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Disappointment filled her eyes. "I'd rather hear what Gretchen has to say."
"She'll be more forthcoming if I'm on my own."
"Fine, but I'm not going far, and I won't stay outside forever."
He didn't need forever; he just needed ten minutes. He had no interest in staying in the gallery any longer than necessary.
When he stepped over the threshold, Gretchen's gaze widened. She'd been talking to her husband, who was looking down at a computer on the desk. She grabbed his arm and tipped her head toward Flynn.
He moved across the room. "Hello, Gretchen—Stephen."
"I can't believe you're here, Flynn," Gretchen said, a wary light in her eyes.
"I can't quite believe it, either." His gaze swept the room, which still felt incredibly familiar.
While his father's gallery had focused on abstracts and impressionistic art, the paintings in front of him were modern and eclectic, including pop art and cubism. Despite the differences in the displays, he could still see his father wandering through the room, talking to customers, making sure every piece of art was displayed in the most perfect light. And when there was a sale, he'd include a bottle of champagne with the customer's new purchase, as if bringing a new painting home was a reason to celebrate.
"What do you want, Flynn?" Stephen asked, interrupting his thoughts.
He cleared his throat, bringing his mind back to the present. "I want to talk to you both about Arthur's murder."
"We already gave our statements to the other FBI agent," Stephen said.
"I have follow-up questions. Let's start with you, Stephen. You ran into Arthur in the stairwell ten or fifteen minutes before he went over the railing. You spoke to him. What did you say?"
Stephen appeared taken aback by the question. "I—I don't remember. I probably just said hello."
"Did Arthur say where he was going, who he was meeting?"
"No. I didn't ask. Why would I?"
"Stephen barely knows Arthur," Gretchen cut in.
"Then why don't you tell me how you knew Arthur, Gretchen? Why you exchanged a dozen or so calls with him in the past two weeks?"
Before she could reply, the young woman who had been watching over the sidewalk sale came into the gallery. "Mr. Vale, I need some help out here," she said. "A customer has some questions."
"Excuse me," Stephen said, looking thrilled to leave the conversation.
"Well?" he prodded.
Gretchen gave him an unhappy look and then motioned him toward the office, clearly wanting to get him away from a group of customers who had just entered the gallery.
"Arthur was interested in a local artist by the name of Imogene Rocca," Gretchen said as they moved into the office that had once belonged to his father.
He deliberately kept his gaze on her, refusing to allow himself to be distracted by the memories.
"Imogene had a show here a few weeks ago," Gretchen continued. "Arthur wanted to buy some of her paintings. I arranged for him to have a private viewing, and he became quite interested in a piece in her studio that she had not yet finished. He told her he'd like to buy it as soon as it was done. I was keeping him apprised of the progress."
He frowned, thinking that the unfinished art scenario with this female painter sounded very much like the situation with Marcus Vitelli. "When did Arthur become so interested in unfinished work by young artists?"
"He prided himself on being able to discover new talent."
She was acting as if she had nothing to hide, but he wasn't quite sure he was buying her story. "Why were you so involved? Why not have Arthur make his own contact?"
"I got a cut for being the go-between."
"And that's all you were talking about—nothing else?"