Accomplice (10 page)

And then because her mom was crying so hard, Chloe’s dad finished, “Our whole family appreciates your help.”

“Cut.” A guy in a similar suit as Andy Cogan, Producer, barked, and Mr. Caffrey looked startled.

“That’s it?” I cringed when the question came out of my mouth—I sounded desperate for camera time, but the Caffreys looked confused, too. A woman swooped in with a makeup brush and Lila Ann Price tipped her face up as she spoke. “Oh no—I’m afraid we’ve just started. Is everyone okay with that? We’d like to see Chloe’s bedroom, maybe the family around the dinner table. We’d really love to walk out to the stables if that would be all right. Andy, I thought you covered this?”

“I did, but there’s a lot to remember, right, Finley?” He sounded like a camp counselor. “We like to film the closing session first on
The L. A. Price Show
.”

“Why?”

“Finn—we don’t need to question how these people do their job,” Mom interrupted.

“No, it’s okay.” Chloe’s mom spoke up. The makeup lady was back with a new brush, but this time she was going to town on Mrs. Caffrey. “Finn, honey, they filmed this part first so that I would cry.” The makeup brush stilled in the air. “Well, I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Sheila—” Mr. Caffrey said her name like a warning.

“No, it’s okay. It’s Hollywood, right? You know we’re out in the sticks, and here I am a housewife living in a barn, but I’m not stupid, you know. I went to Vassar, for christsakes. I know how the media works.”

“Sheila.” The warning was lower now, a hissing whisper.

“What
is
the problem? What? Because Amy didn’t go to college?” I heard my mom’s sharp intake of breath behind me. All of a sudden it hit me that Mrs. Caffrey might have taken a few too many pills this morning.

“Amy—I’m so sorry,” Mr. Caffrey apologized to my mom. “I don’t know what’s come over—”

“It’s fine, Brian,” Mom said. “Of course it’s fine. No one’s normal right now.”

Lila Ann Price walked over. “Mrs. Caffrey, is everything okay? I thought that segment went very smoothly.” Her voice dripped with honey.

“Of course you did—I cried right on cue for you.”

“Sheila—”

“What, I can’t say that out loud? No one has the decency to admit they’re manipulating us? Did I tell my daughter I loved her the last time I saw her? Did you? Come on, I played my part—we were all professionals. I am now a professional bad mother.”

It was amazing to see Lila Ann Price just check out. She sat back, popped a stick of gum in her mouth, and gazed at Mrs. Caffrey like she was a terrier who’d crapped on the carpet. Apparently, it was Andy Cogan, Producer, who was on damage control.

“No one believes that, Mrs. Caffrey,” he said. “Really. Chloe had an idyllic life. That’s part of what makes your daughter’s story so compelling.”

“Has a life.” Mr. Caffrey coughed apologetically. “Chloe
has
an idyllic life here in Colt River.”

“Of course. Absolutely.” Andy Cogan looked from the Caffreys to Lila Ann. Mrs. Caffrey glared at Lila Ann, and Lila Ann glared at the sweating pitcher of iced tea.

“Well, what else do we need to do here?” Mrs. Caffrey went on. “Just tell us which part of that idyllic life you want to showcase.” I wanted to tell her to shut up. It was like she was daring them to leave.

Andy Cogan, Producer, clapped his hands together. “The horses? We’d love to get a few shots of Chloe’s horse.”

Mr. Caffrey pressed his lips together. “Sure thing.”

Andy looked as shocked as I was. “Great. Should we go out?”

“Do you need me for this?” Mrs. Caffrey sounded bored. I wanted to tell my mom to go get her enough pills to knock her out for an hour.

“Do you normally work beside Chloe caring for the horses?” Lila Ann Price asked.

And Mrs. Caffrey stood up and snatched the iced tea off the table. “No, I just take care of the rest of the family.”

“Well, then. We should be fine.” The sugar was back in Lila Ann Price’s voice, but it sounded a little bit like artificial sweetener. My mom turned to me and zipped up my jacket.

“Sheila and I are going to stay back and regroup. You okay?” I felt the eyes of all the adults in the room on me and shrugged her hands away from straightening my collar.

