James Patterson - Honeymoon

“So if you’re not, who is?”

“I haven’t been told yet, but if I had to guess, it’s going to be a man by the name of John O’Hara.”

“Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“When you said that, you frowned a little.”

“No, it’s no big deal. Supposedly, O’Hara’s a hard-ass—pardon my language—but that’s par for the course with an insurance investigator. From what I can tell, this should be a routine inquiry.”

As Craig Reynolds reached for his coffee again, Nora made another mental note: no wedding band.

“How do you like the vanilla hazelnut?” she asked.

“Tastes even better than it smells.”

She sat back in her chair. Having already turned off her tears, she gave Craig Reynolds a pleasant smile. He came across as caring and thoughtful. Better yet, she noticed that when he smiled back at her, his cheeks produced a cute pair of dimples. Too bad he doesn’t have any money.

Not that Nora was complaining. From where she was sitting, Craig Reynolds the insurance man was worth $1.9 million. It was a windfall she wasn’t about to turn down. The only wrinkle was the investigation. Routine as it sounded, it made her nervous.

But not overly so. She had a very good plan, and it was made to hold up to scrutiny. By the police, by the coroner’s office, by the likes of anyone or anything that might stand in her way. And that certainly included an insurance investigation.

Just the same, after Craig Reynolds left the house that afternoon, she decided it might be a good idea to make herself scarce for the next few days. She was supposed to see Jeffrey that weekend anyway. Maybe she’d go up a day early and surprise him.

He was, after all, her husband.

Chapter 32

THE NEXT MORNING, a Friday, Nora walked out of the house in Westchester and popped open the trunk of her Benz convertible parked in front. In went her suitcase. The weatherman on TV had promised nothing but blue skies and sun with the temperature reaching a high of eighty. A “top-down day” if there ever was one.

Nora pressed the button on her keyless remote and watched as the roof of the car began to recede quietly. That’s when another car caught her eye. What the hell?

Out on Central Drive, parked under towering maples and oaks, was the same BMW as the day before. And sitting in the front with his sunglasses on was the insurance man. Craig Reynolds.

What’s he doing back here?

One sure way to find out. Nora started to walk straight for his car. She thought he’d been so friendly when they first met. But now, this… watching her from his car. It was a little creepy. Or worse, a little suspicious. Which was why she cautioned herself not to overreact.

Craig saw her coming and promptly hopped out of his Beemer. He began walking toward her in his tan summer-weight suit. He gave her a friendly wave.

They met halfway.

Nora tilted her head and smiled. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were spying.”

“If that’s the case, I probably should’ve chosen a better hiding place, huh?” He smiled back. “My apologies—it’s not what it looks like. Actually, you can blame the Mets for this.”

“An entire baseball team?”

“Yes, including the general manager. I was about to pull into your driveway when the Fan went to a commercial break, saying the club was about to make a big trade with Houston. So I pulled over to listen.”

She gave him a blank look. “The Fan?”

“It’s an all-sports radio station.”

“I see. So you weren’t spying?”

“Nope. I’m no James Bond. Just a long-suffering Mets season-ticket holder.”

Nora nodded. She figured either Craig Reynolds was telling the truth or he was a born liar. “What were you coming to see me about?” she asked.

“Good news, actually. John O’Hara, that guy I told you about from the home office, has definitely been placed in charge of the investigation into Mr. Brown’s death.”

“I thought that wasn’t supposed to be such good news.”

“No, but this part is. I talked to him early this morning and he said he thought there wouldn’t be any problems.”

“That is good.”

“Better yet, I got him to fast-track the thing. He gave me his hard-line spiel about not giving special treatment, but I asked him to do it since the Westchester office has been such a rainmaker for the company. Anyway, I just thought you’d want to know.”

“I appreciate it, Mr. Reynolds. It’s a nice surprise.”

“Please, call me Craig.”

“In that case, call me Nora.”

“Nora it is.” He glanced over her shoulder at the red convertible in the driveway, the trunk still up. “Taking a trip?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Anywhere interesting?”

“That depends on your opinion of south Florida.”

“As they say, it’s a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to vote there.”

She chuckled. “I’ll have to use that one on my client in Palm Beach. Or maybe not.”

“What line of work are you in—if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’m an interior decorator.”

“No kidding. It must be fun. I mean, there aren’t many jobs where you get to spend other people’s money, are there?”

“No, I guess there aren’t.” She looked at her watch. “Whoops, somebody’s running late for the airport.”

“My fault. By all means, get going.”

“Well, again Mr. Reyn—” She caught herself. “ Craig. Thanks for stopping by. It was very sweet.”

“No problem, Nora. I’ll let you know when there’s something to report on the investigation.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

They shook hands and Craig was about to walk away. “Oh, you know what?” he said. “It dawns on me, with you traveling, I should probably get a cell phone number.”

Nora hesitated for a split second. While giving out the number was one of the last things she wanted to do, she also didn’t want to appear suspicious to the insurance man.

“Sure thing,” she said. “Have you got a pen?”

Chapter 33

I RANG SUSAN right after getting back into the car. My initial two encounters with Nora merited a report back to the boss.

“Is she as pretty in person?”

“ That’s what you want to know first?”

“Absolutely,” said Susan. “This girl can’t be doing what she might be doing without being a knockout. So, is she?”

“Is there a way to answer that while still sounding professional?”

“Yes. It’s called being honest.”

“Then, yeah,” I said. “Nora Sinclair is a very attractive woman. Stunning wouldn’t be too much of a reach.”

“You pig.”

I laughed.

“What’s your sense from talking to her?” she asked.

“Too early to tell. She’s either got nothing to hide or is a natural-born liar.”

“I’m going to put ten bucks on the latter.”

“We’ll see if that’s a good bet,” I said.

“With you on it, I’m sure we will.”

“You know, if you prop me up any more, I’m going to hit my head on the ceiling.”

“That, or actually come through for me.”

“Oh, I see. The guidebook says to play into my confidence.”

“Trust me, there’s no guidebook on how to handle you,” she said. “Where are you now?”

“Outside the late Connor Brown’s home.”

“Did you already do the follow-up?”

“Yeah.”

“How long did it take for her to see you?”

“Within minutes.”

“Mets or Yankees?”

“Mets,” I said. “Steinbrenner’s done trading for the year. At least until the pennant stretch.”