Shoot.
We moved on, checking the paintings on either side. No luck. Tina’s voice carried from the first floor, as did a male voice, although they spoke too quietly to make out what they were saying. They didn’t appear to be coming to the loft, so we kept searching.
Just as I was rehanging a painting of a pine forest—with no sign of a note—Tina and the newcomer started up the stairs, their footfalls carrying through the airy space.
Eyes wide, I whipped my head to the side. Theo looked at me with alarm. As if we were executing a choreographed dance, we both adjusted the paintings we’d been rehanging, then took big steps back so it wouldn’t look like we’d been touching them. We sidestepped toward each other, and I tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow just as he turned us around so we were facing the stairs.
Tina and a tall man in a suit stepped onto the loft. Recognition hit me, and I dug my fingers into Theo’s arm. He’d been at the celebration of life—the man who’d been standing with Gina Morris, and who’d escorted Michael Morris out of the gallery. Curt Redfern.
We were dead. He was going to recognize us. We’d been right there, in that very spot in the loft of the gallery. I’d babbled to Gina Morris right in front of him.
His eyes passed right over us, as if he hardly deigned to notice there were other people present. Tina smiled and gave us a slight nod.
Theo led me to the stairs, and a moment later, we were on the main floor, with Tina and Curt in the loft above us.
I cast a quick glance around. It would be much riskier to check the paintings on the main floor—too easy for Tina or Curt to move to the railing, look down, and see what we were doing.
But we hadn’t found anything.
The door at the back caught my eye. The one leading to the classroom studio. There had been lots of paintings stored back there. Meeting Theo’s eyes, I pointed. He nodded.
Tiptoeing so my heels wouldn’t click on the wood floor, we hurried across the gallery. Theo tried the knob and at least a little bit of luck was on our side. It opened.
He ushered me through the door and softly shut it behind us.
The classroom studio looked almost the same as when the attorney had given me my Morris painting. Artwork on easels still cluttered the space, and there was a stack of paintings propped up against the wall. It looked smaller than when we’d been there last, as if more of the pieces had been distributed according to Edwin’s wishes.
I beelined for the paintings leaning against the wall while Theo kept his ear close to the door so he could listen.
The wig was starting to get warm, making my face feel hot. I crouched down and tilted the first painting so I could inspect the back. Nothing. Same with the second. I glanced over my shoulder and Theo gave me a thumbs-up. No one was coming.
I checked the third and started to wonder if this had all been for nothing. Or if we simply didn’t have time to look hard enough.
Come on, Edwin. Were you murdered? Give me a clue.
My breath caught in my throat as I felt along the back of the fourth painting. There was a rough spot, like the edge of paper. I whipped my head around and nodded to Theo.
“Hurry,” he whispered.
My art-loving heart protested against the possibility of damaging the painting by unfastening the backing on the bare floor. But without time to do anything else, I gently released the backing where it was and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Turning, I held it up in triumph.
Silently, Theo held out his fist. I closed my hand and did a long-distance fist bump, careful not to crumple the paper.
Theo’s eyes went wide. He didn’t have to say a word. Someone was coming. He twisted the lock on the doorknob and stepped backward, holding up his hands. A second later, the knob rattled.
Working as fast as I could with shaking hands, I tucked the note in my purse and replaced the backing. The doorknob rattled again, and voices carried through. They were probably trying to figure out why the door was locked. Thankfully, Tina didn’t appear to have her keys on her; otherwise we would have been in big trouble.
Knowing I was pushing it, I grabbed my phone out of my purse and took a few pictures of the painting where I’d discovered the note.
Theo reached down to help me to my feet and lowered his voice to a whisper. “We need to get out of here.”
I pointed to another door. I remembered it leading to a hallway with a restroom, but I couldn’t recall if there was a way out beyond it. Still, it was better than staying where we were.
We went through and found ourselves in a dark hallway. The restroom door was ajar and a few feet down along the other wall, there was another door.
Voices grew suddenly louder. Theo and I froze. Tina and Curt had entered the classroom studio.
