“No, I haven’t.” The kitchen smelled like someone’s devoted grandmother’s kitchen, and it had his mouth watering. “It’s very aromatic.”

“And tastes better, I can promise you. What kind of theater are you thinking of?”

“A small, tasteful entertainment arena. My employer wants something traditional.”

“People like to eat and lift a glass or two before or after the theater, don’t they?” Shawn dressed the sandwich with a bit of parsley and radish.

“As a rule.” Finkle scanned the room, the shining pots, the scrubbed counters, the tidy workstation. The stove was enormous and looked older than Zeus, but it appeared to be in good working order.

It might do, he thought. He would make a note of it in his report.

“Well, then, they couldn’t do better than Gallagher’s for that,” Brenna assured him. “Would you like to sit here in the kitchen, sir, or would you prefer a table?”

“A table, if you don’t mind,” he told Brenna. The better to observe the business flow.

“I’ll get you settled.” Smoothly Aidan gestured toward the door. “You just tell our Darcy what you’d enjoy for your lunch. On the house, of course.”

Aidan shot one triumphant look over his shoulder as he led Finkle out.

“What’s this about a theater? And why were you acting as though you’d misplaced a few brain cells since you woke up this morning?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. Go on and get your father his lunch, then come back and have your soup here, and I’ll give you the full story.”

When he had, Brenna sat back, gnawing her bottom lip as she did when thinking hard business. “I know this Magee.”

“Do you?”

“Well, not personal like, but I know of him. Them, actually. Father and son, they are, but the son is more in the way of doing the running of things now.”

“A family business,” Shawn mused. “Well, that’s something I can appreciate.”

“A well-established one at that. He builds beautiful things, does Magee. Mostly theaters and arenas and such. He’s very big in America, and in England too, I’m thinking. My mother’s cousin’s nephew Brian Cagney went to work for one of his construction teams in New York. He wrote me a year or two ago and said if I were to come over, I’d have a job in a wink, as Magee doesn’t look at how a carpenter’s skin is stretched when he hires on.”

“Are you thinking of going to New York?” It was such a shock, even the possibility of it, that he had to work to keep his tone level and casual.

“No.” Her mind already elsewhere, Brenna answered absently. “I work with Dad, and we work here. But Brian writes me now and again. He says Magee treats his people well, pays top of the scale, and has been known to swing a hammer himself when the mood strikes. But doesn’t suffer fools, and if you fuck up, you’re out and gone. I’ll write to Brian, see what he knows of this or can find out.”