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“These ones,” she pointed, “Monet’sWater LilesandThe Water-Lily Pond.” She groaned loudly. “Of course, I wasn’t interested in art at school, so I didn’t make the connection. I’m so dumb.”
She reached down, grabbed Dawson’s hand, and started walking at a breakneck speed.
“Where are we going?” he asked as they started to veer off from the conservatory, taking a different path round the back and heading toward one of the busier main streets.
They were almost at the street when Piper ducked down to the right.
“The lily pond,” she said. “There’s a lily pond here, and that’s one of Monet’s most famous paintings.” She hit her head with one hand. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember the lily pond.” She gave a hollow laugh. “So much for horticulture.”
Dawson tugged at her arm and pulled her back. “Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. I had totally forgotten there was a lily pond here. Now you mention it, I remember. But it’s years and years since I was there.”
Piper took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m just mad at myself. I should have remembered.”
“And so should I, but I didn’t,” Dawson said simply. “Let’s just find it again.”
The park was darker in this direction after the glittering Christmas lights as they moved toward the entrance way to the lily pond and gardens.
Piper stopped dead still. “Seasonal,” she said out loud.
Dawson had kept walking and stopped once he realized she’d halted. “What did you say?”
Piper was trying to be calm but could feel panic welling up inside her. “Seasonal. It said it in the clue. The lily pond won’t be open. It closes in November I think, and doesn’t open again until spring time.”
Dawson gave a nod. “Okay, so we take a picture at the gate or entrance way. Margaret Smith must have known it would be closed at this time of year.”
“So, why did she send us here? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Oh no.” Dawson stepped right up to her, his broad frame filling her vision. It was like he knew. “Don’t start this again. Don’t start doubting and thinking we’ve got the wrong place. Everything fits.” He glanced at a sign and pointed. “And there’s the final piece. Alfred Caldwell, he’s the city planner Margaret referred to. This is absolutely the place to be.”
Ahead of them in the dark there was a hint of tiny white lights. Sure enough, they came to a sign with the seasonal opening of the lily pond, but that didn’t stop them. They moved forward until they came to the entranceway.
It should have been closed. The gate should have been locked. But it was ajar.
Piper held her breath and lifted her hand. “Should we?”
Dawson looked around. “What harm are we going to do? Nothing. We’ll be respectful, take a moment, and look around.”
They stepped through. The tiny lights they’d seen were obvious now. It was as if someone had wrapped a single strand of lights around one of the benches near the pond.
Everything was completely still. The only sound was their breathing and the slight lapping of the water.
The reflections from the pool, gave more light and volume to the space, even though there were only a few stars visible in the sky.
Piper spoke in a whisper. “How can this place be so quiet and tranquil? We know that there is a road not too far away.” She pointed in the direction opposite them.
Dawson looked around. “It must just be all the foliage. This is like an entirely private space. I can’t believe I haven’t been here in years.” He moved over and sat down on the bench.
Piper joined him, her fingers touching one of the bulbs. “And who did this?”
“Let’s not think about that,” said Dawson.
“What do you mean?”
He smiled and folded his arms. “What I mean,” he said quietly, “is that you don’t want to switch my brain on to that. Let’s just stay with our original thoughts about the peace, tranquillity, water, and space.”
“Okay,” said Piper, closing her eyes for a few moments and breathing deeply. But she couldn’t honestly sit in silence when she wanted an answer.
“Nope, you’re going to have to tell me what your switched-on brain says.”
