Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Austin Donnelly had learned a long time ago that there were two kinds of silence from his father. The first meant Dad was sleeping. The second meant he’d gotten so lost in his work that the rest of the world ceased to exist.
Nothing.
The motel was one of those older places with doors opening directly onto a concrete walkway with metal railings, two stories wrapped around a parking lot and an ice machine humming near the stairs.
Beyond the roofline, the Smoky Mountains rose against a clear blue sky, the first hints of red and gold showing among the trees.
Under different circumstances, Austin might have appreciated the view.
Today, he barely noticed it.
He’d driven from Baltimore after taking leave from work, telling himself most of the way that he was overreacting.
A few days ago, his father had mentioned leaving his home in Memphis and heading to his old stomping grounds of Knoxville. He’d been vague about why, which wasn’t unusual. What had been unusual was the timing.
Christian Loveless had just come home after being missing for ten years. The story had been all over the news.
When Austin had asked if the trip had anything to do with the case, Dad had changed the subject.
That had been answer enough.
In recent years, their relationship had improved. It still wasn’t exactly easy, but it was better. The two of them called each other more often. Saw each other when they could. The distance between Baltimore and Memphis didn’t help, and there were still things neither of them wanted to discuss.
But Austin knew his father. When Jeff Donnelly stopped answering his phone, there was usually a reason.
Austin checked his cell. Three calls yesterday. Two this morning. Six texts, if he counted the one that simply said: Seriously?
None had gotten a response.
He shoved the phone into his pocket and stared at the faded blue door. His gut had been bothering him since somewhere north of Roanoke.
He’d come all this way to prove his instincts wrong. Dad would be fine, irritated by the interruption, and ready to give Austin grief for overreacting. He desperately hoped that was the scenario that played out.
Austin knocked again, harder this time. “Dad?”
His father was sixty-two. He had high blood pressure, a bad knee, and an irritating belief that answering a cell phone was optional. None of those things usually worried Austin.
Today, they did.
A housekeeping cart sat three doors down. A woman in a gray smock folded towels into neat stacks, pretending not to watch him.
Austin strolled toward her. “Excuse me. The man staying in that room is my father. When was the last time you saw him?”
Her gaze moved to Room 214. “Yesterday morning, maybe?”
“Maybe?”
She shrugged and kept folding. “I don’t keep track of our guests.”
“Of course.” Austin glanced at his father’s door. A DO NOT DISTURB sign hung from the knob. “Have you spoken with him at all?”
“A little.” She shrugged again.
“Did you notice anything unusual about his behavior?”
She paused from folding and blew out a breath. “I wouldn’t call it unusual. He asked where he could make copies. He had an old cardboard box with him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That there’s a copy shop down the street.”
Austin kept his expression neutral. “What time was that?”
“I don’t know. Sometime before my lunch break.” She shoved a towel into the cart.
Austin rubbed the back of his neck.
His father had retired from the FBI five years ago, but retirement hadn’t changed him as much as everyone had thought it might. Give the man a question he couldn’t answer, and he’d disappear into the mystery until someone forced him to come up for air.
Austin now realized that his father’s work had always been both a coping mechanism and an obsession. But that didn’t take away the hurt it had caused.
Austin pushed the memory aside. “Did you see him leave after he came back with the box?”
The housekeeper shook her head. “No, sorry.”
Austin scanned the parking lot.
His father’s Camry wasn’t there.
He’d assumed Dad had gone for breakfast. Or coffee. Or to find one of the three newspapers he still insisted on reading in actual print.
Austin pulled out his phone and called his father again.
A ringtone sounded from behind the motel room door.
He froze.
When the ringing stopped, Austin called a second time.
Same thing.
His dad’s phone was inside that room.
Austin lowered his cell and looked at the woman. “Would you mind getting the manager for me?”
The housekeeper hesitated. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know yet.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “But I’d rather feel stupid in ten minutes than find out later I should’ve checked.”
A few minutes later, the housekeeper returned with a woman in her fifties wearing black pants and a motel polo. Her graying hair was twisted into a clip, and brown reading glasses hung from a chain around her neck.
“I’m Denise, the manager.” She looked from Austin to the door. “What’s going on?”
“My dad’s staying in this room. His name is Jeff Donnelly. I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days. His car is gone, but his phone is ringing inside.”
Denise frowned. “I can’t let you into a guest’s room.”
“I understand. You don’t have to let me in. But you can open the door and make sure he’s okay.”
