Page 13 of A First Sight

“Aye.” I cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s him.”

Mel nodded and held out his hand for his tablet. I stole one more look at her and reluctantly gave it back.

He tapped the screen to pull up the information and started reading. “Dale Leighton, thirty-four. Native New Yorker by way of Queens. Father Ronald Leighton is a successful importer/exporter. Dale graduated from New York University. Been with the Philharmonic for three years, where he plays the violin.”

I nodded and pretended not to be waiting to hear about my mystery woman.

“The girl in the picture is his girlfriend, Maggie McCrae. Based on Leighton’s social media accounts, she also plays in the Philharmonic. He lives in Murray Hill, but it’s not apparent if she lives with him.”

Maggie McCrae.

A Scottish name, of course. The surname gave me a moment’s pause, tugging at something in my memory. Could she, by any chance, be related to Patrick McCrae? Likely not. There would be thousands of McCrae’s in the world.

“That’s all my friend has right now, but he said he could dig a bit more.”

I wanted to know more about Maggie McCrae, not Dale Leighton, but switching to ask for more information on her would undoubtedly make me look like a creep. Now that I had her name and place of employment, I could do a little investigating myself and avoid awkward questions.

Still…

“Not at the moment,” I said. “That may change in the future, but for now, thank your friend and have him send an invoice. Include a bonus for how quickly he worked.”

Mel nodded, making a note on his tablet. “Has anything come up that isn’t already on my list for today?”

“No, thank you.” I hoped I didn’t sound as impatient as I felt.

“All right.” Mel stood. “I’ll check in before I leave.”

I nodded, my fingers tapping on my thigh as I waited for him to leave. He closed the door, halfway as usual. I almost asked him to close it all the way, but I didn’t want to do anything out of the ordinary. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but this was the sort of thing I didn’t want to have to explain to anyone. Especially since I didn’t understand it myself.

Once I was sure he settled at his desk, I turned to my computer and pulled up my web browser. A minute later, I was on the website for the New York Philharmonic. No longer my mystery woman, she was easy to find. The website showed her as the assistant concertmaster and second chair at the top of the violin section.

My conversation with Homer came back to me, and I realized I heard Maggie practicing that day I went to the opera house. It shouldn’t have surprised me that Maggie was a talented musician. Simply because Belle hadn’t possessed a musical bone in her body didn’t mean that her doppelganger couldn’t have.

The biography on the website was brief.

Violinist Maggie McCrae comes to New York from San Ramon, California. Accepted in Julliard straight out of high school, she earned a Master’s degree in music in five years. Having joined the Philharmonic shortly after her graduation, she’s risen quickly, having reached principal assistant concertmaster and second chair violinist a year ago.

San Ramon, California.

It took my brain a moment to process, but now, I was certain. Maggie was related to Patrick McCrae, the McCrae International Research Institute founder. While McCrae wasn’t an uncommon surname, I didn’t believe there were many of them in San Ramon.

If my guess was correct, Maggie McCrae and I had a connection of sorts, though not exactly the type that fostered conversation.

Not that I planned to hold any with her. I didn’t intend to meet her.

But…I clicked on the link to take me to the event calendar. Ithadbeen a long time since I attended a concert, and I told Homer I would have to come to a performance soon. I already planned on it, so it wasn’t strange to purchase a seat for tonight’s show. I was merely continuing my patronage.

And seeing Miss Maggie McCrae would simply be a little bonus.

That’s all.

* * *

I fidgetedwith the cuffs of my tux, wondering again if I should have chosen a suit instead. A Friday night performance wasn’t as informal as a matinee or a Thursday evening, but I hadn’t been in a long time, and I wasn’t sure what to wear.

Better to be overdressed rather than underdressed. Exiting my car, I made my way to the VIP entrance. I couldn’t stop the strange onset of nerves that grew with each passing step.

There was no reason to be nervous. Or so my mind told me. I’d go to my seat, enjoy an excellent performance, then go home. I’d seeher,of course—Maggie—but only alongside the other members of the orchestra. Including Dale, her boyfriend. It didn’t matter what I was wearing.

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