Page 2 of Misdirection

Which was weird to her.

Her entire life, she and her family had been strictly Easter and Christmas churchgoers. Then suddenly her dad had felt called to ministry, and they’d moved here so her dad could preach—as aprofession.

Now their entire lives revolved around church. Sunday mornings. Sunday nights. Wednesday evenings. Special events. Homecomings. Service projects.

It was almost more than Olive could take. It all felt so . . . phony.

She paused on the dark sidewalk and stared at the church with its tall, white steeple topped with a cross. The buildingeven had stained glass windows and an ornate wooden ceiling. Beautiful, really.

Yet she always felt so out of place there.

Some church members were petty. Some were hypocritical. But most of the congregation was friendly—imperfect but friendly. Spending time within its walls hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared.

However, being the pastor’s daughter had come with a lot of expectations—and that bothered her. Olive always needed to be polite and to act in certain ways. She was expected to be at the church for every service. To set a good example.

Being a pastor’s daughter was one of the reasons she couldn’t wait to go to college next year. Then she could start her own life—make her own choices.

She’d thought about studying business or accounting. Something practical but that she would be good at. But both of those seemed so monotonous and dull.

Yet she wasn’t the type to study fashion design or art.

Truthfully, she didn’t know what she wanted to do yet, only that she wanted to get away.

She hurried past the church toward the pale-yellow parsonage beside it.

Twelve hundred thirty square feet. Two stories. Three bedrooms.

As the oldest daughter, Olive had gotten her own room. At least there was that.

She headed across the dry grass to the back door, listening to it crunch beneath her feet. The night was cloudy, absent of the moon and stars.

A single light on a wooden post in her backyard usually offered illumination. But tonight the light was dark. Had the bulb burned out?

It was on earlier, wasn’t it?

Certainly, if the light had been out Olive would have noticed it then. But she wasn’t sure.

She paused in the backyard and stared at the house. Tension prickled her skin.

Something seemed off. But what?

Had her dad discovered she’d left?

If that was the case, he would have turned on some lights—just to make a point.

He would have called her. Tracked her down. Probably gone to pick her up at the party at Elise’s place and made a scene just to prove he was righteous and Olive was not.

Olive quickly pulled her cell phone from her pocket and checked for any missed calls. There were none.

So how did she explain this eerie feeling?

She frowned and studied the house again.

The trashcans, she realized. They’d been moved about a foot to the right.

She hadn’t moved them when she left.

Just to be sure, she mentally replayed when she’d snuck out earlier this evening. She’d climbed out her bedroom window and onto the roof of the mudroom. Then she’d lowered herself onto the trashcans, then to the cement pad beneath them.

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