Penny resumed fussing around her, trying to coax her into sitting down so she could continue her pamper session, but Carolyn wasn’t having it. She paced the room, chewing her lip nervously. Duchess III, sensing the tension, darted about underfoot, causing Carolyn to stumble.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Carolyn exclaimed, steadying herself against a nearby chair. “You’ll be the death of me!”
Ellie knew her mother’s pre-filming jitters were nothing new, but this seemed different, more intense.
Suddenly, her mother turned to Ellie, her eyes wide. “Did she mention the sculpture?” Something flickered across Carolyn’s features at the mention of the sculpture. It was the same reaction Ellie had noticed earlier when they were outside. A mix of fear and... something else. Recognition, perhaps?
“What about it?”
Carolyn shrugged, her attempt at nonchalance falling flat; she wasn’t that good of an actress to hide that just mentioning ‘sculpture’ set her on edge. “It’s just... it’s what killed that poor girl, that’s all. No reason.”
“She’s not dead,” Ellie corrected. “She’s been rushed to the hospital. Do you know something?”
“About what?”
“About what’s going on with the Blackwood family?”
“No!” Carolyn cried, turning away from Ellie entirely now. “Stop harassing me.”
“But what am I right about?”
“Nothing!”
Ellie’s mind raced. Her mother’s behaviour, coupled with her odd fixation on the sculpture, set off alarm bells. “What’s going on, Mum?”
“What’s going on is you’re doing what you always do,” Carolyn muttered, planting her palms on the kitchen island as though to steady herself. “You’re throwing stones at me like I’m some pond that you’re trying to crack the surface of to get something more. Leave me be.”
“I thought I had, Mum,” Ellie said with a sigh. “Twelve years.”
Carolyn’s lips parted as though to bite right back, but they closed as she turned away again, this time slower without the dramatic whip of her hair. Ellie wanted to reach out and comfort her mother—she’d gone too far, and she knew that already—but enough of her had meant it that she didn’t regret saying it yet.
“A pond you’re trying to crack the surface of,” Ellie repeated.
“I thought it was quite poetic, myself,” Penny spoke up, hurrying into the kitchen at the first sight of ceasefire. “Very well phrased, Carolyn.”
“Really?” She shook out her hair. “I always did think I’d make a terrific scriptwriter.”
Ellie left her mother’s house, her mind swirling with unanswered questions. As she tickled a goodbye behind Duchess’s ear, sprawled lazily on the middle step of the stairs, Ellie couldn’t shake the feeling that her mother was hiding something significant about the Blackwoods. The crime scene ahead beckoned to her, a puzzle waiting to be solved.
She couldn’t give up now, not when the motives coming out of that family were so strong. There were continuity holes in their stories, she was sure of it. She just had to find them.
But something about her mother’s turn of phrase kept echoing in her head. “Throwing stones at me like I’m some pond that you’re trying to crack the surface of to get something more.” The metaphor struck a chord with Ellie. Had she really been that harsh? Or was it just her mother’s way of deflecting?
As she rounded the corner past The Old Bell, heading towards the pond, Ellie pulled out the small piece of paper Oliver had slipped to her earlier. The riddle written on it seemed to hold new meaning now, especially in light of her mother’s pond analogy.
Ellie stood at the edge of the pond, her eyes scanning the tranquil surface. The water rippled in the evening breeze, disturbed only by the occasional fish or the delicate touch of a skimming insect. Surrounding trees cast long shadows across the water, their reflections blending with the different world beneath the surface.
She read over the riddle again, the words taking on new meaning.
“In twilight’s embrace where shadows entwine,” she murmured, noting how the fading light created an interplay of darkness and reflection on the water’s surface through the entwined branches of the trees. “A cryptic basin, where secrets align.” The pond itself, Ellie assumed, its depths hiding who knows what. Her eyes traced the water’s edge, taking in how the surface concealed everything beneath it. “Veiled surfaces conceal a truth most deep.” And the pond’s surface seemed to shimmer like a melting mirror to the world above. “Seek where mirrors unseen blend and mend.”
Her gaze swept the pond’s perimeter, searching for anything that might be the ‘sleepy sentinel’ mentioned. Could it be one of the old trees? Or something she hadn’t noticed yet?
Ellie’s contemplation of the riddle was interrupted by the sight of Daniel approaching, another bag from the supermarket swinging from his arm.
“I was craving crisps tonight,” he explained, holding up the bag. “Cheese and onion. It’s been one of those days.” His big brown eyes darted between Ellie and the pond. “Not thinking of wading in, are you?”
Ellie handed him the riddle without a word. Daniel’s brow furrowed as he read it, shaking his head. “I don’t get it.” She nodded towards the pond, and understanding dawned on his face as he read it again. “Sleepy sentinel?”
“I’m not sure, but we don’t need to know every part of the riddle. ‘Truth most deep’... what if down there in the pond, there’s the final clue of where to find the last piece of Edmund’s manuscript?”
She glanced at Daniel, half-expecting to see scepticism in his eyes. Instead, he was looking around, still mulling over the riddle line by line and trying to connect every dot like she had moments earlier.
“Sleepy sentinel,” he repeated, the back of his hand patting Ellie’s shoulder as he laughed in realisation. “What do sentinels do?”
“They keep guard,” Ellie replied, her mind racing.
“The Drowsy Duck pub, watching this... the pond,” Daniel said, excitement creeping into his voice. “I think you’re right, Ellie. You’ve cracked the riddle. Where did you find this?”
“Doesn’t matter, and I’m not the only one who has it, so it could be only a matter of time before others turn up here,” she said, looking around to see if anyone was watching them. There were a couple of men smoking outside The Drowsy Duck, but they were otherwise alone. “The question is, are we right? And if we are, did someone else get here first?”
Ellie watched in disbelief as Daniel dropped his bag and rolled up his sleeves. “Only one way to find out.”
“You’re not…”
“It’s not that deep. I waded in there once to fish out an abandoned chair for your gran a few years ago.”
“That was you?” Ellie laughed, shrugging off her jacket and rolling up her sleeves. “You’re not going in there without me.”
