He ducked into the pub, nursing a pint while eavesdropping. Later, the pub owner laughed when Andrew described the call he got. “Locals do that sometimes. A prank, to “welcome” the new owner. Superstition runs deep here. Don’t take it seriously.” But Andrew couldn’t shake the unease. Could the call have been something more?
Back at the estate, he spread his notes across the study desk, light flickering. He scrawled variations of the cipher, adjusting for shifts, recalculating. Slowly, a new alignment appeared, farther into the garden than before. His pulse quickened. Perhaps he had been too quick to mark the spot close to the oak.