“I’m fine.” It sounded like a whine. The camera guy looked up as he unwound more cord. Andy Cogan walked backward through the kitchen like he had grown up there, too. I realized he was a pretty young guy. A little older than college maybe. He stopped by the back door.

“Through here, Mr. Caffrey?”

“Right out back.” We all stomped through the
mudroom and out the back door. It wasn’t the first time that I’d stepped out of the Caffreys’ porch and looked past the stables to our house. I thought about how it might look to a stranger. We had a nice house. It looked cared for. It had to, now that houses were my dad’s business. The Caffreys’ place dwarfed it, though. Our house looked old, and I know that was supposed to be charming, but it didn’t look old in the Martha Stewart magazine way. I knew that Andy Cogan, Producer, was looking at me and seeing the poor friend. Part of me wanted to hand him my grandmother’s address and demand that he write me a check for the hundred grand reward right there.

“Can you lead Chloe’s horse onto the grass for us? The horse’s name is Carraway, am I right?” Andy Cogan, Producer, was clearly showing off his research. As Mr. Caffrey coaxed the gelding out of the stall, he turned to me. “Maybe you can show us what the horse looks like when you guys get ready to ride?”

But Chloe’s dad wasn’t having it. “No saddle.”

Andy nodded quickly in the way that said,
It was worth a try.
“If it’s okay, I’m just going to set up Lila Ann for this shot.” He reached out to me and ruffled my hair. Awkwardly. “Besides, I know she’ll want to meet Carraway.”

Lila Ann Price looked like she was interested in no such thing. But she’d clearly given herself a pep talk back
in the frosty living room. Maybe she figured that she shouldn’t alienate every member of the Caffrey family. She cooed at Mr. Caffrey.

“Brian—it’s Brian, right? What a gorgeous animal! Brian, I’m going to ask you to lead the horse right behind me. I’ll stay on this side of the fence so I don’t alarm the animal.”

“Oh no—” Mr. Caffrey started to explain that the horse couldn’t care less, but Lila Ann Price wasn’t having it.

“No, please, we really don’t mean to disrupt your lives. We’re really just trying to help bring Chloe home.”

“Yes, of course.” Mr. Caffrey’s eyes brimmed with apologies.

“What a wonderful provider you are. A horse right in her backyard—that’s every little girl’s dream.” And then she asked, “Is that what it was like, Finn?”

“Once Chloe moved here.” I surprised myself with the truth a little bit. “We took care of all the animals together.”

Lila Ann ducked her head toward me. “You’re being so strong for Chloe and her family. She’s lucky to have you.”

“Thanks.” I knew she was working me, but I still blushed.

“Let’s walk him out slowly.” Lila Ann Price shook out her hair a little and leaned against the fence.

One of the camera guys raised a hand over his head, and Lila Ann started the same riff we’d seen every local reporter do about the horse.

“I’m standing here on the Caffrey family farm…” It’s not like I could interrupt a Lila Ann Price broadcast to point out that it was
our
family farm. Mr. Caffrey looked at me a little perplexed, like it was up to me to fix it. It wasn’t the first time that I wanted to tell him to grow a set. Honestly, I was getting a little tired of the adults looking to me for the answers. If for no other reason than I was nervous that I might let one slip out.

“This handsome gelding, Carraway, might be one of the last creatures to have seen Chloe Caffrey.” It was hard not to snicker at this one. I kept waiting for someone to bring in animal psychics or something.

If only we could find an expert to translate this horse’s perplexing pattern of neighs into an exact location.
No one said that, but I wished someone would. Or that someone would bring Carraway into the Windsor County police station for some kind of equestrian interrogation. The Lila Ann Price horse segment was so weird because they had Mr. Caffrey just stand there, holding the horse’s reins. All,
This man has lost his daughter so now he’s keeping a really tight handle on his horse.
It’s not like the horses were on his chore chart or anything. So instead of the even speeches of the living room interview, Chloe’s dad just stood there baffled, his too-expensive
loafers sinking into the muck. He looked like he had meant to walk the family dog but grabbed the wrong leash on the way out the door.

Lila Ann Price didn’t seem to notice. She asked Camera Guy to zoom in on the horse’s face. “He has such wise eyes.” Only people who don’t like animals say crap like that. “Can we get a shot of the horse walking away? Like maybe toward the road?”

