## PART 2 FULL – “What did you tell them about me?” Wade asked Clara after a long minute.
Wade’s entire body changed
Wade’s entire body changed.
He stood.
Clara looked toward the stairs.
“No one should be out here this late.”
Wade moved to the gun rack.
He lifted the Winchester.
“Stay behind me.”
Clara almost argued.
Then the knock came again.
“Blackwood!”
Wade recognized the voice.
He opened the door three inches, rifle ready.
A bearded man stood outside, hat rim wet with melted snow.
“Tom Calder.”
“Evening.”
Calder was a neighboring rancher whose property lay six miles east.
He looked past Wade and saw Clara.
His expression became uncomfortable.
“I need a word.”
“Speak.”
“Privately.”
Wade opened the door wider.
“You came six miles through thaw mud. Whatever you’ve got to say can survive my wife hearing it.”
Clara’s eyes flicked toward him at the word wife.
Calder removed his hat.
“It’s Pike.”
Wade’s grip tightened around the rifle.
“What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
Clara inhaled sharply.
Wade did not move.
Calder continued.
“Found him this afternoon down by Devil’s Cut. Horse came back without him. Me and my boys went looking.”
“How?”
“Shot.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Wade’s first thought was savage and irrational.
Someone beat me to it.
Then Calder said, “Sheriff’s on his way here.”
Wade’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
Calder swallowed.
“Because Pike had something in his coat.”
He reached into his own jacket.
Wade raised the rifle instantly.
Calder stopped.
“Easy. Paper.”
He pulled out a folded envelope.
Mud streaked one corner.
Wade recognized the handwriting before Calder handed it over.
Clara did too.
Because the name on the front was written clearly.
Mrs. Clara Blackwood.
Clara went white.
Wade looked at her.
“You know what this is?”
“No.”
Calder shifted uneasily.
“Sheriff opened it.”
“Why?”
“Because a dead man was carrying it.”
Wade tore the envelope open.
Inside was a single sheet.
The handwriting was Pike’s.
Wade read.
Then read again.
His face went cold.
Clara stepped closer.
“What?”
He did not answer.
She took the letter from him.
Wade allowed it.
The lines were short.
Mrs. Blackwood,
You said if I ever came near the girls again, you would tell Wade what happened before you arrived.
You should have kept your mouth shut.
I know what you are hiding.
I know about St. Louis.
I know Bennett was not your true name.
And if Blackwood learns who you really are, divorce will be the least of your worries.
Clara stopped breathing.
Wade watched her.
Every trace of color vanished from her face.
Calder noticed too.
“What does he mean?” Wade asked.
Clara folded the paper.
Her hands trembled for the first time all night.
“Nothing.”
Wade’s voice dropped.
“Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then explain St. Louis.”
Clara took one step back.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Nora was listening.
Clara noticed.
So did Wade.
He lowered his voice.
“Who are you?”
Clara stared at him.
Not like a wife.
Not like an adversary.
Like a cornered animal calculating distance.
Calder cleared his throat.
“I should tell you the rest.”
Wade looked at him.
“There’s more?”
Calder nodded.
“Sheriff found blood on Pike’s sleeve that wasn’t his.”
Clara’s eyes closed.
Wade felt something deep in his chest turn to ice.
“And?”
“And a button clenched in his hand.”
Calder reached into his pocket.
This time he moved slowly.
He placed a small black button on the table.
Mother-of-pearl.
One edge cracked.
Wade looked at it.
Then at Clara’s dress.
Her dress had six identical buttons down the front.
Only five remained.
The space at her throat was empty.
Wade said nothing.
Clara did.
“It isn’t what you think.”
He looked at her.
“What do I think?”
She had no answer.
Calder put his hat back on.
“Sheriff figures to be here before midnight.”
Wade did not seem to hear him.
His attention remained on Clara.
“Did you see Pike today?”
Clara’s silence answered first.
Then she whispered, “Yes.”
Wade felt the room contract.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Where?”
“Near the north pasture.”
“Why?”
“He came here.”
