Page 62 of Veil of Silence

Three words had been underlined: Calling. Come. Home. Together, the lyrics seemed less like part of a hymn and more like a message.

“What is that?” Christian’s voice came from behind her, and Nora turned so quickly the page crinkled in her hand.

He stood near the bottom of the stairs wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. His hair was mussed as if he had already been in bed, but his eyes were fixed on the paper.

“It’s a page from an old hymnal.” Nora started to fold it, then stopped. “It’s ‘Softly and Tenderly.’”

Christian went still. “Where did you get it?”

“Someone left it on the porch. Do you remember that hymn?”

Sweat spread across his forehead, and his gaze darted to the window. “Mom used to hum that one a lot. Especially in the kitchen while she cooked.”

“It was her favorite.” Nora kept the page unfolded between them, watching the way his shoulders had drawn tighter. “Have you ever seen a hymnal page marked like⁠—”

“No.” Christian took a small step backward, almost as if he feared the paper.

The answer came so quickly that Nora didn’t have time to finish the question.

She lowered the page. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” His gaze shifted toward the staircase, already searching for a way out of the conversation.

Christian turned away, but Nora called his name before he reached the first step. He stopped with one hand resting on the railing, though he didn’t face her.

“Why did seeing this bother you?” Nora’s pulse beat harder as she waited for him to answer.

“It didn’t.” Christian looked back over his shoulder. “I told you. Mom used to hum that song.”

“Christian—”

“I’m tired,” he rushed. “Good night.”

He headed upstairs without waiting for another question. Nora listened until his footsteps crossed the second floor and his bedroom door closed.

When she looked down at the page again, the underlined words seemed darker than before.

Someone had taken the risk of walking onto her property and leaving this hymn on her porch. Whatever the message meant, Christian had understood enough of it to be afraid.

Austin was halfway back to his motel when Nora called. He answered through the SUV’s speakers, and the strain in her voice had him sitting straighter.

“Someone left an envelope on my porch,” she said. “There was a page torn from an old hymnal inside.”

Austin checked the rearview mirror, but the road behind him was empty. “What hymn?”

“‘Softly and Tenderly.’ Three words were underlined.” She paused, as though she still didn’t want to say them aloud. “Calling, come, and home.”

The words landed like an instruction rather than a message. Austin signaled and moved toward the next exit. “Lock the door and stay inside. I’m coming back.”

“Austin, you don’t have to⁠—”

“I know.”

Nora went quiet for half a second before conceding. “Okay, thank you.”

It took him twelve minutes to get back to her house. He spent most of them watching for a dark-gray SUV and saw nothing. The absence did little to reassure him.

Nora opened the door before he knocked, and she quietly led him into the kitchen. A pot of soup waited on the stove, apparently another part of the day she hadn’t gotten around to dealing with.