Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Darkness had settled over the lake when Austin returned to the Whistling Pines Motel.
The motel sat between the town square and the water, its exterior designed to resemble an oversized log cabin. Warm light glowed behind the lobby windows, and flower boxes hung beneath the railing that wrapped around the second floor.
Under different circumstances, the place might have felt peaceful.
Tonight, two news vans were parked near the square. A reporter stood beneath a streetlight speaking into a camera as Austin turned into the motel lot.
He caught the words missing child before switching off the engine.
Austin climbed out and headed toward the exterior staircase. He’d nearly reached it when footsteps sounded behind him.
“Agent Donnelly?”
He stopped.
The reporter hurried across the parking lot with a cameraman following close behind. The bright light mounted above the camera forced Austin to squint.
“Is it true your father investigated Christian Loveless’s disappearance?” she asked.
Austin’s muscles tightened. “I’m not discussing my father.”
“But he came to this area shortly before his death, correct?”
“I said I’m not discussing it.”
The reporter continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Christian Loveless disappeared ten years ago. Mason Loveless was abducted three weeks ago, and now Preston Dawson is missing. Why have so many children disappeared from Fog Lake?”
The words sent a chill through him.
That was a good question.
As Austin considered his response, he glanced at the camera. The small red light remained on.
“You’ll need to direct your questions to the sheriff’s department,” he finally said.
“Do you believe the cases are connected?” the reporter continued to push.
Austin ignored her and continued toward the stairs.
“Agent Donnelly?”
He didn’t look back.
Fog had begun gathering over the lake beyond the buildings. From his room on the top floor, he could see it spreading across the dark water and swallowing the lights along the opposite shore.
Austin closed the curtains.
The room itself was comfortable enough, despite the mattress that had seen better days.
Pine covered one wall, and a photograph of the lake hung above the bed.
A small table and two chairs had been positioned near the window, along with a coffeemaker that looked as if it had been designed to produce half a cup at a time.
He dropped his keys on the table and removed his jacket.
His shoulders ached from hours of pushing through mountain laurel and bending to look beneath fallen branches.
He should shower. Eat something. Call his aunt in Delaware and tell her what the medical examiner had said.
Instead, he took out his phone.
A message from Luke waited.
Partial plate gave us too many possible matches. Knoxville PD is checking traffic cameras near the shopping center. Nothing yet.
Austin read the message twice before setting the phone aside.
Another lead that had gone nowhere.
The reporter’s question returned to him.
Why have so many children disappeared from Fog Lake?
The woman was looking for a dramatic story. That didn’t mean she was wrong.