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Chapter 6 - The Writer's Warning

Liam's grip on Chloe's arm was light but firm, pulling her away from the small crowd forming around Mildred and the strange, old-fashioned man. Mrs. Henderson was still beaming, basking in her perceived success. Chloe felt a tremor of unease. Liam's face was devoid of its usual amusement, replaced by a focused intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

"What is it?" Chloe whispered, glancing back at the scene. Mildred was now practically hovering over the man, her eyes gleaming with an uncharacteristic excitement. It was unsettling.

Liam led her a few steps down the street, out of earshot, towards the shade of a large maple tree. "That man," he began, his voice low and urgent. "Where did you find him?"

"He was just… outside the old clock tower," Chloe explained, feeling defensive. "He seemed to fit Mildred's description. You know, 'ancient in spirit' and all that. It was a desperate measure."

Liam ran a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the clock tower in the distance. "Chloe, that's not just some eccentric old timer. I've been doing some digging since I arrived. That clock tower has a history."

Chloe frowned. "What kind of history? It's just old and abandoned."

"Not entirely," Liam corrected, his voice grave. "Local legends, old newspaper clippings I found in the town archives. They talk about a clockmaker who vanished from that tower over fifty years ago. Vanished without a trace. His name was Silas Blackwood."

Chloe's blood ran cold. "Silas Blackwood? You're saying… that's him?" She looked back at the man, who was now gesturing animatedly at Mildred, muttering about "cogs and ciphers." He looked like he belonged in a museum, not a dating pool.

"I don't know for sure," Liam admitted, his eyes narrowed. "But the description fits. And the way he talks… about time, about gears. It's too specific to be a coincidence. And the fact that he appeared now, just as Mrs. Henderson pushed you into this…"

"You think Mrs. Henderson is involved?" Chloe asked, the pieces of Liam's earlier warnings clicking into place. "You think she knows who he is?"

Liam turned to her, his gaze piercing. "I think Mrs. Henderson knows a lot more than she lets on. She has a reputation in this town for orchestrating things. Small things, usually. Community events, local disputes. But this feels different. More… personal. And potentially dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Chloe scoffed, though a shiver ran down her spine. "He's just a confused old man."

"Is he?" Liam challenged softly. "Look at him, Chloe. He doesn't just look old. He looks… preserved. Like time forgot him, or perhaps, he forgot time. And Mildred, of all people, is captivated. Mildred, who usually finds fault with everything."

Chloe looked back at the scene. Mildred was now leading the man into her shop, her hand resting almost gently on his arm. It was an unnerving sight. Mildred, the woman who once critiqued Chloe's bread for lacking "historical integrity," was now embracing a man who might literally be a relic.

"What does Mrs. Henderson gain from this?" Chloe asked, her voice barely a whisper. The initial comedy of her situation was completely gone, replaced by a creeping dread.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Liam said, his jaw tight. "She's always pulling strings, but there's usually a clear benefit. A new town project, a charity drive. This… this feels like it has a deeper purpose. And you're in the middle of it."

Chloe felt a wave of nausea. She, the quiet baker, was caught in some bizarre small-town conspiracy involving a potentially time-displaced clockmaker and a manipulative elderly woman. It was too much.

"I just want to bake bread," she said, her voice cracking. "I don't want to be a part of this."

"I know," Liam said, his tone softening. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before gently touching her arm. "But you are. And it looks like you're going to need help."

His touch sent a surprising warmth through her, a small comfort amidst the growing chill of fear. Chloe looked at him, truly looked at him. He wasn't just a charming writer anymore. He was serious, observant, and seemingly genuinely concerned. The thought of having an ally in this strange predicament was a small beacon in the gloom.

"What do we do?" Chloe asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Liam's gaze hardened. "First, we need to find out more about Silas Blackwood. And more about Mrs. Henderson. I've got some contacts, some old records I can access. You… you keep an eye on Mildred and our 'relic.' Try to learn what you can without making it obvious."

Chloe nodded, a plan, however terrifying, better than no plan at all. The thought of spying on Mildred and the strange man made her stomach clench, but the alternative – being a helpless pawn – was worse.

Just then, the door to Curio Corner opened again. Mildred emerged, her face alight with an almost youthful glow. The man, Silas, was nowhere in sight.

"Chloe, dear!" Mildred called, her voice unusually bright. "He's simply magnificent! So much history! He's agreed to stay for tea. And to tell me more about… the passage of time." She looked at Chloe, her eyes gleaming. "You truly have a gift, my dear. A remarkable gift."

Mrs. Henderson, who had been watching the interaction with a smug smile, nodded approvingly. "I told you so, Mildred. Chloe has a way with people. A very special way."

Chloe forced a weak smile, her gaze meeting Liam's. His expression was grim. The comedy was officially over. This was a mystery, a thriller, and she was trapped in the center of it, with a charming writer who might be her only hope, and a manipulative old woman who was pulling all the strings. The man, Silas, was inside. And Chloe had a terrible feeling that whatever "secrets" he held, they were about to unravel, not just the history of Maple Street, but the very fabric of her quiet life. And the way Mildred looked at her, it wasn't just gratitude; it was a hungry, possessive gaze, as if Chloe was now Mildred's personal source for "unique, vintage items." Chloe felt a cold knot of fear tighten in her stomach. This was far from over.

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