When I cracked the door open, I found Andrew standing in the hall with his wet brown hair in total disarray, a wavy lock stuck to his forehead. I had to admit, he looked even sexier than before. He wore the same khaki pants and light green Oxford shirt as earlier, both visibly wet, as if he’d dressed without drying himself after the shower. In his hand, he clutched his leather notebook.
“Has it been an hour already?” I glanced at my watch. Forty-five minutes had passed.
Andrew blinked once, then again, and he had an expression as if he didn’t recognize me. He opened his mouth, then closed it. His behavior confused me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
Then, as if someone had clapped their hands, he snapped out of his weird trance. “Can I come in?”
I pulled my robe tighter and stepped aside to let him enter. He paced to the window, then to the dresser, and then to my bed, his stare in constant contact with the floor. A water drop ran down my neck, tickling my skin. I wiped it away. Maybe my chaotic hairdo was the reason Andrew had lost track of his thoughts when I opened the door. Or my too-open robe.
“Are you searching for a tile with birds?” I untangled my bun and braided my hair.
“Yes.” He stopped and focused on me.
“I found one near the tub just as you were trying to break down my door.”
Andrew marched into the bathroom. A moment later, he came out, a pink hue coloring his cheeks. “It’s not it.”
“You have one in your notebook. Can I see it again?”
He strode in my direction and handed me his journal. “Maria designed it. An oak tree and Tabebuia rosea. Strength and beauty.”
The drawing was of elaborate swirls that linked branches with acorns and flowers, in the center two small birds faced each other. It was a remarkable pencil sketch.
“All right, we need to find a tile with this pattern.” With my finger I traced the drawing in the notebook, memorizing its curves and twists. I glanced up at Andrew, who was studying the tiles around my feet. When our eyes met his face again flashed an expression of wonderment. Or stupidity. Those appeared similar when there was no explanation provided. Did he also hit his head? “Andrew, are you feeling okay?”
Andrew placed his hands on my arms, his fingers curving around, sending an electric sensation inside of me. “I need to see what’s under your feet.” At least that was what I think he said, because my mind heardI need to see what’s under your robe.He gently pushed me to the left.
He looked down, and his face expressed disappointment. The tile had a similar design, but different birds faced opposite directions.
“What happens when we find it?”
“We check under it.” He stepped to my bed, dropped to all his fours, and peered under it.
“Let’s check William’s room too.” I grabbed my dress off the bed.
“I already did. We didn’t find anything. The only original room left is at the end of the hallway.”
I hid in the bathroom and quickly changed into my dress. “Okay, can we find out who booked it and talk to them?” I walked out. “We could explain our situation and ask if we can check it out.”
“We can’t.” Andrew stepped to one of the windows and pressed his hand over the panels. “I saw Brandon Pines leaving the room.”
I slid my feet into wedge sandals and bent to fasten them. “Who?”
“A museum curator who works with Richard.”
My heart sank. I was hoping we were beating Richard and Brie at this.
“Dickhead is good at his job,” I muttered, angry on Andrew’s behalf.
“But not as good as we are.” Andrew tugged on the window clasp, then pushed in the center where the panels met. “These are original to the house. Only some of the glass squares are new.”
I bit the cuticle on my thumb. If they hadn’t figured out where to look, they would soon.
Absentmindedly Andrew tapped this journal against his palm, his eyes narrowing on me. His right eyebrow lifted. “Did you do something different with your make-up?”
“No.” My cheeks heated, and I pretended to search for something in my purse. Did he not like what he saw? He must be used to high-class, glamorous women.
