Mildred's possessive gaze lingered on Chloe, a new, unsettling gleam in her eyes. It wasn't just gratitude; it was an expectation, a silent demand for more. Chloe felt like a supplier, not a matchmaker. A supplier of human artifacts. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, colder than any draft from the clock tower.
"We need to talk," Liam said, his voice cutting through her rising panic. He steered her away from Mrs. Henderson, who was now exchanging satisfied nods with Mildred. They were like two spiders, Chloe thought, weaving a web she was now caught in.
They walked quickly, past the bakery, past the quiet houses, until they reached a small, secluded park at the edge of town. The swings creaked gently in the breeze. Chloe sank onto a bench, feeling the weight of the past few days pressing down on her.
"This is insane, Liam," she said, burying her face in her hands. "I'm a baker. My biggest problem used to be a soggy bottom on a quiche. Now I'm apparently responsible for finding historical figures for an antique dealer."
Liam sat beside her, his presence a steady anchor. "I know, Chloe. But Mrs. Henderson isn't just playing games. There's something bigger happening here. And you're right in the middle of it."
"But why me?" Chloe looked up, desperation in her eyes. "Why involve me in this… this weirdness?"
Liam leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "That's the million-dollar question. She seems to have singled you out. Maybe it's your connection to the bakery, a central hub. Or maybe… she sees something in you. Something she can exploit."
"Exploit?" Chloe scoffed. "My ability to make a decent croissant?"
"Your ability to connect with people, even accidentally," Liam corrected. "Think about Arthur. He genuinely felt a connection to your 'poem.' And now Mildred is utterly captivated by Silas. You have a way of making people believe, Chloe. Even in the absurd."
Chloe frowned. She'd never thought of herself that way. She just baked bread.
"Alright," she said, taking a deep breath. "So, what's the plan? You said you'd do some digging."
"I've already started," Liam confirmed. "I spent the morning at the town hall, looking through old records. Silas Blackwood was indeed the clockmaker. He disappeared in 1972. No body, no note, just gone. The police investigation was minimal, quickly closed. But there's a small, almost hidden note in the file: 'Mrs. Henderson provided key testimony.'"
Chloe's eyes widened. "Mrs. Henderson? What kind of testimony?"
"It's vague," Liam said, shaking his head. "Something about him being 'unstable' and 'prone to wandering.' She effectively closed the case, painting him as a recluse who probably just walked off."
"So she knew him," Chloe mused, a cold realization dawning. "And she lied, or at least spun a story to make his disappearance seem less… mysterious."
"Exactly," Liam agreed. "And now, fifty years later, he reappears, and she's the one who orchestrates his 'discovery' through you."
"She's playing a very long game," Chloe whispered, the implications chilling her to the bone. "But what is the game? What does she want?"
"That's what we need to uncover," Liam said, his gaze serious. "I'll keep digging into Mrs. Henderson's past, her connections, anything that seems out of place. You… you need to get closer to Silas. Without letting Mildred or Mrs. Henderson suspect you're investigating."
"Me?" Chloe protested. "He talks in riddles! He thinks I'm the 'rising warmth'!"
"He's a key," Liam insisted. "He was in that tower. He might know something. Listen to his 'whispers of the gears.' Anything he says, no matter how strange, could be a clue."
Chloe sighed, rubbing her temples. This was her life now. Secret agent baker. "And what about Mildred? She's going to be hovering."
"Use it to your advantage," Liam suggested. "Offer to help Mildred. Get into the shop. Observe them both. See how Silas interacts with the environment, what he reacts to."
The thought of spending more time in Curio Corner, surrounded by dusty, silent objects and a man who might be a living ghost, was not appealing. But Liam was right. She couldn't just stand by.
The next day, Chloe found herself back in Curio Corner, under the guise of "checking in" on Mildred's new "companion." The shop felt different now, more charged, less simply dusty. Silas sat on an antique armchair, meticulously polishing a small, intricate clock. Mildred watched him, her face alight with an almost childlike wonder.
"He's truly remarkable, Chloe," Mildred gushed, her voice soft. "He understands the soul of these objects. He says this clock, it 'remembers the laughter of children.'"
Chloe forced a smile. "That's… lovely." She approached Silas cautiously. "Silas, you seem very skilled with clocks."
He looked up, his eyes momentarily clear. "They are the heartbeats of moments. Each tick, a life lived. Each chime, a memory made." He held up the clock, its brass gleaming. "But some moments… they are trapped. Within the gears. Within the walls." He gestured vaguely towards the back of the shop. "The old ones. They hold the loudest whispers."
Chloe's gaze followed his gesture. Towards a section of the shop she rarely ventured into, filled with larger, more imposing pieces: grandfather clocks, heavy wooden chests, and a massive, dark wardrobe that looked like it belonged in a haunted house.
"What kind of whispers?" Chloe asked, trying to keep her voice even.
Silas's eyes clouded over again, his gaze distant. "Of echoes. Of shadows. Of what was taken." He then returned to his polishing, muttering, "The gears must turn. The truth must surface."
Chloe felt a chill. "What was taken?" Was he talking about himself? Or something else?
Mildred, oblivious to the cryptic nature of his words, clapped her hands. "Isn't he poetic, Chloe? A true artist!"
Chloe nodded weakly, her mind racing. "The old ones. They hold the loudest whispers." She had to get into that back section. She had to find out what Silas was hinting at.
Later that evening, Liam met her at The Daily Crumb after closing. Chloe recounted Silas's strange words, the "whispers" and "what was taken."
Liam listened intently, his brow furrowed. "The back of the shop, you say? That's where Mildred keeps her most valuable, and often most unsettling, pieces. Anything particularly old or unusual back there?"
"There's a huge, dark wooden wardrobe," Chloe said, remembering its imposing presence. "It looks like it's been there for centuries. It gives me the creeps."
Liam's eyes lit up. "A wardrobe? Interesting. Sometimes, the biggest secrets are hidden in plain sight. Or behind a very heavy door." He paused, then looked at Chloe, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "So, how are you going to get Mildred to let you poke around her 'old ones'?"
Chloe groaned. "I have no idea. Maybe I can offer to 'organize' her inventory. Or pretend I'm looking for a 'vintage' baking tin."
"Or," Liam suggested, a smile playing on his lips, "you could tell her you've had a vision. A vision of a perfect, historical tea set, hidden in the depths of her most ancient collection. Something only you can find for her."
Chloe stared at him. "You're terrible."
"But effective," Liam countered, his smile widening. "And besides, it sounds like something Mrs. Henderson would approve of. You're just leaning into your 'gift.'"
Chloe couldn't help but crack a small smile. Despite the terrifying situation, Liam had a way of making her laugh. "Alright, fine. But if I get trapped in a haunted wardrobe, it's on you."
"Deal," Liam said, his eyes warm. "Just try not to fall in love with any of the ghosts."
As Liam left, Chloe felt a strange mix of fear and a flicker of excitement. She was a baker, not a detective. But with Liam by her side, and a potential ghost-clockmaker whispering secrets, her quiet life had become anything but. And that wardrobe… it was calling to her, a dark, silent promise of answers, or perhaps, of new terrors. She had a feeling the whispers of the gears were about to get a lot louder.