The storm continued to rage as Chief Sam Caldwell stood at the periphery of the crime scene, arms crossed, his brow furrowed under the weight of the unfolding tragedy. Clara approached him, a sense of urgency brimming in every step.
“I need to start interviewing potential witnesses,” Clara said, her voice steady amidst the chaos. Her mind was racing with possibilities, fueled by the cryptic note she had just discovered. She sensed a pattern weaving through the darkness—one that could lead them to the truth.
“Fine, but keep it off the record until we gather more evidence,” Caldwell replied, his gaze sweeping over the cluster of officers and the body. “We don’t need the media breathing down our necks. This isn’t just a murder—it’s a hit job with someone trying to keep the lid on something explosive.”
“I know,” Clara replied, her tone sharpening. “But we need to act fast. Lila Hale was with Oliver just before he died. I want to speak with her again, find out exactly what he was working on.”
Even in the midst of the turmoil, Clara could see the flicker of concern in Caldwell’s eyes. “Just be careful, Clara. This is a town with a history that has a way of coming back to haunt us. And some people are better left undisturbed.”
Clara turned from him, ignoring the chill creeping down her spine. The history of Blackwater Bay was a labyrinth of betrayal and secrets deeply embedded in its foundation, and she wasn’t about to back down now.
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Lila sat on the tailgate of a police cruiser, visibly shaken, her fingers trembling against her trembling lips. Clara approached cautiously, sensing the raw emotions that churned just beneath the surface.
“Lila,” Clara said softly, “I know this is hard, but I need to ask you more about Oliver. What was he working on that had him so agitated?”
Lila glanced up, eyes red and puffy, her breath hitching. “He… he found something in the archives, Clara. Something that could change everything we knew about Blackwater’s past.”
“Like what?” Clara’s curiosity piqued, urging Lila to reveal more.
“Oliver always believed that the smuggling operations in the early 1900s weren’t just about trading goods; they were connected to organized crime. He thought the records were altered to protect certain families. He knew there were documents… evidence that could expose everything.”
“Evidence?” Clara’s mind raced, the implications growing heavier. “Did he mention who might be affected by this information?”
“I don’t know! He seemed scared. Said he was being watched. I thought it was just paranoia.” Lila’s voice broke, tears spilling freely now. “I told him to drop it. But he couldn’t… he was always so stubborn.”
Clara felt a pang of empathy for Lila, knowing all too well the burden of caring for someone who teetered on the edge of obsession. “Did you see anyone else with him? Any strangers?”
Lila shook her head violently. “No, he was alone. I wish I’d gone with him.”
Clara decided to switch gears slightly. “We found a handkerchief with the initials ‘H.L.’ on it clutched in Oliver’s hand. Do you know who it belongs to?”
Lila’s face paled, her expression shifting from shock to a dawning realization. “Hannah Lark,” she whispered, her tone barely above a breath. “She’s been in town lately. The granddaughter of one of the original smugglers… she’s been trying to dig up the past, too.”
The name sparked a familiar recollection within Clara’s mind. Hannah Lark was known for her bold claims about Blackwater’s history, often siding with locals who wanted to maintain the status quo—keeping their family secrets out of public view.
“Where can we find her?” Clara pressed, determining her next move.
“She often frequents the old tavern near the docks,” Lila replied, wiping her tears hastily. “But please, Clara. Be careful. There are things in this town people would kill to protect.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Thanks, Lila. People die for the truth, and I intend to uncover it,” Clara replied, her resolve reinforcing.
As Clara turned to leave, she noticed Marco standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and a skeptical expression on his face. “You plan to storm the tavern like some sort of vigilante?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
Clara shot him a look, trying to suppress her irritation. “I have a lead and I’m following it. You can either assist or stay out of my way.”
“I’ll assist,” Marco replied, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “But don’t think for a second I’d let you do anything reckless.”
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The air inside the tavern was thick with the scent of aged wood and spilled liquor. Shadows mingled with flickering candlelight, creating an atmosphere of hushed conversations and wary glances. Clara stepped in, followed closely by Marco, their presence barely registering amongst the handful of patrons scattered throughout the bar.