Mr. Caffrey nodded, dropped the reins, and stepped back. “Go on, Carraway.” We all stood watching, while the horse dropped his head to nibble the grass.

“He doesn’t go by remote control.” I was sorry that I said it, because it really wasn’t Mr. Caffrey’s fault he was out there. He was being more of a sport about the whole thing than I would ever have imagined. One of the assistants snorted a little, though, and the corners of Lila Ann Price’s mouth turned up slightly—in a real smile, not just a camera-ready jackal grin.

“Finn, maybe you could lead him? Thank you so much, dear.” I took the reins and brought Carraway out of the gate and onto the gravel of the drive.

“Do us a favor and get a little farther ahead of him, sweetheart? Right?” she asked Camera Guy. “Does that give you a clear shot?” It took me a second to realize she wanted to make sure they could cut me out of the picture. Mr. Caffrey got it first because he sighed really loudly, like he was disgusted. And then Lila Ann made
me start back from the beginning and asked for “quiet on the set.”

“Just give the horse some breathing room there, Finn”—in other words, I didn’t even get to share the frame with a horse.

I bit my lip and thought of what the interview would be like when Lila Ann Price brought me back on the show. After. Chloe would remember nothing about her ordeal except slipping in and out of consciousness and reassuring herself that her resourceful best friend would find a way to track her down and bring her home. “To think that even then, when we filmed our first segment, you were busy tracking down leads—taking a break from investigating to support Chloe’s parents. We had no idea how brave you are, Finn. Maybe if we had asked you what you thought of the case, we could have lent our resources to help you rescue Chloe sooner.” Lila Ann Price would be contrite. At first I’d think she was just hamming it up for the cameras, but during the interview, when we broke for commercial, she’d wave off the makeup crew. She’d shake her head at the memory and say, “You know what I keep going back to, Finn? That afternoon when we were trying to get the shot of the horse—we just overlooked—”

And right then I would stop her and say, “Lila Ann, what’s important here is that we have Chloe back home.” And then Lila Ann Price would insist on paying my
college tuition. She’d say, “I hope you’ll consider pursuing a degree in law enforcement.” And I’d shake my head, let her wallow a little in the disappointment. Then I’d smile and announce, “What I’m most interested in is political science. I want to legislate stronger protective measures to keep kids across America safe.”

I remember thinking,
That’s how it will be when they stop cutting me out of the frame.

“God, that’s great. And we’re even getting a little bit of the sunlight in the trees there. Someone upstairs is looking out for Chloe, too, Mr. Caffrey. Isn’t that a great image?” I bet Lila Ann Price was just used to heads around her nodding. She and Chloe weren’t so different, really. “God, that’s heaven. I think we’ll have to close the segment with that shot.”

“So are we ready to wrap things up?” Mr. Caffrey sounded hopeful. “Thank you so much for the help here today.” He stepped forward to shake Andy Cogan, Producer’s hand.

“If it’s all right—I know this afternoon has turned into quite an imposition for your family—but I would still love to film in Chloe’s bedroom. I’m looking around this beautiful home, Mr. Caffrey, and I’m sure that your daughter has a girl’s dream room, right? Let’s show America what we’re all hoping Chloe will come home to.”

And then it was like the heavens opened up. Because Lila Ann Price turned and shined her perfectly capped
teeth on to me. “Finn,” she asked, “do you think you could give us a tour of Chloe’s room?” And I couldn’t help it. I knew that she was working me over. I just stood there and watched while she worked Mrs. Caffrey and Mr. Caffrey, but as soon as she focused on me, all I wanted was Lila Ann to keep beaming in my direction. Had she known what question to ask, I would have brought her right to Chloe’s little hideout. I would have pedaled her there on the handlebars of my bike.

I couldn’t even pretend to stay calm. “Okay, sure,” I stammered. “I mean, if that’s okay with Mr. Caffrey.”

“Of course.” He looked kindly at me, and it made me feel bad that in my head I’d been mocking his cheesy loafers. “I think that’s a great idea. Finn knows where everything is. She knows what’s important to Chloe.”

“That’s how best friends are, right?” Lila Ann Price said. I searched around for Mrs. Caffrey and my mom when we went inside. Nowhere. “I still speak to my best friend every day.” Lila Ann said it proudly, like I should know who her best friend was.