Wade stared at her.
“You said if he came near the girls again—”
“I sent them to the barn.”
“What did he want?”
Clara’s gaze dropped.
“Money.”
“For what?”
“To keep quiet.”
“About St. Louis?”
“Yes.”
Wade’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
“What happened?”
“He grabbed me.”
She touched her throat unconsciously.
The missing button.
“I struck him.”
“With what?”
“The fire poker.”
Calder swore softly.
Wade ignored him.
“Did you shoot him?”
“No.”
“Do you own a pistol?”
Clara looked directly at him.
“Yes.”
Wade had not known that.
“Where is it?”
She did not answer.
His stomach dropped.
“Clara.”
“In my trunk.”
“Show me.”
“Wade—”
“Show me.”
They went upstairs.
The girls’ room door was closed.
A thin line of light showed beneath it.
Wade followed Clara into their bedroom.
Not his bedroom anymore.
Their bedroom.
He had barely entered it since coming home.
Her presence had softened the place without making it delicate. A blue shawl hung over the chair. A dried sprig of lavender sat beside the washbasin. A sewing basket rested near the bed.
Clara knelt beside a wooden trunk.
She unlocked it.
Lifted the lid.
Moved two dresses.
Then froze.
Wade knew before she turned around.
“The pistol is gone,” she whispered.
Footsteps sounded downstairs.
Heavy.
Multiple men.
A fist struck the door.
“Wade Blackwood!”
Calder leaned over the stair rail.
“That’ll be Sheriff Boone.”
Wade kept his eyes on Clara.
“Who knew you had the gun?”
“No one.”
“Think.”
“No one.”
The knocking came again.
“Blackwood, open up.”
Wade started toward the stairs.
Clara caught his sleeve.
He looked down at her hand.
“Wade.”
Something in her voice stopped him.
“If they arrest me—”
“They haven’t.”
“Listen to me.”
He turned fully.
Her composure was breaking now.
Not from fear for herself.
He could see that.
“For the girls,” she said.
“What about them?”
“There is a box beneath the loose floorboard under the bed.”
Wade stared at her.
“What box?”
“If something happens to me, burn it.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What is inside?”
“Burn it.”
“Clara.”
“Promise me.”
Downstairs, the sheriff hammered on the door again.
Wade heard June begin crying in the next room.
He looked at Clara.
And suddenly the divorce papers seemed to belong to another lifetime.
Six hours ago he had ridden down the mountain determined to remove this woman from his house.
Now men had come to take her.
And every instinct in him revolted against it.
“Did you kill Amos Pike?” he asked.
Clara’s eyes filled.
But she did not look away.
“No.”
Wade believed her.
He did not know why.
That frightened him almost as much as the letter.
He went downstairs.
Sheriff Boone stood on the porch with two deputies.
He was a broad man in his fifties with frost in his beard and patience worn thin.
“Evening, Wade.”
“Sheriff.”
“I need Mrs. Blackwood.”
Wade filled the doorway.
“You can speak to her here.”
Boone sighed.
“Don’t make this difficult.”
“You got evidence?”
“Enough questions to justify bringing her in.”
“You have a dead man, a button, and a letter.”
“And a witness.”
The word changed everything.
Wade’s expression hardened.
“What witness?”
Boone looked past him.
Clara had come halfway down the stairs.
The girls stood behind her.
Daisy gripped the railing.
Nora’s eyes were enormous.
June clutched Clara’s night shawl.
Boone removed his hat.
“Mrs. Blackwood.”
Clara stopped.
The sheriff continued.
“Someone saw you with Pike near Devil’s Cut shortly before he was killed.”
Clara went utterly still.
Wade turned slowly toward her.
“You said north pasture.”
Clara’s lips parted.
“I was at the north pasture.”
Boone shook his head.
“No, ma’am.”
He reached into his coat.
“What is this?” Wade asked.
The sheriff unfolded a piece of paper.
“Statement from Eli Mercer.”
Wade knew Mercer.
A trapper.
Drank too much.
Lied often.
But not always.
Boone read only one line.
