The waiter returned with our coffee and I was just taking my first sip when Julian McCrea entered the restaurant.
He was a large man, tall and round in a double-breasted pinstripe suit with a white shirt and a white tie with navy polka dots. His black wingtips gleamed and he was carrying a charcoal fedora. He did make me think of the character from Guys and Dolls, but he could just as easily have been a fashion-forward businessman.
Gavin got to his feet as McCrea approached the table, and I did the same.
“Gavin, it’s been too long,” the big man said, shaking the hand offered. I saw a glint of gold cuff links at the cuffs of the crisp white shirt.
“It’s good to see you,” Gavin replied with what sounded to me like a touch of deference in his voice. “This is my friend Kathleen Paulson.” He gestured to me. “Kathleen, I’d like you to meet Julian McCrea.”
McCrea smiled and took the hand I held out in both of his. “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Miss Paulson,” he said. I caught a hint of an accent in his cultured voice—not British or Australian; maybe South African.
“Thank you for making time to talk to us,” I said.
“Gavin told me what happened at your library,” he said. “I don’t know if I can be of any help, but I’m happy to answer your questions.”
We took our seats again. McCrea set his fedora on the empty chair between him and Gavin and turned his attention to me. “Tell me a little more about the exhibit. I didn’t get a lot of details.”
I gave him a brief background on how the library had come to be one of the stops on the exhibit of mid-nineteenth-century artwork and explained how Margo had convinced the museum to include a contemporary local segment of artwork at each stop on the tour. Gavin sat silently, nodding on occasion but letting me do all the talking.
“I met Margo several times, socially,” McCrea said. “The art world—at least here—is a very small world. I was sorry to hear what happened.” He reached for his menu, which had appeared at his elbow along with a cup of tea about thirty seconds after he’d sat down. Our waiter had to have been watching and waiting for his cue.
“Do you like fish, Miss Paulson?” he asked.
“Yes, I do,” I said.
“Then I suggest the fish cakes with lemon dill sauce.”
“They sound delicious.” I closed my menu and set it back on the table.
The waiter appeared at McCrea’s elbow again, almost as though the big man had given some kind of signal. He took our orders, refilled my and Gavin’s cups and headed for the kitchen.
McCrea talked in general terms about the art scene in Minneapolis while we waited for our food. He was well spoken and clearly knowledgeable about his subject. The man was charming but in a different way from Gavin. Gavin’s charm was all about pulling you in. Julian McCrea’s was all about keeping you at arm’s length. I didn’t think I was going to get any information from him unless I could find a way to bring that wall down.
The fish cakes were delicious, a mix of catfish and salmon, with a thin, crispy bread-crumb coating. “These are excellent,” I said, raising my fork in acknowledgment to the art dealer. “The last time I had fish cakes this good was in a little roadside diner just outside of Rockport, Maine, when my parents were doing Noises Off.”
“Your parents were involved in community theater?” McCrea asked.
I shook my head. “Summer stock. They’re both actors, although they also teach at a private school and my mother has been doing more directing lately.”
His blue eyes focused in on me. “May I ask their names? I’m wondering if I may have seen either of them on stage.”
“John and Thea Paulson,” I said. “If you’re a Shakespeare fan at all and you’ve seen any theater at all on the East Coast, it’s possible you’ve seen them.”
Julian McCrea’s eyes widened and a smile stretched across his face. “Thea Paulson is your mother?” he exclaimed.
It wasn’t the first time my mom’s name had gotten that kind of reaction. She’d just recently wrapped up her third visit to the daytime drama The Wild and the Wonderful. My father liked to tease that they couldn’t go anywhere without at least one young woman coming up to tell her she rocked.
“And men half my age stare at her,” Dad had said, laughing and shaking his head. “And the kind of looks they give her aren’t because they’re looking at her like she’s a mother figure.”
“Yes, she is,” I said in answer to McCrea’s question.
His smile grew wider. “I saw her maybe a dozen years ago as Portia in The Merchant of Venice, and two years ago as Ella in Last Love, in Boston. She’s very talented.”
“Yes, she is,” I said, smiling back at him. “Thank you.”
“What about you, Kathleen?” he asked. “Do you act?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid the talent gene skipped me.” I speared a forkful of arugula. “You clearly enjoy the theater. Have you done any acting?”
“I’ve played the role of Big Jule in Guys and Dolls,” he said. I noticed that he sat up a little straighter as he said the words.
“It’s one of my favorite musicals,” I said. That was true. I’d loved watching my dad rehearse his role as Sky Masterson and I really could do the choreography for “Luck Be a Lady.”
I gave Julian McCrea a quick once-over. “I can see you as Big Jule,” I said.
He patted his midsection. “I do have the ‘big’ part.”
“I was thinking more that you have the presence to play the role. It’s very easy for the character to turn into a caricature.” That was also true. I’d heard my mother express her dissatisfaction with the way the part had been cast a couple of times because the director had turned Big Jule into comic relief instead of using him to move the story forward.
We spent the rest of the meal talking about musical theater. Gavin didn’t say a word. When the waiter arrived with the bill, discreetly presented inside a small black folder, he indicated with a flick of his gaze that it should be given to him.
“Thank you, my friend,” McCrea said.
“Thank you for taking the time to talk to us,” Gavin replied.
The art dealer turned to me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any help to you. I can promise you that no one is shopping that missing drawing around this area. If someone were, I would know. Unfortunately, you’re just going to have to take my word for that.”
“It’s good enough for me,” I said.
I hesitated. McCrea must have seen the uncertainty in my face. “Is there something else, Kathleen?” he asked.
“The name Devin Rossi has . . . come up in the investigation,” I said, hoping I’d chosen my words wisely.
He turned his head to look at Gavin for a moment before bringing his attention back to me. “Interesting,” was all he said.
“She acquires art for her customers.”
The big man tented his fingers over his midsection. “You’re very diplomatic,” he said, an amused expression on his face.
“My mother always says you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,” I countered. I didn’t add that she also said you could get the best result by spreading a little bull around.
“I’ll put out a few discreet inquiries,” he said. “If I find out anything I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate that.”
He pushed back his cuff, glanced at his watch and then got to his feet. Gavin and I did the same. McCrea took my hand in both of his. “It’s truly been a pleasure to meet you, Kathleen,” he said. “I hope to see you again.”
I smiled. “I’d like that.”
“It’s always good to see you, Gavin,” the big man said, reaching for his hat.