White Collar - as an unofficial novel - part 2

The Locket

"You and Taryn were getting along good yesterday."

Neal got the idea where that statement from Peter was going.

"She's not my type."

"What? Not your-?" Peter glanced at him as if he should fall for any beautiful woman. "Why isn't she your type? She loves art, she looks like Lara Croft in khakis."

And loved to show off her beauty, and be cuffed. This was just unbelievable. Yesterday Peter assured him that he was not trying to get him to date Taryn.

"Really? Does she bake cookies for orphans too?"

"She does," Peter replied without blinking. And you asked me how to lie, Peter, Neal thought. You're pretty good at it on your own.

"I get it. Meet a nice girl, maybe settle down." They walked up to Peter's office and the conference room.

"Simplify my life, probably save yours," Peter muttered.

"You're lying about the cookies," Neal claimed.

"Prove it."

Neal was about to tell his handler to stay out of this part of his life when he saw an elderly man in an old-fashioned suit and a grim face sit at the end of the conference table.

"Who's that?" he asked instead.

"Curator," Peter replied. "From the Channing Museum."

Peter was about to go in when Neal halted him.

"Wait," he whispered. "Why is he here?" Neal could think of a reason or two, and if so, he wanted to be prepared.

"The Haustenberg," Peter whispered in return. Neal relaxed. "He says it belongs to them." Oh, it that so. Well, he was pretty sure who it belonged to, and it was not the Channing Museum.

"Lose the hat," Peter hissed as they continued into the room.

Peter and Neal joined the other team members and the curator at the table, making the group complete.

"Welcome to the FBI, Mr..." he lingered on the name since the phone call he had got from Reece had only stated his title and not his name.

"Walter," the man replied without a trace of a smile and intention to rise to shake Peter's hand.

"I'm Special Agent Peter Burke."

"So I'm told," he replied. "Repeatedly. By the others around this table. Since I arrived. Good to finally see you here and that you put some effort into retrieving our painting."

Peter let the comments pass and sat down. Neal took the seat between him and Jones.

"You say the painting belongs to the Channing Museum."

"It does." The curator passed him a copy of an inventory slip.

"How come the Channing didn't report it missing?"

"We did report it when it was stolen in 1967."

1967 Peter thought. Julianna could not have had anything to do with it. She was not even born then. Her grandmother was another story. To Peter's annoyance, Neal raised his hand a second to call the curator's attention.

"I have a question. The painting was stolen in '67, but it's not listed on the Art Loss Registry."

"The Registry was established in 1990," Walter cut back.

"'91, actually," Neal shot in return. "You could have re-filed the claim."

The man was not used to being talked back like that, it was obvious to Peter. And not by young brats like his pet convict.