“‘Saw Clara Blackwood riding Pike’s bay gelding east toward Devil’s Cut sometime after two.’”
Wade looked at Clara.
She seemed genuinely bewildered.
“I was never there.”
Boone folded the paper.
“Then someone’s lying.”
“I did not leave the ranch after noon.”
Wade frowned.
“Where were you?”
Clara looked at the girls.
“Here.”
“With them?”
“Yes.”
Daisy suddenly spoke.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
Clara’s face changed.
“Daisy?”
Daisy was shaking.
“Mama went away.”
Clara stared at her.
“What?”
“You said not to tell.”
Wade felt the blood drain from his face.
Clara took one step upward.
“Daisy, what are you talking about?”
Daisy began to cry.
“This afternoon. You went away.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Nora whispered, “We saw you.”
Clara looked from one child to the next.
“That’s impossible.”
June hid behind Nora.
Wade heard himself ask, “How long was she gone?”
Daisy wiped her face.
“Maybe an hour.”
Clara gripped the stair rail.
“No.”
The sheriff climbed one step onto the porch.
“Mrs. Blackwood.”
“No.”
“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to come with us.”
Clara backed up.
Wade moved instantly.
He stepped between the sheriff and the stairs.
“No one goes upstairs.”
Boone’s expression hardened.
“Wade.”
“The children are frightened.”
“I’m not arresting the children.”
“You’re not arresting anyone tonight.”
One deputy shifted his hand near his holster.
Wade noticed.
So did Boone.
“Don’t,” the sheriff warned Wade.
Wade’s voice remained calm.
That made it more dangerous.
“You come into my house after dark with half a story and expect to drag my wife past my daughters?”
Clara stared at his back.
Wife.
Again.
Boone’s eyes narrowed.
“Thought I heard you were divorcing her.”
Wade looked toward the table.
The papers still lay beneath the lamp.
He walked over.
Picked them up.
Clara watched him.
For one terrible second she looked as if she expected him to hand them to the sheriff.
Instead Wade tore the packet in half.
Then again.
He dropped the pieces into the stove.
Flame climbed over his signature.
“No divorce,” he said.
Clara’s eyes widened.
The girls stared.
Even Boone seemed taken aback.
Wade turned toward the sheriff.
“She stays here tonight.”
Boone studied him for a long moment.
Then said, “Fine.”
One of the deputies started to protest.
Boone raised a hand.
“But nobody leaves this ranch.”
Wade gave a single nod.
“I’ll post a man outside.”
“Post three.”
Boone stared at him.
“Why?”
Wade looked at Clara.
Because someone had taken her pistol.
Because someone had been wearing her face in the memories of three frightened children.
Because a dead man had carried a threat tied to a past she refused to name.
Because Wade suddenly understood that whatever had come to Blackwood Ridge had not begun that afternoon.
Maybe it had not even begun with Amos Pike.
“Because,” Wade said, “I don’t think the killer is trying to escape.”
The sheriff frowned.
Wade looked toward the dark windows.
“I think the killer came here for something.”
At that exact moment, a scream tore through the upstairs hall.
June.
Clara ran first.
Wade followed.
They burst into the girls’ room.
The window stood open.
Curtains snapped violently in the freezing wind.
June was pressed against the far wall.
Daisy and Nora clung to each other.
“Someone was there!” June sobbed.
Wade crossed the room in three strides and looked outside.
Snow covered the sloping roof.
Beyond it, darkness.
Then he saw the footprints.
A single set leading from the roof edge to the window.
And beside the sill, pinned beneath a knife, was a folded scrap of paper.
Clara stopped breathing when Wade opened it.
There were only seven words.
You should have burned the box, Evelyn.
Wade looked at Clara.
Not Clara.
Evelyn.
Behind him, the loose floorboard under their bed creaked.
No one in the room moved.
Then came a sound from beneath it.
Three slow knocks.
Clara’s face collapsed in terror.
Because whatever was hidden beneath that floor was no longer merely a secret.
Something underneath the house had just knocked back.
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