Gwenny June's Tommy Crown Affair

  Chapter 7 – Tommy and Gwenny

  The Curator of the museum stopped into the museum cafe for a cup of coffee on his way to the Director’s office where they were to meet the insurance company guy at 1pm. Ahead of him in line at the cashier was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in the flesh, who was talking with a short squat guy whose beard wrapped around the sides of his neck under his ears. In front of him was another babe, dressed like she was heading to the runway of a Stella McCartney spring fashion show in Milan. They paid for their food and went to a table, and he paid for his coffee and forced himself to tear his eyes away from the two women. His inclination was to pretend he was a visitor and sit at a table so he could look at them, but the Director was waiting for this guy who had flown in from New York.

  They sat in the Director’s office, talking about the silver exhibition they were putting together, until the secretary knocked on the door and said their guest was here. The Director said to him, “Welcome to Charleston, and thanks for coming down so quickly.”

  Tommy said, “I’ve never been here before but I’ve heard great things, and hope I get to see a little before I close the case. Maybe I can stay a few days after that.”

  The definitiveness of Tommy’s statement was not lost on the museum boys, who, on the one hand thought, ‘Hey, great, maybe we’ll get it back’ and on the other hand thought, ‘New York bravado BS.’ While the Director eased into the talk with Charlestonian politeness, the Curator studied the guy and ended up with a single impression: Steve McQueen. Same sandy hair, blue eyes, and presence. The Curator loves cars and movies, and thought the greatest chase scene in film history was McQueen in the ’68 Mustang GT 390, tearing around the hills of San Francisco in Bullitt.

  The Director said, “We’ve put together an information package for you, everything we know about the painting, and a report about what we know of the theft, which is zero. We have no idea how they did it, and neither do the cops. Or at least they’re not sharing anything with us.” The Curator opened a folder and took out an 8 by 10 glossy photo of the painting hanging on the museum wall, which he looked at and then handed to Tommy.

  Tommy said, “You counting on the police to find this?”

  The Director said, “They were here the day we discovered the theft, took a lot of photos and did the whole fingerprint thing. The Chief was here with the Mayor.”

  Tommy again looked at the photo and then back at the Director and said, “If they’re like other city cops I’ve worked with they’re more interested in murders and rapes than art. Maybe yours are different. But you haven’t heard back from them, right?”

  While the Director nodded, something nagged at the Curator’s mind, something about the photograph. He said, “Can I see that?” He stared at the face of the Bedgewood woman who lived two hundred years ago, knowing he had looked at it a hundred times, every time he had walked through the gallery in which the painting hung, because the woman was so beautiful and so beautifully painted. What was it now that bothered him?

  Tommy quickly looked through the folder and then said, “Can I get a cup of coffee, then see the gallery?”

  “I can have coffee brought here or we can walk through the gallery on the way to the cafe.”

  “Let’s walk. I’m still stiff from sitting on the plane this morning.”

  As they left the office and walked through the galleries, Tommy asked about the security system, which he checked out even as the Director described it. It was all standard components: cameras, motion-detectors, electric sensors on the doors and windows. Nothing fancy. As they stood in front of the discolored rectangle on the wall, the Curator again looked at the photo and then handed it to Tommy, who said, “Nice looking woman. Who was she? When did she live?”

  “Gwendolyn Bedgewood. Daughter of the governor. The painting was done early 1800s, so two hundred years ago. Very famous South Carolina family, and there’s still some of them around Charleston now.”

  “I just want to get a quick feel for the place today. Thanks for the folder of information; I’ll read through it tonight, and be back tomorrow morning. We can go over the security system and the building then, and I’ll get whatever information the police have turned up later. Can we go to the cafe now, and then I’ll go to the hotel and check in? And one more thing, do you have a set of architectural drawings of the museum? I’d like to take them with me and look at them later with the stuff in the folder.” The Director looked at the Curator, who nodded and left to get the drawings. In the cafe the Director asked Tommy what he wanted in his coffee, went through the line, and then went to the table where Tommy sat. He pushed the paper cup across the table and then took the top off of his. He expected Tommy to do the same, but Tommy wasn’t looking at the coffee, he was staring at something behind the Director, and that something was me. Gale and Jinny had their backs to Tommy, and the Director had his back to me, but Tommy and I looked right at each other, him seeing the woman in the painting, and me seeing Steve McQueen.

  I thought, ‘What do we have here?’