James Patterson - Honeymoon

She looked toward the edge of the property and listened…. Nothing.

Probably a bird, she decided.

But as she took the last step into the house, the Nikon D1X digicam chirped a few final times from its perch among the rhododendron.

Click. Click. Click.

Nora Sinclair wasn’t the only one with a grand plan.

Part Two

THE INSURANCE MAN

Chapter 25

THINGS AREN’T ALWAYS as they appear, sonny boy.

That was something my father was fond of telling me when I was growing up. Of course, he was also fond of telling me to take out the garbage, rake the leaves, shovel the snow, don’t slouch, stand up straight. But in terms of leaving a meaningful impression, everything else was a distant second to his first little piece of advice.

So simple. Yet, as the years have taught me, so true.

Anyway, I was sitting in my newly acquired office, which was more like a glorified broom closet. The place was so snug, even Houdini would have complained. Up on my computer were the pictures I’d taken with my digicam. One after another. Nora Sinclair dressed in chic-chic black, head to toe. Nora at St. Mary’s Church. At the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. Back at Connor Brown’s modest little estate house. The last shots were of her on the front steps, talking to the poor guy’s sister, Elizabeth. Elizabeth was tall and blond and looked like a California swimmer. Nora was brunette, not quite as tall, but even more beautiful. Both were stunning, even in funeral attire. They appeared to be crying, and then they hugged.

What exactly was I looking for?

I didn’t know, but the more I stared at these pictures, the more my father’s words echoed in my head. Things aren’t always as they appear.

I grabbed the phone and dialed the boss. The direct line. Two rings later…

“Susan,” she announced briskly. No hello, no last name—just Susan.

“It’s me. Hi. I need you to be a sounding board,” I said. “So how do I sound?”

“Like you want to sell me insurance.”

“Not too New York?”

“You mean, not too pushy? No.”

“Good.”

“But talk a little more just to make sure,” she said.

I thought for a second. “Okay, so this old guy dies and goes up to heaven,” I began in the same voice, which to my ear was dripping in New Yorkese. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one.”

“I’ve heard this one.”

“No, you haven’t—trust me, you’re going to laugh.”

“I suppose there’s always a first time.”

It should be said at this point, if it isn’t already obvious, that the boss and I have a certain rapport. Of course, some men have a real hang-up about reporting to a woman. When Susan took over her department, in fact, there were about four or five guys who gave her a hard time from day one.

That’s why on day two she fired them all. I’m serious. So is Susan.

“Anyway, so this old guy arrives at the Pearly Gates and immediately he sees two signs,” I said. “The first sign reads, MEN WHO WERE CONTROLLED BY THEIR WIVES. The old man looks and sees that this line is, like, ten miles long.”

“Naturally.”

“No comment. So the old man looks at the second sign. It reads, MEN WHO WERE NOT CONTROLLED BY THEIR WIVES. Lo and behold, there’s only one guy in this line. Slowly, the old man walks over to him. ‘Tell me,’ he says, ‘why are you standing over here?’ The guy looks at him and says, ‘I don’t know, my wife told me to.’”

I listened, and sure enough, a slight laugh could be heard on the other end of the line.

“What I’d tell you? Next stop, Letterman.”

“Mildly amusing,” said Susan. “But I wouldn’t quit your day job just yet.”

I chuckled. “Now that’s funny, considering this isn’t even supposed to be my day job.”

“Do I detect a little nervousness?”

“It’s more like apprehension.”

“Why? You’re a natural at this stuff. You’ve got an—” Susan stopped mid-sentence. “Oh, I get it. It’s because she’s a woman, right?”

“I’m just saying, it’s a little different, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. No matter who or what Nora Sinclair turns out to be, you’re the best man for the job,” she said. “So, when’s the big introduction?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. Excellent. Keep me posted.”

“I will,” I said. “Oh, and Susan?”

“Yeah?”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“I’m still not used to you and humility being in the same room.”

“I’m trying. Lord knows, I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” she said. “Good luck.”

Chapter 26

THE PINE WOODS Psychiatric Facility, a New York State- run institution, was in Lafayetteville, about an hour-and-a-quarter drive heading north from Westchester. Unless, of course, you were Nora in her new Benz convertible. Zipping along the winding, forest-lined Taconic Parkway at over eighty miles an hour, she turned up at the hospital a solid fifteen minutes sooner.

Nora found a parking space and put the top up with a single press of a button. Neat. She did a quick check in the vanity mirror and shook her hair back into place. No touch-up on the makeup was needed. She was barely wearing any to begin with. Then, for some crazy reason, she had a thought about Connor’s sister—the Ice Blonde. Something about Elizabeth bothered her. As if there hadn’t been closure between them.

Nora shrugged it off. She locked up the convertible—even out here in the boonies. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a simple white button-down shirt. Clutched under her arm was a bag from a bookstore. As she walked toward the entrance of the main redbrick building, there wasn’t another soul on the grounds.

She knew the routine inside by heart. A visit every month for the past fourteen years guaranteed that.

First came the obligatory check-in at the front desk. After showing a photo ID of herself, Nora signed in and was given a pass.

Next she made her way to the elevator bank, to the left of the desk. One was open and waiting.

During her first year of coming to the facility, it was the second-floor button she pushed. After twelve months, though, her mother was moved to an upper floor. Though no one ever admitted it to Nora, she knew that the higher up the room, the less likely the chance of the patient’s ever being released.

Nora stepped onto the elevator and pressed eight.

The top floor.

Chapter 27

HEAD NURSE EMILY BARROWS was having one of those days. No big surprise. The computer system was down, her back was just killing her, the copy machine was out of toner, she had a splitting headache, someone on the night shift had spilled coffee on the medication log.

And it wasn’t even noon yet.

Plus, for what seemed like the hundredth time—and may actually have been just that—she was breaking in a new nurse. This one was the type who smiled too much. Her name was Patsy, which unto itself was a little too happy sounding.

The two women were sitting at the nurses’ station that anchored the eighth floor. One of the elevators, which were located right in front of them, opened. Emily looked up from the java-stained page of the medication log. A familiar face walked toward her.

“Hello, Emily.”

“Hello, Nora. How are you?”

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s doing fine.”

She and Nora basically had the same brief exchange every month, and it always ended the same way. Nora’s mother was always the same.

Emily glanced over at Patsy. The new nurse—smiling insipidly—was watching and listening to the conversation.