Page 109 of Veil of Silence

Nora pictured him at seven years old, darting across a church parking lot while one of his sisters called him back.

Then she pictured the seventeen-year-old sitting beside the fire at home.

The boy who wasn’t Christian.

A cry lodged in her throat. How would she ever break this news to her family? The truth would hurt them—but she couldn’t keep it from them either.

Austin glanced over at her. “You ready?”

She wasn’t. Not really. But she opened her door anyway. “Let’s go.”

Music drifted from the sanctuary as they entered through the side door. Someone played the piano while a man tested a microphone, his voice echoing through the mostly empty room.

A woman stood in the center aisle listening with one hand pressed against her ear.

She looked to be in her early sixties, with silver threaded through her dark hair. Her gaze shifted toward Nora and Austin as they entered.

Recognition came almost immediately. “Well, I’ll be. Is that you, Nora Loveless?”

Nora stopped in the middle of the aisle and nodded. “Yes.”

The woman crossed the carpet and wrapped both arms around her. The hug caught Nora off guard, but she returned it with her uninjured arm.

The woman drew back and studied Nora’s face. “I haven’t seen you since you were a teenager. Do you remember me? I’m Linda Dalton.”

Memories slowly arranged themselves. Church potlucks. Folding tables covered with CDs. A woman laughing with Nora’s mother while children chased one another between merch tables.

“I remember you,” Nora said.

Linda’s eyes softened. “We heard about Christian coming home. What a miracle.”

The words struck harder than they should have. His homecoming seemed more of a curse than a blessing right now.

Linda didn’t need to know that.

Instead, Nora forced a smile. “Thank you.”

But she was feeling anything but thankful right now.

Austin stepped closer. “Mrs. Dalton, I’m Austin Donnelly. My dad was the FBI agent who contacted you.”

Linda lowered her voice. “I heard about your father. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Austin slid his hands into his jacket pockets. “I understand he called your family last week.”

“He did.” Linda glanced toward the stage. “My husband spoke with him.”

A pianist played a few bars of a Southern Gospel chorus, then stopped and started again. Two of the Dalton daughters stood near the piano, checking their microphones while another family member adjusted a stand.

The older man stepped down from the platform and crossed toward them. Linda introduced him as Glen Dalton.

Glen shook Austin’s hand. “Your father called Tuesday evening. We had a concert starting, so I only gave him a few minutes. I asked him to call back the next day.” His expression sobered. “He never did.”

Austin had seen that call in his father’s log. Outgoing, Tuesday night, just over four minutes.

Which meant the twenty-two-second call on Wednesday hadn’t come from Glen Dalton.

Austin kept his voice level. “What did he ask you?”