Scene 6

They waited for Neal at Shakespeare and Company, where he was due to do some more work for Methos. They had lost Amanda on the way, when they had passed some boutiques which were open early.

Before too long, Neal knocked and entered the back door.

"Adam?"

"Neal, come out front, will you?"

The boy appeared, with a newspaper tucked under one arm.

The three men faced him, variously lounging, sitting, or standing to meet him.

Neal looked around. "What's going on?" he asked.

Joe was not looking forward to this, but it had to be done. The immortals had agreed to let him do the talking.

"Neal, yesterday you were interested in buying Darling Boy from me."

"Yeah." The boy's tone was only interested. He looked from Joe to the other men curiously.

"What's your interest in the painting?"

"Why? Are you selling, now?" Neal grinned - an easy, open expression. He came further into the room and leaned on the table opposite Joe.

"Just answer the question," MacLeod put in, a hint of the menace he had used on Delanoye, in his voice.

Neal looked over at him and grew somber.

Darn MacLeod, Joe thought.

"What is it?" Neal asked Methos. He looked wary, and very young.

Methos, at least, remembered to let Joe do the talking. He didn't answer.

"It was stolen from my place last night, and you're one of the few people who knew I had it."

"It was!" Neal looked, not only surprised, but horrified. "Oh, fuck!" He fumbled with the newspaper under his arm. He spread it out on the back of a small loveseat. "And you think I took it? It wasn't the only painting stolen last night. Have you seen the paper?"

Joe exchanged glances with the other two men. Neal sounded neither affronted nor particularly concerned at their implied accusation. Something else had his attention.

As one, the three men moved to group around the paper.

Rue du Village Stolen! The headline screamed.

So, what? Joe wondered.

"The Rue du Village is in the Louvre," MacLeod mused aloud, skimming the story. "Not easy to break into."

"It was in Restoration," Neal explained. "Someone took it from the office vault." He seemed very agitated.

"Hmm," Methos said. "So, was Amanda with you all last night, MacLeod?"

The Highlander was not amused. "Yes, and don't let me hear you imply that again," he warned. He snatched up the paper and read, tilting it to share it with Joe. The evidence pointed to an inside job, the article reported.

Methos smiled. He didn't seem very concerned. He turned back to the agitated boy. "Neal," he asked gently, "what does this have to do with Darling Boy?"

"Well, uh ... who's Amanda?"

Both Joe and MacLeod looked up at the distracted tone in the boy's voice. Methos put one hand on Neal's wrist and one on his shoulder. The boy really didn't look well, Joe thought, and Methos was gentling him like he was a colt.

"Sit down, Neal. It's all right. One thing at a time." He sat the boy down in the loveseat. Joe and MacLeod both moved to where they could see, but weren't an intimidating presence. Methos perched on the small coffee table in front of the loveseat and held the boy with his gaze.

"Neal. Look at me." The command captured the boy's wandering attention. "Tell me everything. Good or bad. We can help."

Pretty good bedside manner, a part of Joe observed.

Neal calmed and focused. He took a deep breath. "Darling Boy. My great-grandfather painted it," he said, simply.

"He did?"

"Yeah." Neal stood. "Let me get it." He stepped over Methos' long legs.

"Darling Boy?!"

"Yeah. No. The sketch. Just a second."

No one stopped him as Neal dashed into the back room.

Joe didn't think letting him go was a good idea. "He's fleeing the interview," he warned.

MacLeod followed to stand by the door to the back room. "He won't get far," he whispered.

But Neal returned, with his sketchbook. He seemed calmer. Methos stood, and Neal knelt by the low table and opened the sketchbook. The back cover had a zippered pocket, from which Neal carefully removed a folded piece of yellowed newsprint. He unfolded it gingerly, and spread out a faded pencil sketch of Phillipe Cartier in his uniform. Darling Boy.

"I was going to tell you yesterday, but when Madeleine got here, I forgot all about it." He looked around at the silent faces studying his sketch. "My mother's grandfather was in the army with Phillipe Cartier."

"So that's why you wanted the painting?" Joe asked.