“Wow. I hope Chloe and I are like that someday.” I said it because I meant it. But it came out as a killer tragic line, and you could tell that Lila Ann Price wished that she had a sound bite of it. She reached up and patted me on the back.

“I hope so, too.”

Chloe’s door was at the end of the hall, and as we walked past the framed photos on the wall, I wondered whether the camera would pan across them, whether Lila Ann would latch on to the pictures of Cam and shake out the story in them. “Here it is,” I said. “Right down the hall. Chloe’s room is all the way at the end.” I pretty much just kept up the chatter until we got to the door.

I wondered how many kids’ bedroom doors Lila Ann Price has been led to. It felt like those crime shows where they led the goofy psychic lady in and let her sniff around the missing person’s pillow and clothes. But Lila Ann Price never spoke in any kind of faraway, dreamy voice. She was warm and all, but also all business. I was more scared talking to her than talking to anyone—the Caffreys, the cops, Dr. Ace—because Lila Ann Price was a pro. And I figured she had a finely tuned mecha-nism to monitor bullshit.

But it turned out, no. I showed her the windows overlooking the stables and pointed out that you could see my room from Chloe’s. She asked me about our hobbies
and I talked about the livestock a little. Then I blanked about anything else we did and ended up describing the hours we spent baking and knitting. Which was untrue. And kind of bizarre.

The truth was that Chloe and I didn’t do a lot of regular girl stuff. We were far enough from town that Girl Scout meetings had been a foreign concept. We never took dance or gymnastics or karate or any of the other classes that most people sign their kids up for. Lila Ann Price might have written that tidbit down in her notebook and used it later on Mrs. Caffrey, but we wouldn’t have wanted to tumble around in leotards with a bunch of other girls. It took a few years for us to blend in with them, for one thing.

Chloe and I had our games and some of them were sicker than others. Mostly I guess we played like any two little girls played—dolls and school, and when we played house, we pretended we’d married twin brothers and lived together in a condo split down the middle. When we hit junior high, we stopped calling it “playing.” By then, we called it “imagining.”

That’s how we did it. One of us would start, “Imagine if…” and then we’d keep going. We played Paparazzi and filled memory cards with images of each other ducking into doorways. We interviewed each other for
People
magazine and
Vanity Fair
. We pretended to be famous for being pretty. We strutted like actresses and
introduced each other as starlets. But it wasn’t like I was going to sit there and tell Lila Ann Price these things.

Especially because, once in a while, we imagined being famous for other, stranger reasons. For escaping burning cars and collapsing buildings. At the start of ninth grade, when we first had to practice lockdown drills, there was a while when Chloe and I got into surviving school shootings. But the one we did a lot, the one we could do anywhere, was the dead body.

We’d be on the school bus, looking out into the ravine alongside the road. Or sailing with her dad—Chloe and I would sit on deck and point out shapes bobbing in the water. We’d describe the corpses to each other, as if we were giving newscasters’ interviews. We knew it was weird. We must have, because we were careful to not let anyone overhear us.

One of us would hold the hairbrush like a microphone as the other said, “At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at. It looked like a doll’s hand, sticking out from under the wet leaves.” I could defend it to Lila Ann Price and explain that it wasn’t a game about being famous. It’s not like you ever remember the names of those people. It was more about being important, maybe temporarily, but still crucial, just for keeping your eyes open.

We’d even talk about what you did, what you had to do when you found one. If you called and stayed,
waiting to show the cops. Or if you reported it anonymously and then hid nearby, waiting until help arrived. We went over it so often it was like we were training for the dead body Olympics or something.

It’s not so far from what ended up happening after all. When news of Chloe’s disappearance first hit the city tabloids, I looked for dead body stories running alongside the short little columns about Chloe. There was a drowning, some capsized boat off Long Island. One day there was a hit-and-run. None of those people got a visit from Lila Ann Price, though. Our little columns stretched longer and longer each day. It would have been easier, is what I thought, to just have found a corpse. You got in, made a phone call, and got out; you could even go into school the same day and tell people about it. It’s not like you’d be marked for life, but maybe it would lead to a little self-reflection, a discussion of mortality and human fragility. You could write a kickass college essay about that.

