The Mystery At The Art Museum

The case of the art museum heist.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The case of the missing masterpiece. You know, people think
being a detective is all trench coats and dramatic one liners.
Let me tell you it's mostly paperwork and lukewarm coffee.
But every now and then you get a case that
makes you feel like you're in one of those noir films.

(00:20):
This was one of those cases, well sort of. It
started with a call at seven a m. Far too
early for anything good. The voice on the other end
belonged to Miss Gloria Highbrow, the director of the fancy
Midtown art gallery. Her voice had that panicked edge that screams,
I'm about to make this your problem, Detective Marlowe. She said,

(00:46):
it's gone. The Van Gribble is gone. I groaned, ma'am.
What's a van gribble? Is that a person, a painting,
or some kind of exotic bird. It's art Detective, a
priceless painting, and someone has stolen it. By the time
I got to the gallery, the place was in full

(01:07):
chaos mode. Gloria, a tall woman with hair like a thundercloud,
was pacing in front of an empty frame on the wall.
Around her, the staff looked as nervous as a bunch
of cats in a room full of rocking chairs. The painting,
The Grieving Turnip, was a Van Gribble original, which apparently
made it worth more than my entire career. Personally, I

(01:29):
didn't get the appeal. It was just a sad looking
turnip surrounded by gloomy farm hands. But what do I know.
My idea of fine art is a good comic strip.
What happened? I asked, pulling out my trusty note book.
Gloria threw up her hands. We locked up last night
and everything was fine. This morning, the painting was gone.

(01:53):
I nodded, all right, let's start with the obvious. Who
has access to the gallery. She ran off a list
of staff members, and I began my rounds of questioning.
First there was Tom the janitor, a wiry guy with
an impressive mustache. He swore up and down that he
hadn't seen anything unusual. I just mopped the floors, detective,

(02:16):
he said, holding up his mop like it was exhibit A.
Then there was Lisa, the intern, who was about as
jittery as a squirrel on espresso. I I don't even
know how to steal a painting, she stammered. Suspicious, sure,
but she also didn't look like she could carry a
lunch tray let alone a massive painting. Finally, I talked

(02:39):
to Maurice, the security guard, who had a belly like
a bean bag chair and a permanent scowl. I was
on duty all night. He grumbled, didn't see a thing, really,
nothing at all. Well, he hesitated, scratching his chin. I
did hear a weird noise around three a m. But
when I checked, everything looked fine. Aha, Sure it did, Maurice.

(03:04):
After hours of getting nowhere, I decided to take a
break in the galley's cafeteria. That's when I spotted it.
A trail of crumbs leading out of the trash can.
Not your typical bread crumbs, but croutons. Now, most people
wouldn't think twice about croutons, but me, I've got a
knack for connecting the dots, especially when those dots are edible.

(03:27):
I followed the trail back into the gallery and straight
to the coat room, where I found a very suspicious
duffel bag inside a fake painting, a replica of the
grieving turnip, complete with fresh smears of wet paint. I
didn't have to wait long to catch the culprit. As
I turned the corner, Lisa the interurn walked in carrying

(03:50):
what looked like the real painting, wrapped in a blanket. Lisa,
I said, crossing my arms, you've got some explaining to do.
Her face went read than a tomato. I I didn't
mean to steal it, I swear. Ah huh. Let me
guess you thought you'd replace the original with your replica
and no one would notice. She nodded frantically. I just

(04:14):
wanted to practice my art. I thought i'd swap it
back before anyone found out, But then I got scared
and panicked. Li Sir, I said, pinching the bridge of
my nose. Next time, practice on something that isn't worth
a million bucks. By the time I returned the painting
to Gloria, Lisa was in custody and the gallery staff

(04:37):
was breathing a collective sigh of relief. Well, Detective Gloria said,
her arms crossed. I suppose I should thank you just
doing my job, I replied, But before I left, I
couldn't resist asking one more thing. By the way, Gloria,
why is the turnip so sad? She gave me a

(04:58):
withering look. It's a a metaphor, Detective write a metaphor. Sure,
as I walked out, I couldn't help. But chuckle art
might not be my thing. But a good mystery that's
a masterpiece I'll take any day.