She hesitated. “Our guests have a right to privacy. However, I can ask the police to conduct a wellness check—”
“I’d really rather not take the time for that.” Austin pulled out his badge. “I’m FBI. I’m not here officially, but I’m here as his son. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I wasn’t concerned about his well-being.”
Her gaze lingered on the badge.
After a moment, Denise pulled a master key from her pocket. “Fine. You can come in, but don’t touch anything.” She knocked hard. “Mr. Donnelly? Hotel management.”
Nothing.
She tried again before sliding the key into the lock.
Austin stepped inside behind her. “Dad?”
The room appeared to be empty.
Relief loosened something in his chest. But the details around him didn’t make him feel any better.
The bed hadn’t been made. A coffee cup sat beside an open laptop, a dark ring dried on the napkin beneath it. Three legal pads loaded with notes were scattered across the comforter, and the television remote lay on the floor.
A pair of reading glasses sat on the nightstand beside the lamp—his father couldn’t read a restaurant menu without them. A cell phone rested next to the glasses.
Austin picked it up. The screen lit, showing a stack of missed calls from him and a one-percent charge.
He blew out a breath. “Cutting it close, Dad.”
The manager cleared her throat. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t know yet.”
The housekeeper lingered in the doorway, apparently having forgotten her none of my business mantra.
Austin opened the bathroom door.
Empty.
Dad’s toothbrush sat beside the sink. His toiletries were lined up in the same ridiculous order he’d used for as long as Austin could remember.
Deodorant. Razor. Shaving cream.
A weekly pill organizer sat beside them.
Austin picked it up. Wednesday’s compartment was still closed. So was today’s.
His father didn’t forget his blood-pressure medication.
Austin looked at Denise. “When does his reservation run through?”
She checked the tablet tucked beneath her arm. “Saturday.”
Today was Thursday.
Something cold settled beneath Austin’s ribs.
He set down the pill organizer and crossed to the bed. His father’s handwriting filled page after page of the yellow legal pads. Names. Dates. Arrows. Question marks.
Dad had never met a blank legal pad he couldn’t turn into a conspiracy board.
Austin lifted the first one.
CHRISTIAN LOVELESS
Beneath it were the words: Why that night?
Austin stared at the notation. His father hadn’t merely come to Knoxville because Christian’s return had stirred up old memories.
He’d been investigating again.
Austin turned the page.
Callahan—who paid to change the routes?
Why the same families?
Voss connected?
Austin recognized both names from the case.
Roy Callahan had handled bookings for the Loveless family’s Southern Gospel group—and he’d been found dead three weeks ago.
Murdered. Everett Voss had been the primary suspect in Christian’s disappearance.
He’d disappeared in recent years, almost as if he’d vanished off the face of the earth.
He turned another page.
Roy said he could explain.
Did he ever tell Loveless?
Find financial records.
Austin frowned.
This wasn’t a suspect list. It was a trail of questions, each one leading to another.
Typical Dad.
“What were you doing, Dad?” Austin muttered.
Denise shifted near the door. “Do you need me to call the police?”
“Give me another minute.”
Austin scanned the room. There should have been more files.
A lot more.
His father had kept everything from the Loveless investigation in an old file box for years. Interview copies. Notes. Newspaper clippings. Maps. Enough paper to make Austin wonder why the FBI bothered with computers.
He looked at the housekeeper. “The box you saw him carrying yesterday. You’re sure he brought it into this room?”
“Positive.”
“Did you see him leave with it?”
“No. I didn’t see him leave at all.” She looked almost apologetic now.
The box wasn’t here. Neither was Dad’s car.
Austin looked at his father’s phone again. Among the recent missed-call notifications on the lock screen, one name besides his appeared.
Nora Loveless.
He knew her from the news coverage. She was the oldest sister. Composed, with serious blue eyes. She always seemed to position herself half a step in front of the rest of her family as if she were their protector.
Austin understood the impulse. Older siblings did that.
He slipped the phone into his pocket. If this turned out to be a crime scene, the sheriff could reprimand him for disturbing it later. Right now, his father’s phone might be their best chance of finding him.
He looked at Denise. “Call the sheriff’s office. Tell them Jeff Donnelly is missing and left his medication behind.”
“Missing?” Her eyes widened. “What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know.” Austin looked at the scattered notes again. “But I intend to find out.”
His father hadn’t simply gotten lost in his work.
Something had happened.
And whatever it was, it had something to do with the Loveless case.