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A Man Called Saint
Chapter Four: Unraveling Threads
Saint's determination to uncover the truth about his father's death and the secrets that haunted Ashton Hill deepened with each passing day. He had begun to feel the weight of his father's legacy, not just as a burden, but as a call to action. The town, with its hidden histories and whispers, seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the revelations that Saint's presence might bring.
Saint spent his mornings at the library, poring over old newspapers and town records, searching for any clues that might shed light on his father's enemies. The afternoons were spent at the Hargrove house, sorting through boxes of personal belongings and letters. The evenings, however, often found him at the diner, where he would talk with Emily and share his findings.
One such evening, Emily joined him in the corner booth, carrying two cups of coffee. "Any luck today?" she asked, sliding into the seat across from him.
Saint shook his head, frustration is evident in his eyes. "Not much. I've found a few names that keep popping up in my father's letters and notes, but nothing concrete. It's like trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing."
Emily sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "Maybe we need to look at it from a different angle. Instead of focusing on the people who might have wanted to harm your father, what about those he helped? Maybe they saw something or heard something."
Saint considered this,...
Saint's determination to uncover the truth about his father's death and the secrets that haunted Ashton Hill deepened with each passing day. He had begun to feel the weight of his father's legacy, not just as a burden, but as a call to action. The town, with its hidden histories and whispers, seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the revelations that Saint's presence might bring.
Saint spent his mornings at the library, poring over old newspapers and town records, searching for any clues that might shed light on his father's enemies. The afternoons were spent at the Hargrove house, sorting through boxes of personal belongings and letters. The evenings, however, often found him at the diner, where he would talk with Emily and share his findings.
One such evening, Emily joined him in the corner booth, carrying two cups of coffee. "Any luck today?" she asked, sliding into the seat across from him.
Saint shook his head, frustration is evident in his eyes. "Not much. I've found a few names that keep popping up in my father's letters and notes, but nothing concrete. It's like trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing."
Emily sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "Maybe we need to look at it from a different angle. Instead of focusing on the people who might have wanted to harm your father, what about those he helped? Maybe they saw something or heard something."
Saint considered this,...
