Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Mikey Dawson is doing exactly what I arranged for him to do: nothing.
He isn’t answering his phone. He isn’t at home. He hasn’t shown up where people expect him to be, and he won’t be explaining his absence anytime soon.
I made sure of that.
The story doesn’t have to hold forever. It only has to hold long enough.
By now, Sheriff Wilder will be pulling together everything Shelby has told him about the custody dispute. The calls. The threats. The fear. Mikey has already given them a motive, and his disappearance will supply the rest.
I smile as I picture the investigation focusing on him.
By the time they realize Mikey didn’t take his son, Preston will be beyond their reach.
Fear is useful that way. Give someone enough of it, and eventually they start filling in the gaps for you.
I stand near the back of the fellowship hall, and I watch two volunteers as they pull boxes from a storage area there. I volunteered to help sort through things. The church says they’ll need all the space available for their 100th Homecoming.
I’m looking forward to the date. But I have other problems to address first.
Such as the fact that Austin Donnelly is in Fog Lake.
Of course, he is.
I heard his name less than twenty minutes ago. Jeff Donnelly’s son. FBI, just like his father.
Some families passed down businesses. Others passed down bad habits.
Apparently the Donnellys passed down the inability to leave things alone.
Jeff had been manageable. Retired. Older. Working alone.
And still he’d gotten further than he should have.
Far enough that something had needed to be done.
His son is different. Younger. Active FBI. Probably more connected.
And now he’s talking to Nora Loveless while deputies search for Preston Dawson.
That bothers me most. Not that he’s here. That he’s with her.
Nora has always been the difficult one to read.
Wren shows everything on her face. Marlowe practically dares people to ask what she’s thinking.
But Nora watches. Listens. Remembers.
And lately she’s been doing too much of all three.
The Loveless girls were never supposed to be targets. They were the voices. Their songs opened church doors, filled fellowship halls, and made families lower their guard. Long before they understood their purpose, they helped me.
I never wanted to hurt them. Any of them.
Christian was different. He had always been different.
Nora, however, is pulling at threads she was never meant to see. If she continues, she may force me to choose between protecting her and protecting the work.
I don’t want to make that choice.
But I will.
A door opens behind me, and I turn.
A church member steps toward me carrying a cardboard box. “I just found these. Thought we might use some for Homecoming.”
She sets the box on the nearest chair.
I peer inside and see stacks of old hymnals.
I smile. “Good idea.”
“They’re ancient.”
“So are half the people coming.”
She laughs. I do too.
A few minutes later, she leaves.
I wait until the door closes behind her. Then I look at the box again.
Most of the hymnals have faded red covers and their corners are worn soft from decades of use. I pick up the one on top and flip through it.
Pages whisper beneath my thumb.
It’s amazing how much comfort people find in the old words on these pages.
Comfort isn’t on my agenda, however.
I stop when I find the page I want. “Softly and Tenderly.”
For a moment, I simply stare at the words of the hymn.
Then I carefully tear the page from the binding. Not enough to rip it badly. Just enough to free it.
I carry it into a small classroom located at the back of the building, find a black pen in the top drawer, and study the words again.
I don’t need much. Too much will look like a threat. That’s not what I want.
Not yet.
I mark three words. Calling. Come. Home.
Then I fold the page once and slip it into a plain envelope.
Christian Loveless.
I write his name across the front and stare at it.
He’ll understand.
I seal the envelope and tuck it inside my jacket.
Then I get busy assisting with the cleanup I’d come to help with.