Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
PRESENT DAY
Saturday morning at seven-thirty, Nora met Wren and Marlowe at The Busy Bean, a coffee shop just off the town square in Fog Lake. The search volunteers were gathering at the church in just over an hour, which gave the sisters enough time to drink some coffee before they joined the others.
Nora needed a quick break from reality, and she had a feeling her sisters did also.
Mason and Christian had stayed back at the house with Mom and Dad. They didn’t need to be present for any of the search efforts—especially after what had happened to them.
The place was crowded, most people inside dressed for a morning in the woods.
Hiking boots tracked dirt across the floor, and orange safety vests hung over the backs of several chairs.
The scent of coffee and cinnamon rolls filled the air, while an acoustic version of an old country song played beneath the conversations.
Nora talked a moment with Jaxon and Abby Wilder, the owners of the coffee shop. Jaxon was the youngest brother of Luke Wilder, the sheriff, and his wife, Abby, made the tastiest baked goods.
She and her sisters grabbed a corner table. Wren had a caramel latte that looked more like dessert than coffee, Marlowe had ordered something iced despite the chill outside, and Nora had chosen plain coffee because she hadn’t had the energy to make another decision.
Nora had heard through the grapevine that Mikey was still at the hospital. He’d regained consciousness briefly during the night, but he’d been too confused to tell investigators what had happened.
As soon as they sat, Marlowe lowered her voice. “Why are they searching the woods around Preston’s house? If someone took him, he could be anywhere by now.”
“They have to start with the last place he was seen,” Nora said. “The woods, the roads, anywhere he might have gone—or anywhere someone might have taken him.”
“You think he could have wandered off?” Wren wrapped both hands around her cup.
“They have to consider it.” Nora pictured Preston’s shoes beneath his desk and his backpack hanging in the closet. “Six-year-olds don’t always do what makes sense. But they may also find something that shows which direction he went—or how whoever took him got away.”
Marlowe stared through the window toward the square. “I’d rather find out he wandered away.”
“So would I,” Nora said.
For a moment, none of them spoke. People moved along the sidewalk outside, many heading in the direction of the church. A man loaded cases of bottled water into the back of a pickup while two women carried stacks of folded orange vests.
Nora’s gaze returned to Wren. Her sister was smiling faintly at something on her phone.
Marlowe noticed too. “What is that face?”
Wren looked up. “What face?”
“That is absolutely not a nothing face.” Nora gave her sister a pointed look.
Wren tried to hide her smile and failed. “Nash is coming home today.”
“There it is.” Marlowe leaned back in her chair. “You’ve been annoyingly cheerful ever since he texted.”
“I’m allowed to be happy my boyfriend is coming home.”
“Of course, you are.” Marlowe took a sip through her straw. “Just don’t become one of those people who mentions him every four minutes.”
“I don’t do that.”
Nora exchanged a look with Marlowe. “You do it a little.”
Wren pointed at both of them. “You two are terrible.”
The teasing loosened something inside Nora. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed a few minutes in which none of them talked about missing boys, dead investigators, or Christian.
Wren told them how Bo had stolen her orange search vest that morning and dragged it beneath Mason’s bed. Marlowe followed with a story about a customer at the restaurant who had sent back his pancakes because they were too round.
Nora laughed harder than either story deserved.
Then Wren stirred the whipped cream into her drink. “You should have seen Mom and Dad yesterday.”
Marlowe groaned. “Not this again.”
Nora glanced between them. “What did I miss?”
“I stopped by to check on Christian,” Wren said. “Mom and Dad were standing at the kitchen sink giggling.”
“Actually giggling,” Marlowe added, as if she had witnessed it herself.
Wren gave her a look. “You weren’t even there!”
“I’ve heard enough to be disturbed,” she said dryly.
Wren ignored her. “Anyway, Dad said something to Mom, and she smacked his arm. Then he kissed her cheek.”
Nora soaked in all that information. Were her parents . . . getting back together? She wasn’t sure how she’d feel about that if it happened.
Everyone seemed to be moving forward too quickly when there were still so many uncertainties . . .
Marlowe shuddered, apparently still stuck on the image of her mom and dad giggling. “I’m glad I missed it.”
“You’re both ridiculous.” Nora smiled into her coffee, grateful—despite everything—for the moment of levity.
“Maybe.” Wren’s expression softened. “But they seem happy.”
