James Patterson - Honeymoon

I reached into my suit jacket and clumsily removed a business card. “I’m with Centennial One Life Insurance,” I said, handing her the card. She looked at it. “I’m very sorry about your loss.”

She softened a bit. “Thank you.”

“So, you are Nora Sinclair, right?”

“Yes, I’m Nora.”

“I assume you must have been very close to Mr. Brown.”

So much for her softening up to me. Her tone was wary again. “Yes, we were engaged. Now, please, what is this about?”

It was my turn to show a little confusion. “You mean, you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

I paused for a moment. “About the insurance policy on Mr. Brown. One point nine million dollars, to be exact.”

She stared at me blankly. I expected no less.

“Then I gather you also don’t know this, Ms. Sinclair,” I said. “You’re listed as the sole beneficiary.”

Chapter 30

NORA KEPT HER COOL incredibly well.

“What did you say your name was again?” she asked.

“Craig Reynolds… it’s there on the card. I manage the field office here in town for Centennial One.”

As Nora shifted her weight—a very well executed weight shift, I must say—and looked down at my business card again, the groceries began to slip from her grasp. I jumped forward and grabbed the bag before it could hit the ground.

“Thank you,” she said while reaching to take back the groceries. “That would’ve been a mess.”

“Tell you what, why don’t you let me carry this. I need to talk to you.”

I could tell what she was thinking. A guy she’d never met before was asking his way into the house. A stranger. One bearing candy, no less. Though in my case it was a very sweet insurance payout.

She looked at my business card yet again.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been house-trained,” I joked.

She smiled slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to come off as overly suspicious. It’s just been—”

“A very tough time for you, yes, I can only imagine. You don’t need to apologize. If you’d prefer, we can discuss the policy at a later date. You could come to my office?”

“No, that’s okay. Please, come inside.”

Nora started toward the house. I followed. So far, so good. I wondered if she was a good dancer. She certainly was a good walker.

“Vanilla hazelnut?” I asked.

She looked back over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”

I motioned toward the ground coffee peeking out from the grocery bag. “Though I recently came across some of those newfangled crème brûlée beans, which smell awfully similar.”

“No, it’s vanilla hazelnut,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

“I would’ve preferred to have been blessed with a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball. Instead, I got a heightened sense of smell.”

“Better than nothing.”

“Ah, you’re an optimist,” I said.

“Not these days.”

I smacked my forehead. “Damn. That was dumb of me to say. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, and almost smiled.

We walked up the front steps and went inside the house. The foyer was a lot bigger than my apartment. The chandelier over our head was at least a year’s salary. The Oriental rugs, the Chinese vases. Jeez, what a spread.

“The kitchen’s this way,” she said, leading me around a corner. When we got there, it too was bigger than my apartment. She pointed to the granite slab of counter next to the refrigerator. “You can put the groceries there. Thanks.”

I placed the bag down and started to empty it.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s the least I can do after that optimist comment.”

“Really, it’s okay.” She walked over to me and picked up the bag of vanilla hazelnut. “Can I offer you a cup?”

“Absolutely.”

I made sure it was nothing but small talk while the pot brewed. I didn’t want to do too much too fast—the risk being that she might ask too many questions. As it was, I figured a couple were already headed my way.

“You know what I don’t understand?” she said a few minutes later. We were sitting at the kitchen table, coffee mugs in hand. “Connor had plenty of money and no ex-wife or kids. Why would he bother with life insurance?”

“That’s a good question. I think the answer lies in how this policy originated. You see, Mr. Brown didn’t come to us. We went to him. Or rather, his company.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Something Centennial One is doing more and more of is workers’ compensation policies. As a way of enticing companies to insure with us, we offer the top people free term life insurance.”

“That’s a pretty nice perk.”

“Yeah, it seems to seal the deal a lot for us.”

“How much did you say Connor’s policy was for?”

As if she’d forgotten.

“One point nine million,” I said. “That’s the maximum for his size company.”

Her brow furrowed. “He really listed me as the sole beneficiary?”

“Yes, he really did.”

“When was this?”

“You mean, when was the policy administered?”

She nodded.

“Fairly recently, it turns out. Five months ago.”

“I suppose that would explain it. Though we’d been together at that point for only a short time.”

I smiled. “He obviously had a good feeling about you from the start.”

She tried to smile back, but the tears coming down her cheeks wouldn’t let her. She began wiping them away while apologizing. I assured her that it was more than okay, that I understood. Actually the scene was kind of touching. Or she’s very good.

“Connor had already given me so much, and now this. ” She wiped away another tear. “And what I wouldn’t give to have him back.”

Nora took a long sip of her coffee. I did the same.

“So, what’s supposed to happen? I assume I’ve got to sign some stuff before the payout is made, right?”

I leaned forward a bit on the table and gripped my mug with both hands. “Well, you see, that’s why I’m here, Ms. Sinclair. There’s a little bit of a problem.”

Chapter 31

HE KIND OF sounded like an insurance man, but he didn’t really look like one to Nora.

For starters, she noticed that he wasn’t that bad a dresser. The tie matched the suit, and the suit had actually been in style sometime during this decade.

Another thing was that he had a nice personality. The few insurance guys she’d met before seemed to have about as much charisma as a cardboard box. In fact, all things considered, Craig Reynolds was an attractive man. Nicely put together. He also drove a pretty good car. Then again, thought Nora, this was Briarcliff Manor, not the East Bronx. To manage the field office for a big insurance company in this neck of the woods, you’d kind of have to look the part.

Still, she wasn’t about to let her guard down.

She’d been watching Craig Reynolds carefully and making mental notes—from the moment he first showed up to when he wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and announced that there was “a little bit of a problem” with Connor’s policy.

“What sort of problem?” she asked.

“Ultimately, I don’t think it will be much of one at all. The thing is, because of Mr. Brown’s relatively young age, they’ve decided to investigate the claim.”

“Who’s they? ”

“The home office back in Chicago. They basically call the shots.”

“You don’t have any say in the matter?”

“Not too much in this case. As I mentioned, Mr. Brown’s policy originated in our corporate division, which is run from the home office. Who services it, however, is based on proximity to the client. Meaning, if it wasn’t for the pending investigation, I’d be the one handling everything.”