Within an hour, Clara learned something she had not known.
Ambrose Whitmore had sold the family mill two weeks earlier.
All of it.
Including Clara’s share.
Using a signature she never provided.
Sheriff Dwyer stared at the deed copy.
“That your signature?”
“No.”
“You certain?”
Clara laughed bitterly.
“I know my own name.”
Caleb stood behind her.
Dwyer leaned back.
“Ambrose left Red Hollow three days ago.”
“For where?”
“Helena, supposedly.”
Clara whispered:
“He thought I was dead.”
The sheriff nodded.
“Probably.”
A knock came.
Deputy entered.
Whispered something.
Dwyer’s expression changed.
“What?”
Caleb asked.
The sheriff looked toward Clara.
“Someone broke into your old house last night.”
Clara went cold.
She had kept it locked after deciding to leave.
“What did they take?”
“Don’t know.”
They went.
The small Whitmore house looked almost exactly as Clara left it.
Except Nathan’s old office had been torn apart.
Desk drawers dumped.
Floorboards pried.
Wall cabinet broken.
Caleb walked slowly.
“What would Ambrose want?”
Clara looked around.
“I don't know.”
“Think.”
She closed her eyes.
Nathan hid things.
Money.
Whiskey.
Letters.
During bad years he trusted nobody.
Once Clara saw him remove a ledger from behind the fireplace bricks.
Her eyes opened.
She moved toward hearth.
One brick near right edge sat slightly crooked.
Caleb pulled it free.
Behind it was a wrapped book.
Ledger.
Clara opened.
Numbers.
Names.
Mill accounts.
Ambrose.
Nathan.
Payments.
Loans.
Then several entries she did not understand.
Sheriff studied.
“Looks like Nathan discovered something.”
Clara stared at dates.
Last entry written six days before Nathan became ill.
A.W. withdrawing against Clara’s share without authorization. Confront after audit.
Her stomach tightened.
“He knew.”
Caleb looked.
“Nathan knew Ambrose was stealing.”
Another line:
If anything happens, original contracts remain with H. Larkin.
Sheriff said:
“Helen Larkin?”
Clara nodded.
“Bank clerk.”
Helen was still in town.
And terrified when they arrived.
At first she refused to speak.
Then Clara placed Nathan’s ledger on desk.
Helen’s face collapsed.
“I told him not to confront Ambrose alone.”
Clara’s breathing stopped.
“What?”
Helen sat.
“Nathan came to me three weeks before he died.”
“He believed Ambrose had been moving mill money.”
“Forging invoices.”
“Borrowing against property.”
“He asked me to preserve copies.”
Clara whispered:
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Helen’s eyes filled.
“Ambrose came after funeral.”