at least one church, though 50 percent of those only attended on Easter and Christmas.

Olive had a thing for numbers. Whether she wanted to or not, she remembered them.

She liked memorizing phone numbers. Codes. Data.

She was also quite proficient in memorizing Bible verses, a fact that made her dad proud.

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