Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Austin had been at Shelby Dawson’s house for less than ten minutes when he understood why Nora had called him.
It wasn’t because she expected him to find the boy. It wasn’t even because she thought the disappearance had anything to do with his father.
It was because she was scared.
She hid her fear well, better than most people would. But Austin saw it.
Nora stood beside him near the edge of the driveway, her arms folded tightly across her chest as Sheriff Wilder disappeared into the house.
“He’s probably right.” Her voice quivered as she said the words.
Austin glanced at her. “About the father?”
“Yes. I mean, it makes the most sense.” However, her words lacked conviction.
Austin looked at the house, where deputies moved in and out through the open front door while another stood near the road talking on his radio. “What bothers you about that theory?”
Nora rubbed her hands along her upper arms. “Shelby was afraid of Mikey. Genuinely afraid. Yesterday she told me he’d been calling her, talking about lawyers and custody. She thought he might take Preston.”
“So why don’t you think he did?”
“I didn’t say I don’t think he did.” Nora let out a breath. “I just keep wondering if I’m seeing what I expect to see because somebody already told me where to look.”
Her statement caught his attention. “Meaning Mikey.”
“Yes. Mikey and the power of suggestion.”
Austin looked back at the house. An angry ex-husband. Custody threats. Missing child. Father nowhere to be found.
It was exactly where any investigator would start.
Sometimes, however, what a scene wanted you to believe and what had actually happened were two different things. His father’s death was a case in point. He hadn’t proved that yet, but he knew it was true.
“You’re thinking somebody could have set him up,” Austin said.
Nora looked at him. “I’m thinking I don’t trust the obvious anymore.”
Austin knew enough about Jacob Morgan—and how thoroughly the man had deceived Nora—to understand what she meant. She hadn’t told him any of those details yet. But he’d done his research.
He nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”
A few minutes later, another sedan turned into the driveway, and Nora straightened. The car had barely stopped before a woman in jeans and a sweatshirt climbed out.
“That’s Shelby’s cousin, Amy,” Nora told Austin. “She lives here in town.”
Amy didn’t look at either of them. She ran straight toward the house. The front door opened before she reached the porch, and Shelby stepped outside.
The moment Shelby saw her cousin, whatever had been holding her together seemed to give way. Amy caught her and wrapped both arms around her.
Sheriff Wilder stepped onto the porch again, his phone in hand. “Amy is going to stay here with Shelby. We’ll keep somebody here too.” His gaze moved between Nora and Austin. “You can go. If I need you, I know where to find you.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Nora asked.
“Not right now.”
She hesitated before nodding. “Okay.”
Nora crossed to Shelby and said something Austin couldn’t hear. Shelby grabbed her hand and held on for several seconds before finally letting go.
Austin’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw a Knoxville number he didn’t recognize.
“Donnelly.”
“Austin Donnelly?” a woman asked.
“Yes.”
“My name is Teresa Bell. I’m calling from Southern Heritage Records. You left a message earlier asking whether your father had been in contact with anyone here.”
Austin straightened. “Had he?”
“He called Tuesday afternoon.”
Austin remembered the outgoing call in his father’s log. “Who did he speak with?”
“At first, me. He said he was trying to track down people who had traveled the Southern Gospel circuit about ten years ago.”
“What people?”
“He mentioned several groups. Most of them aren’t together anymore, but some of the singers and musicians are affiliated with us now.” Papers rustled on her end. “He also asked about old bookings. Promoters. People who might have sponsored certain appearances.”
Nora walked back toward Austin, her attention settling on his face.
“What did you tell him?” Austin asked.
“I passed him along to one of our producers. Roscoe Pritchard. He’s been around Southern Gospel forever. If anybody remembers those days, Roscoe would.”
“Is Roscoe Pritchard there now?” he asked.
“No. He usually works from home on Fridays, but I called him after I received your message. He said he’d come in if you needed to talk.”
“I’d appreciate that. I can be there in forty minutes.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Austin thanked her and disconnected.
Nora was waiting. “What’s going on?”
He filled her in.
Austin’s father had followed some kind of lead from Memphis to Knoxville and then to Fog Lake.
Whatever that lead was, Austin had just found a piece of it.
And this time, he intended to find out where the trail led.