There is a statue theft in a museum in the other side of New York. Neal kind of loves it, because he can finally visit an art gallery outside of his radius, and also because Peter grumbles. A lot. The old man doesn't have one fiber of an artist in him, that's crystal clear. It's still fun to drag him over there and watch him squirm between the paintings like a caveman.
The statue is five years old, which is not very impressive, but it's fairly liked by the audiences. Sally Blofis didn't sell another piece after The Poker Player, but the life-sized figurines made enough of an impression. It was a great job, by what the pictures allow Neal to see anyway. He's really curious about the real statue.
They look for witnesses or evidence - there are none - and then go to meet the artist herself, who was brought to the museum to gather information.
Sally Blofis looks at them, hands rested over her swelling belly, and smiles pleasantly. "I'm sorry, I can't help you. My days as a statuer were very short. It was something I tried as one-time experience and never got back to. I don't remember too much about the making of The Poker Player or the selling of it, I'm past that time in my life now. We've been through some major changes."
Peter leaned in a little bit. "I understand that, Mrs. Blofis, but we still need to make sure there's nothing we missed. Can you, for example, think of anyone who has some sort of a grudge against you, that might have taken it out by stealing your art?"
Her son, a teenaged boy who presented himself as Percy, furrows his brow at that, but Sally remains calm and polite. "No, I do not. Not many know of my statue, I didn't speak about it to anyone outside of the family."
"And by family you mean…"
Her smile widens. She looks at her son adoringly. "My son and my husband, who's at work right now. What else?"
Peter keeps on investigating, and Neal leaves that to him, instead letting his instincts lead him. He focuses on Mrs. Blofis and her smile - warm, but measured - and her body language - too still to be comfortable - and her hands. Mostly he looks at her hands.
Percy catches him staring and their eyes lock. The boy's - no more than eighteen - vivid green eyes darken, his jaw clenching. Neal tilts his head ever so slightly, letting his lips curl into the smallest of smiles, and Percy frowns but stays straight and confident. He's a stubborn one.
He catches his mom's hand. "Hey, look, I know you need us for the investigation, but we obviously don't know anything, and mom has an appointment with a doctor that we're going to miss if we stay here any longer. So…"
Sally nods and stands up, albeit slowly with her puffed belly, before Peter can retort. "I hope you'll find the thief soon, but don't bother yourself with updating us in any case. We prefer to leave that time in the past."
And then the pregnant woman and her lean son leave the museum, leaving Neal a clear path to stare after them, deep in thought.
"What do you think?" Peter asks with a sigh, and Neal shakes his head, making sure his fedora stays just a little bit tilted.
"Something here stinks."