That quieted all three of them. After everything their parents had been through, happiness still felt fragile enough that no one wanted to examine it too closely.
Nora ran her thumb over the handle of her mug. She could have let the silence last. Part of her wanted to, but she’d promised Wren she would stop deciding what her sisters could or couldn’t handle.
She cleared her throat. “Before we leave, there are some things I need to tell you.”
Marlowe’s gaze sharpened. “That sounds ominous.”
“I know.” Nora held her sister’s eyes. “There are some things I probably should have told you sooner.”
Some of the edge left Marlowe’s expression, though it didn’t disappear entirely. “Okay . . .”
Nora told them that other touring groups had received the same unexplained payments their family had.
Wren frowned. “Dad mentioned the money but not the other groups.”
“He didn’t know about them,” Nora said. “Austin and I found that out yesterday.”
“Who was paying for these things?” Marlowe squinted before taking another sip of her drink.
“We still don’t know.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Wren crossed her arms as if disturbed by the whole conversation.
“No, it doesn’t.” Nora took a breath. “But that isn’t the worst part.”
She told them about Zander Dalton, the teenager who had disappeared while his family toured with a Southern Gospel group a year or two before Christian vanished.
Wren’s fingers tightened around her cup. “They never found him?”
Nora shook her head. “His family and the police believed he ran away.”
“But you and Austin don’t believe that.” Marlowe’s voice held no accusation this time. Only certainty.
“We don’t know what to believe yet. One missing boy could have nothing to do with the other.”
“But you think it might.” Wren locked her gaze onto Nora’s as she waited for the answer.
Nora looked down at her coffee, trying to decide whether or not to soften her words.
Finally, she said, “I think Jeff Donnelly may have wondered the same thing.”
Austin had been awake since six.
By seven-thirty, he’d given up pretending he might fall back asleep and left the lodge in search of coffee.
He had checked out of the Mountain View Motor Lodge in Knoxville the previous afternoon.
Staying four doors down from his father’s room had made sense for one night, but the investigation had shifted to Fog Lake.
So had Austin. A last-minute cancellation had opened a room at one of the motels in town.
He’d returned there sometime after midnight, but sleep had never really come. Every time Austin closed his eyes, he saw Christian walking in a trancelike state through the dark and moving those rocks.
Sinner, come home.
Preston Dawson was still missing, and a search party was gathering at the church in less than an hour. Several people on the sidewalk wore orange vests or carried backpacks and walking sticks. A pickup passed with cases of bottled water stacked in the bed.
The search didn’t mean investigators had decided Preston wandered away. It meant they had ground to cover and daylight they couldn’t afford to waste. The volunteers might find the boy. They might also find something that showed where he had gone—or who had taken him.
Fog Lake was already stirring. Cars lined both sides of the main street, many with out-of-state plates.
Couples in fleece jackets wandered past storefronts carrying cameras, and a family with three kids stood beneath a maple tree taking turns posing in front of leaves so red they hardly looked real.
At the edge of the square, a group sold pumpkins from the bed of an old green pickup, a hand-lettered sign propped against the tailgate.
Apparently, September was busy season. Austin could see why.
He had known Fog Lake through his father long before he’d spent any real time here.
Christian Loveless had disappeared here.
Murders had happened here. People had vanished here.
The town had accumulated enough crime and tragedy over the years that Austin had privately wondered why anyone voluntarily vacationed there.
Walking through downtown with the morning sun catching the trees, he understood a little better.
Fog Lake was pretty. Not polished pretty.
Not the kind of place built for tourists and then disguised to look old.
The brick storefronts really were old. So were the benches lining the sidewalks and the courthouse rising beyond the square.
Pumpkins sat outside shops, mums filled barrels near the intersections, and fallen leaves skittered along the pavement whenever the wind picked up.
Beyond the buildings, he caught glimpses of the lake, fog hovering over the water as if it had been put there for effect. According to Nora, that was normal. The lake had earned the town its name long before anybody had thought to capitalize on it.
His father had always talked about Fog Lake differently. Not as a tourist town. Not even as the place where Christian Loveless disappeared. To Dad, Fog Lake had been unfinished business.
Austin wondered what his father would think about him standing here now, preparing to join the search for another missing boy.
He’d probably be thinking that Austin was doing it wrong.
The thought brought the beginning of a smile, but it faded with the reminder that he would never get the chance to ask.