Chapter Text
The sculpture portrayed rather more detail than was perhaps necessary. A woman's face was typical, as were the rounded breasts and supple thighs cast in stone, but that meticulously carved attribute between the legs? Now that was a feature not seen on many a marble model. There was the painting upstairs, but that was known to be controversial. This was in the undergallery, hidden away, and it was no white bust; it was a life-sized structure made of some green mineral that surely couldn't have been jade, given its size.
And you're sure you aren't a critic, Sherry? I would be, if this is what I got to look at all day.
"Yes, Jon, I'm sure—"
"That one's mine," a woman's voice interrupted, and he cleared his throat quickly.
"Pardon me?" Sherlock turned to see who spoke, and found a rather tall woman in a dark blue gown and matching feathered hat. She was not upstairs in the gallery when he spoke to Vogel, so she must have just arrived.
She nodded towards the sculpture he had been observing moments before. "I carved that one. I don't allow them to put my name on the plaque."
"And why not, Ms….?" Her hair was dark and her eyes were blue, and her skin would quickly give it away that she was not a local, if her accent hadn't already done so. Italian, if he had to guess, and he knew he was right when she gave her name.
"Martinelli. Ginevra, if you will."
"Sherlock Holmes. Delighted. You were saying you don't allow them to affix a name to your work? I imagine most artists want nothing more than the attention that proper credit offers them."
"Perhaps most, but I'd rather not be connected to debauchery." But you appear to like it well enough. "I sing at the Legacy Theatre. I would have taken you for the operatic type based on your garb, but I suppose you just gave me my answer."
Hmm. He would never have considered his attire so dreary. "I've never had the pleasure, no. But if you don't mind, Ms. Martinelli, I'm about to investigate a crime scene." He waved a hand towards the rest of the undergallery, hoping that she might leave him be so that he could focus.
"I know." She appeared suddenly nervous, if not only according to his advanced perception. Mouth twisting, no longer the casual confidence of before. The coolness did not drop as a facade, but she seemed to know she needed to speak quickly now. "Verner let me in, so that I might speak with you."
"With me? What about?" Vogel having female friends of such status, that might refer to him by his first name, surprised him.
"Well—I suppose I should just give you my card. Call on me, will you? After one of my shows. I'd rather let you take care of this nasty work for Verner, first."
"Is this merely a ploy to get more audience members? I'll have to decline without more information."
Oh, come on, Sherry. It'll be fun.
Now she was annoyed. He knew that effect rather well. "You're a private investigator, aren't you, Mr. Holmes? If you can help my friend Verner, you can help me. It has to do with a stalker, if you must know." She then retrieved one of her cards from a drawstring bag at her hip.
It was cream and gold-printed, as any typical woman's calling card, but hers held significantly more information. Her name and home address, along with the Legacy Theatre's address and when she might be found there—performances were nightly save Sunday, but twice on Saturday.
"I must know, yes. I see." Stalkers and women were as common as robberies and vandalism, but if Vogel's case turned out to be a challenge, perhaps something lighter could be enjoyable to follow up with. For all he knew now it was merely a jilted lover—or at least some admirer who thought of himself as one.
"Very well," Sherlock said as he pocketed the card. "You'll see me soon, then, once I'm all finished up here."
"I hope I will." The confidence from earlier had returned. Perhaps the nerve was in fact a mixture of annoyance and stress, and now relief had taken over; whatever the case truly was, it was evidently more important to her than curiosity about the undergallery's situation, because she was already turning away to leave now that she'd gotten his assurance.
Like I said, it'll be fun.