33. Drop Everything
33
DROP EVERYTHING
O’CONNOR
Maggie Danforth (now Maggie Ellis) was standing firm. She did not want to talk about Archer Armstrong.
But this tale had lit up my agent. He’d shopped my book to publishers and landed me a plum. The money they paid wasn’t going to shift my total net worth much, but they’d offered me a two-book deal with an option for three more. If this book sold well, I’d be on my way.
So, I had a copy of Archer’s yearbook now (it only cost thirty bucks on eBay), and I’d found a photo of Maggie with what had to be her friends sitting on the bleachers at some football game. I was working my way through the class photos to match faces to names. One of them would talk.
I was most of the way through the E’s in the class list when my phone rang.
Not my O’Connor phone.
It was the family-and-friends phone that never rang.
And look at that triangular grin that showed up on the identifying photo. My heart was banging, but it wasn’t because it was Archer calling me. No. Certainly not. My pulse had quickened because of the adrenaline of the hunt. I’m after you, Archer. I’m going to reveal all your flaws, and I’ll be telling the world. My brand-new publisher is already preparing the media blitz. Kiss all the groupie ass you want. I am now immune to your snakelike charm.
I hate that you’ve seen me naked.
“Hello, Archer,” I said coolly.
“O’Connor!”
Where was the arrogant voice? The sound of a confident smile? It sounded like Archer was . . . sobbing?
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find Charlotte! She’s out there somewhere! I don’t know what to do!”
Fuck. I loved that dog. “Where are you?”
“At the campsite. We’ve been all over the place. Ian and Mal took the truck. I’m waiting for her to come home, but she doesn’t know where home is! It’s so cold here, O’Connor!”
He was a wreck. “What state are you in? Are you in New York?”
“No!” he shouted. “I don’t know where we—we’re in Ohio. We’ve been at this campsite before. It’s in Ohio. A little past Toledo. I can’t find Charlotte.”
“I know. It’ll be okay.” I grabbed my travel duffel and began to throw clothes into it. I’d need a heavy coat. Where were my wool socks? “I’m on my way. When Ian and Mal get back, have them call me with directions.”
“You’re coming?”
“I’m coming. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll call you with the details.”
“Thank you, O’Connor. Thank you. I just don’t know what to do. It was my fault. I wasn’t watching her?—”
“Archer, hold on. No, just wait.” I grabbed my O’Connor phone and got to Jane. “I need a car at my house right now, to LAX. Book me a flight to Toledo, Ohio. The soonest possible—what? Well, Detroit, then. Yes, immediately. I don’t care, coach is fine. And I’ll need a car at the Detroit airport. What? Sure, and a driver. Or not. I don’t care. Whatever’s fastest. Okay.”
By the time I got back to Archer, he was laughing and crying at the same time. “You’d fly coach for me?”
I laughed through my stress. “I’d fly coach for Charlotte,” I corrected.
“Thank you. I don’t seem to be able to say anything else.”
“That’s okay. ‘Thank you’ is good. How long has it been?”
“More than an hour now. O’Connor, it’s really cold here. Why didn’t I get her trained? My god, it’s all my fault.”
“Worry about fault later.” Texts from the Jane of the moment began pinging into my business phone. “A Lyft is going to be at my house in seven minutes, and I still have to find all my charging cords. I’ll call you back, Archer.”
I was halfway to LAX when I realized that, for the first time in my recent memory, I’d left the house without my tech trunk.