"Yes. I really wanted to see it, and I got a job as a stablehand out at Cartier's museum, hoping I might get a glimpse of it. I'm still living at the estate, but no one's paying the staff right now, so I took this job with Adam."

"Did you get to see it?"

"It wasn't really part of the collection. I knew Mme. Danforth kept the collection in the private wing, but I didn't know what she would do with the portrait. They have a public museum out there, and I thought maybe she'd show it there. My great-grandfather was certain that Cartier would keep it, since it was a picture of Phillipe. But I never got to see it. Mme. Danforth kept it up at the house."

This was very interesting, but Joe was still struggling to connect all this with the newspaper article. The Highlander, also, had not lost the point. His tone was gentler, but still demanding.

"Neal, tell us the rest. What does Darling Boy have to do with Rue du Village?"

Neal blushed. "That's the part I wasn't going to tell you." He turned the newsprint over to show the sketch on the other side. It was of a country road with village houses. "My great-grandfather and Phillipe Cartier found some paintings which had been stolen by the Nazis. One of them was Rue du Village, by Pissaro. My great-grandfather painted Darling Boy over the top of Rue du Village. But Phillipe was killed before they could smuggle it back to Paris, and later, my great-grandfather took it to Cartier when he couldn't keep it, himself. But he didn't tell the old man what it was. He thought some day he could get it back."

"And sell it for a small fortune," the Highlander supplied, dryly.

Methos looked puzzled. "But I've seen the Rue du Village in the Louvre."

"The Louvre has one," Neal agreed. "Or had, until last night."

MacLeod nodded, as understanding hit them all. "The painting stolen from the Louvre is a forgery."

Neal nodded. "Whoever has Darling Boy has the real one."

Belatedly, Joe realized that the questioning had been taken out of his hands, after all. And he was still suspicious.

"You got a job, where? Just so you could seethe portrait? Did you plan to steal it back?"

"No," Neal finally sounded irritated at the accusations. "I'd kind of like to have it, but I couldn't sell it. Who'd believe the provenance if I stole it? Besides, there's a properly appraised and authenticated Rue du Village at the Louvre. I just wanted to see it. You know, to see if my great-grandfather's story was true. I guess it was. At least, Darling Boy is real."

"And both Darling Boy and Rue du Village were stolen last night," Methos mused aloud. "Neal, who else knew about this?"

"No one." The boy's eyes were large. "It's been a family secret, and I'm the only family left."

"What I want to know," MacLeod said, shaking the newspaper, "is who authenticated the Pissaro. The article says it was lost during the war, and came to light recently, but it doesn't say who found it or how it was authenticated."

Methos perked up. "Easy enough to look up. C'mon, Neal, let's you and me go do some research. Joe, mind the store will you?" The bell on the door tinkled as Methos opened it.

"Hey! I have my own store to mind!"

Methos looked back. "You don't open up until 4:00. This won't take long."

"I've got a guy coming ..." The door closed behind them. "... to replace my door," Joe finished. He stamped his cane in frustration. His mood was not improved when he turned to see the Highlander looking amused.

"Can you believe that guy?" he demanded.

MacLeod smiled a smug smile. "Hey, you told me not to try to figure it out."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Why don't you just hang the 'closed' sign and lock up?"

"Great idea, Mac, but I don't have a key."

"Ahh," MacLeod said, and started walking toward the door, brandishing something. "But I do."

He paused at the door, and something changed. Joe suddenly had goosebumps. MacLeod had gone alert and tense, looking out the window. Joe started toward him. "What is it?"

"The police." MacLeod opened the door and stepped outside. Joe joined him as quickly as he could.

Two uniformed policemen had stopped Neal and Methos on the far side of the street. They were all talking beside the squad car.

"Uh oh," Joe said.

"Yeah," MacLeod muttered, then crossed the street to join them. Joe watched as MacLeod was included in the conversation. Then the officers and Neal got in the squad car. Methos leaned down and spoke to Neal's window. The car pulled away, and Methos slapped it as it went. The two immortals returned to Joe, looking pensive.

"What is it?"

"You remember that list we made of things the fiancé can do to the boy?" Methos said. "We left something off."

"What's that?" Joe asked.

"We left off 'have him thrown in jail'."