At the far end, near a cracked window, Clara spotted Hannah Lark. She was mid-conversation, speaking animatedly with a balding man who seemed far too interested in her animated gestures. Oliver’s former confidante was as striking as the stories painted her—blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her blue eyes fierce and penetrating.
Clara approached, her heart beating faster. “Hannah Lark?”
Hannah turned, her expression shifting from curiosity to caution. “Detective Bennett. What do you want?”
“May we talk?” Clara gestured toward an empty table in the corner, sensing the weight of the unsaid hanging over them.
Hannah hesitated, glancing at the man she had been speaking with before nodding slowly. “Alright. But not here.”
They moved toward the secluded table, and Clara took a seat across from her. “Oliver Tenney is dead,” Clara said, her voice laced with a simmering urgency. “I need to know what he unearthed in the archives. What were you working on together?”
Hannah’s eyes widened momentarily before she composed herself, a mixture of fear and anger crossing her features. “Oliver was too damn persistent. I tried to warn him.”
“Warn him about what?” Clara pressed, leaning in, determined to unearth the truth.
“The Larks have protected their secrets for generations—many families have. There are documents that could—” Hannah lowered her voice, leaning in closer, her expression serious. “There are documents that could not only expose the smuggling routes but also implicate those in power. The truth could destroy families, even those in law enforcement.”
“And you think Oliver was killed because of this?” Marco interjected, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Hannah said sharply, her fingers trembling as she wrapped them around her glass. “The deeper he dug, the more paranoid he became. He was onto something, and it scared him. I… I found out someone was following him. I told him to be careful, but he refused to listen.”
Clara’s heart raced. Was it possible Oliver’s research had threatened someone’s reputation, leading them to take desperate measures? “Who was following him?” she pressed.
Hannah hesitated, her expression shifting to one of sheer dread. “I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling about this. I overheard him arguing with someone a few nights ago. A man, but I didn’t see his face.”
“What did they argue about?” Clara leaned in further, her eyes scanning Hannah’s face for any signs of deception.
“The past. History—I can't explain it all. Just… it struck me as personal, not just academic.”
Before Clara could respond, a loud crash echoed through the bar, and the door burst open. A burly man stormed in, soaked from the rain. “Hannah!” he bellowed, his voice booming. “You need to stop talking to the cops!”
Clara’s instincts kicked in as she rose from her seat. The man’s face contorted with rage, and she felt Marco stiffen beside her, preparing for the impending confrontation.
“Hannah, get out of here!” Clara shouted, adrenaline surging through her veins. The atmosphere shifted, the tension palpable, and broken glass crunched beneath her shoes as patrons scattered.
But before Hannah could move, the man pointed a finger at her, his voice low and menacing, “You’re digging into things you don’t understand. Leave well enough alone.”
Clara stepped between them, her heart steadying as she looked into the man’s eyes. “I won’t let you intimidate her.”
The man’s gaze darted between Clara and Hannah, the potency of his anger evident. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, Detective.”
As he turned abruptly and stormed back out into the storm, Clara felt the ground shift beneath her. She looked to Hannah, whose face had drained of color.
“What did you get yourself into, Hannah?” Clara asked cautiously, aware that the shadows in Blackwater Bay were beginning to loom larger.
“I…I’m not sure,” Hannah stuttered, her breath quickening. “But I think Oliver was onto something that someone would kill to keep buried.”
With a heavy heart and a sense of urgency escalating, Clara picked up her phone, sending a quick message to Officer Curtis. “Need backup at the tavern. Possible threat.”
As she prepared to ask more questions, Clara heard Lila’s voice piercing through the surrounding chaos. “Clara! You need to see this!”
The dread clawed its way into Clara’s gut as she exchanged a glance with Marco. “What now?” she muttered.
“Another email just came through from Oliver’s account,” Lila gasped, out of breath. “And you won’t believe what it says.”