Now, after being mixed up in the whole Chloe Caffrey Case, finding a body might be all sorts of trouble for me. It would look a little nutso to find her and then it. Even if it happened years later, they’d probably look at me like they were looking at Dean now. I’d be a suspect.

Ushering a reporter into Chloe’s bedroom with a camera in my face, I wasn’t a suspect or even a person
of interest. But I was interesting—I was downright intriguing to Lila Ann Price. “Tell me about what a typical day is like for you girls,” she gently prodded. “What has school been like without your best friend?” And “Chloe must have confided in you—what are her dreams for the future?”

So I sat there on Chloe’s bed, clutching her pillow in my lap and telling Lila Ann Price how hard it had been to get through each day, how empty the room felt without Chloe. It got a little embarrassing. But the thing was, it had to be. Everyone else focused on the rest of the story—Mrs. Caffrey’s bloodshot eyes, the horse. Lila Ann Price was our chance to sell Chloe as a missing kid with star power—an extraordinary case worth coming back to for a follow-up.

The next night I cleared the dishes from the table and tried to stop looking up at the kitchen clock. My mom had walked a lasagna over to the Caffreys. When she rushed back inside, she saw me scraping plates, and my dad at the sink. “Well, get a move on, you guys,” she ordered. “It’s almost on.”

Dad and I glanced at each other as she shook off her coat and headed toward the den. Dad called out, “We’re going to watch the episode?”

“Well, of course we’re going to watch it. Why not?”

“It just seems kind of indulgent to sit around watching ourselves on TV.” Even my dad’s voice was embarrassed.

But Mom insisted, “We’re watching for Chloe’s sake.” She clucked through the interview with Mrs. Caffrey and dabbed her eyes at the shots of the horse. When I came on screen, though, my mother reached across and patted my thigh. “Finn, you look lovely. And so poised, too. Look at her, Bart.”

Dad cleared his throat and then nodded. “We’re really proud of you, Finn.” Their tender looks seared me. I wished we’d actually popped popcorn so I could drown myself in burning kernels.

Chloe was not nearly as impressed. I snuck out to watch a rerun with her. She said, “That’s sick. God, Finn—it’s so over-the-top. You sound a little creepy. It sounds like you’re obsessed with me or something.”

“Well, we said we had to do that. You said—”

“I know, I know. I just didn’t realize how it would sound. I mean—”

“And it’s edited. They edit the segments. I had to talk about your volunteer work and how gentle you are with the animals—”

“That’s it! That’s the creepiest part. That’s my special quality? That I’m gentle with animals? You couldn’t have said I’m really smart or creative or I have leadership
potential? It’s not like Wesleyan’s going to call up and say, ‘You’re home—that’s great, because we were just remarking about the shortage of teenage girls in our admissions pool who are REALLY GOOD WITH ANIMALS.’”

“I said you were funny and kind. And that people love being around you.”

She calmed down a little. “I know, and that was nice and all, but it’s nothing special, really. I mean, people would say the same thing about you.”

We were both quiet for a little bit. Until I finally said, “Um…thanks?”

“Oh, don’t be mad. You know what I mean. She’s Lila Ann Price. We just needed to make an impression, is all.”

“We
did
make an impression.” She didn’t look up at me. “Chloe.” Still nothing. “I made an impression.” And then I dug into my jeans and pulled the card out of my pocket. I flicked it onto my grandmother’s slate coffee table.

She barely even glanced at it. “I didn’t screw it up, Chloe.” I just wanted her to acknowledge it. I had done the hard part. And when I got done talking about how great and smart Chloe was and how even the lightbulb in her bedside lamp seemed dimmer without her nearby, the original celebrity of tragedy actually seemed moved. Even beyond the usual sympathetic outrage you see in
her commercials. And after that I listened while Lila Ann Price told me that her daughter loved animals and had gotten a little pet rabbit the Easter right before she disappeared.

Before she left, right as all the techies were winding up the cords and packing microphones and cameras into hard cases, Lila Ann Price put her hand on my shoulder and called Andy Cogan, Producer, over. “Andy, I want you to give Finn here your business card.” She was talking to him but mostly looking at me. “Andy’s my right-hand man in this fight. And he’s on call twenty-four hours a day. So if you need anything, or if you think of anything that might help us bring Chloe home, I want you to call Andy. And Andy will get you right in touch with me.” It wasn’t so different from the spiel I got from the police officer who first came to question us or even from Dr. Ace at the counseling center. The card itself was just as plain, with careful text that you could feel raised against the tips of your fingers. But it felt like that card could get more done. At least Lila Ann Price believed that; and Andy Cogan, Producer, believed that; and by the time they left, I believed it, too.

