On cue, Jonathan took out his money clip and waved it at the man.
He stared at it for a moment longer, and then held out his hand. Jonathan removed his foot from the door and handed the man the wad of money. The door shut and Violet felt a twinge of worry. What if he didn't open it again?
But a moment later, he did, and Violet and Jonathan smiled nervously at the old man, who was dressed in nothing but an undershirt and a pair of old boxers. On the bed, his elderly wife sat, wearing a floral bathrobe, the remote in her hand.
He gestured that Violet and Jonathan could enter.
"We just want the painting," Violet said quickly. This was so awkward.
"Take it," the man said. "It's an ugly thing."
"Thank you," Jonathan said, and strode for the bed. Violet bit her cheek to keep her face impassive as Jonathan pulled the painting off of the wall, nodded at the old couple, and then headed out the door. She trailed behind him, holding in her excitement. Jonathan was unreadable, his face stone, as they walked to the elevator.
When the elevator doors shut, he turned and grinned at her. "That went well."
She snorted, twisting her hands together as she stared at the painting in his hands. "If you call handing over all your money 'well,' then yes, I guess it did."
"That's pocket change."
For him, maybe. For the rest of the world, it was a life-changing amount. She shook her head and focused on the picture. "Is there anything on the back of the painting?"
"Not that I see. We'll pull it apart once we get back to my room. Our room," he corrected. "I want you moving into it tonight."
That was high-handed of him. "You haven't asked me," she said in a light voice.
"That's because you're mine, and I plan on licking you for hours to ensure that you know it," he said, that intense look on his face again.
All right, that convinced her. "Well, then." Violet fanned her flushed cheeks with her hand.
The elevator dinged and they returned to their floor. She wanted to run for the room, her anticipation sky-high, but she forced herself to walk slowly and steadily next to Jonathan, who didn't seem to be in the same anxious hurry that she was.
But then, a few moments later, they were in his room. Jonathan set the painting down on the bed and it was almost identical to the painting in their room. This one was a different angle of the pastoral scene, and the water-wheel dominated most of the picture.
"This has to be it," Violet said excitedly.
Jonathan turned it over and ran a hand along the cheap cardboard backing. "Let's see if we can't pull this off."
Violet watched anxiously as he pried up the tabs on the back and slowly removed the backing. There, on the underside, taped to the mat, were two envelopes with a single word written on the cover of each. The handwriting was familiar. Violet. Jonathan. One for each of them.
"That's it," Violet breathed. She reached for the envelope with her name, tracing her fingers over her father's handwriting. On the back, she could feel her father's wax seal. He'd gone to so much trouble for all of this. She didn't understand. In her experience, her father was a man who was interested in little beyond his own personal wants. To arrange all of this for her to discover-with Jonathan at her side-after his death? It made her wonder if there would only be the stele and journals at the end of this scavenger hunt, or if there would be something more meaningful.
Jonathan picked up the envelope with his name. "Do you want to open yours first?"
She ran a finger along the edges of the thick envelope, curiously hesitant. "Ten bucks says it's another poem," she told him, trying to keep the teasing note in her voice and failing. For some reason, she was oddly emotional. What if this was the last envelope? It would be the last tie to her father. A man she'd never been close to, yet who, after his death, had wanted to involve her in this enough that he'd dragged Jonathan into it.
She didn't know how she felt about any of this. Steeling herself, she broke the wax seal on the envelope and pulled out the paper inside and began to read.
"I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And Thou shalt not writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore.
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires."
Violet blinked as she finished reading it. "Wow. That's . . . grim." She looked at Jonathan. "What do you think?"