PART 2 — The Man Who Knew Anna Bennett

James Carter moved before he had time to think.

“Stay here,” he told the girl.

She looked up at him, frightened.

“But—”

“Don’t move.”

His voice was firm, but not cruel.

James pushed through the market crowd, following the man in the dark coat.

The stranger had already disappeared between two wagons.

James caught sight of him again near the blacksmith’s shop.

“Hey!”

The man glanced over his shoulder.

That was all James needed.

He recognized the face immediately.

Elias Vane.

Fourteen years earlier, Elias had worked for Anna’s father.

Back then, he had been thin, nervous, and eager to please.

Now he looked older, heavier, and far more afraid.

James broke into a run.

Elias shoved past a farmer carrying sacks of grain and disappeared into a narrow alley between the saloon and the general store.

James followed.

By the time he reached the alley, Elias was gone.

Only dust remained.

And something else.

A small folded piece of paper lay near the back steps of the saloon.

James picked it up.

His stomach tightened.

On the front, written in faded ink, were two words.

Anna Bennett.

James unfolded the note.

There was only one sentence inside.

If the girl has the locket, they have found her.

James read it twice.

Then a third time.

They?

Who were “they”?

And who had written the message?

A cold sensation moved through him.

He returned to the market.

The girl was still beside the wooden crate, holding the photograph tightly against her chest.

James slowed as he approached.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Clara.”

“Clara Bennett?”

She shook her head.

“Clara Hale.”

James frowned.

“Hale?”

“My mother said it was safer.”

Safer.

That word stayed with him.

James crouched down again.

“Clara, I need you to tell me everything you remember about your mother disappearing.”

Clara looked toward the crowd as if afraid someone might be listening.

Then she spoke.

“She woke me up before sunrise.”

“When?”

“Three months ago.”

“What did she say?”

Clara swallowed.

“She told me to put on my boots. She gave me the necklace and told me never to sell it.”

James looked at the locket.

“Did she tell you why?”

“No.”

“What happened next?”

Clara hesitated.

“She took me to Mrs. Bell’s house.”

James knew the name.

Margaret Bell was an elderly widow who lived near the eastern road.

“She left you there?”

Clara nodded.

“She said she had to meet someone.”

“Who?”

“She didn’t say.”

James leaned closer.

“Did you see anyone?”

Clara thought for a moment.

“There was a wagon.”

“What kind?”

“A black one.”

“Anything unusual about it?”

She nodded slowly.

“There was a red mark painted on the side.”

“What mark?”

Clara used her finger to draw a shape in the dust.

A circle.

Inside it, three lines.

James stopped breathing.

He knew that symbol.

He had seen it once before.

Fourteen years ago.

On the door of the barn where Anna was supposed to have died.

James stood so quickly that Clara flinched.

He immediately softened his voice.

“Sorry.”

“What is it?”

James stared at the symbol in the dirt.

“Nothing.”

But it was not nothing.

Fourteen years earlier, James had been told there had been a fire at the Bennett estate.

He had returned from a cattle drive to find the west barn destroyed.

Anna’s father, Thomas Bennett, had met him at the gates.

His words had changed James’s life.

Anna is dead.

James had demanded to see the body.

Thomas refused.

There was nothing left, he said.

The fire had been too strong.

James had believed him.

Not because the story made sense.

But because grief had made sense of nothing.

Two weeks later, Thomas Bennett sold the estate and left Red Hollow.

Within six months, everyone connected to the Bennett family had disappeared from town.

Everyone except Elias Vane.

James looked back at Clara.

“How old are you?”

“Ten.”

“When is your birthday?”

“October ninth.”

James felt something shift inside him.

He calculated the years.

Then calculated them again.

Clara had been born roughly three years after Anna had supposedly died.

So she could not be his daughter.

That should have brought relief.

Instead, it raised a darker question.

If Anna had lived for years after the fire…

Why had she never come back?

Why had she allowed James to believe she was dead?

And who was Clara’s father?

James looked at the photograph again.

“Can I see it?”

Clara handed it to him.

He studied Anna’s face.

Older than the girl he remembered.

More tired.

But unmistakably Anna.

James turned the photograph over.

There was writing on the back.

He had not noticed it before.

Clara — never trust the man with the silver watch.

James stared at the sentence.

“Did you know this was written here?”

Clara shook her head.

James looked around the marketplace.

Half a dozen men carried pocket watches.

But only one person came immediately to mind.

Thomas Bennett.

Anna’s father.

He had always carried a heavy silver watch engraved with the Bennett family crest.

But Thomas had supposedly died eight years ago.

At least, that was what people had said.

James folded the photograph carefully and handed it back.

“Clara, you’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere safe.”

She glanced at her belongings.

James gathered them into the wooden crate.

Then he noticed something strange beneath the cloth.