Chloe wasn’t as convinced. “That’s just part of the show.”

“No—I’m telling you—the camera guy wasn’t even in the room right then.”

“There doesn’t have to be a camera guy for there to
be a show.” But Chloe traced her finger along the writing on the card. For a second, I thought she was going to grab it, but then she lifted her hand and I picked it up and swiftly tucked it back in my pocket.

“Don’t run it through the laundry.” Chloe said it wryly and we laughed and the tension drifted away a little. “You can’t be the one who finds me, you know.” When she said that, I felt my throat close up a little, a lump in the back that hurt. It wasn’t that Chloe was wrong or that I hadn’t already had the same thought. But it was how casually she said it—my chance to step forward into the light that we rigged up around her, and she yanked it away like it was nothing. “Come on, Finn—you have to see that. I mean, after this?” She gestured at the television. “Just a couple days after you go on network TV and discuss how you would trade yourself in to whoever had taken me? Then suddenly you’re going to rescue me from my pit of kidnap despair? Do you get how crazy that would seem?”

Yes. I got it. My voice rose—it gave out a little and I felt exposed, embarrassed. “We knew that. You and I both said that. But we said that’s what would make the story so extraordinary—that people would eat it up. It would become about the Friendship That Overcame Everything.” Even if my voice hadn’t been shaking, it would have sounded stupid.

“I just think it’s unrealistic, is all.” Chloe shrugged.

“Well, yeah—you going missing is unrealistic. The way the whole town acts like you’re already dead is unrealistic.”

“What’s going to happen, Finn? Really? I’m going to sneak up onto some hunting blind that the search parties have probably already covered by now? I’ll hang out on the platform for a night and then you’ll wander out to the woods and suddenly just happen to look up?”

It hadn’t sounded so ridiculous the week before. Lots of people hunted in Colt River; more important, even more used to hunt. That meant that all over the woods around our houses, rickety platforms were perched up in trees. Some people still used them, and probably more than one had been transformed into a smoke shack by local potheads. Our dads were pretty militant, though—you didn’t play in hunting blinds. Some were rotting out of branches and the others…well, people used those. People with guns used those, and hunters tended to get territorial.

“Well, yeah—that’s what we said.”

“No one’s going to believe that, Finn. No one’s going to believe that I spent all week up in one of those, that I didn’t scream for help—”

“We’ll gag you.”

“Or that I didn’t have food or water.”

“Your abductor moved you. We said—”

“It’s not going to work, Finn!” I heard the panic in her voice. “I’m not going to be able to lie like you. And they’re going to be asking for descriptions—they might make me take a lie detector test.”

“Why would they make you take a lie detector test? You’re not going to be the suspect. You’re the victim.”

“People can switch off from the victim to the suspect pretty quickly.” I thought of Dean, wondered if Chloe was picturing Dean hooked up to some monitor, answering questions while some techie decided if he was honest and good.

“People live in trees all the time.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Chloe looked incredulous.

“No. They do. People out in California—you know, those hippies that protest on behalf of redwoods. They climb up and live on platforms so that the loggers can’t cut down the tallest of the trees. People have spent years up in trees.” I kept talking faster, as if my voice could outrun Chloe’s laughter, but by the end I felt myself smile and she was dabbing at her eyes, wheezing and giggling.

“Could you imagine? You could leave me up there with bongos AND a bong. I could write my college essay about being a real-life tree hugger.”

But whatever silliness had snuck up on us disappeared again. “Oh my God, Chloe—what were we thinking? How are we going to get you back home?” I tried to picture sitting on a sofa on
The L. A. Price Show
, explaining
how I had spotted Chloe’s blond braid glinting in the sunlight filtering through the hunting blind. I wasn’t even halfway through all the lying yet. And Chloe couldn’t even forge passes out of study hall—how was she going to get through police questioning, the media interviews? My chest constricted. I felt the basement walls close around me and squeeze.