James Patterson - Honeymoon

Had this been anywhere but New York, she would’ve stood out. But this was the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Here, she blended in. Simply another browsing customer at Hargrove & Sons.

The blonde stopped at an oak hallstand with shiny brass hooks and pretended to look at the price. Her eyes and ears remained fixed on Nora.

Or was it Olivia Sinclair?

She didn’t know what to make of the exchange with the balding guy. Anyone who answers to two names is probably guilty of something.

She continued to watch Nora—now joined by an older man. Just to be careful, she wandered away from them a couple of times. Still, she managed to overhear some of the conversation.

The older man was a client. Accordingly, Nora was actually an interior decorator. Her comments and suggestions, the jargon—she definitely knew how to talk the talk.

Nora’s profession was never really in doubt, though. It was the rest of her life that was in question. Her two lives, her secrets. But there was no proof of anything yet. Which was why the blond woman had decided to have a look-see for herself.

“Excuse me, do you need any help? May I be of assistance in any way?”

The blonde turned to see an elderly sales clerk hovering close behind. He was wearing a bow tie, a tweed jacket, wire-rimmed eyeglasses that looked as old as he was.

“No, thank you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m just looking. But I don’t see anything I like.”

Chapter 48

AFTER I LOST Nora up in Boston that Saturday, the rest of the weekend could be summed up in one word: shitty.

On my list of spontaneous dumb things to do, squaring off with a rental-car window scored pretty high. Thankfully, I hadn’t broken my hand, at least according to my extensive medical self-evaluation. The epitome of rigor, it consisted of one question: Can you still move your fingers, you idiot?

When Monday morning finally rolled around, I swung by Connor Brown’s house to see if Nora had returned. She hadn’t. After making the same trip, with the same result, in the late afternoon, I decided it was time to try her cell phone.

I took out my notepad, where I’d written the number Nora had given me, and dialed from my car.

A man answered.

“I’m sorry, I may have the wrong number,” I said. “I was trying to reach Nora Sinclair.”

He didn’t know anyone by that name.

I hung up and checked my notepad against the log my cell phone kept of outgoing calls. Nope. I’d definitely dialed the right number. It just wasn’t Nora’s.

Huh.

I stared at my steering wheel for a moment before grabbing the phone again and dialing. This time a young, pleasant-sounding female voice.

“Good morning, Centennial One Life Insurance.”

“Very convincing, Molly,” I said.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a nail file in your hand.”

Molly was my new receptionist. After Nora followed me to work, it was decided that the “field office” could no longer be a one-man operation.

“Do me a favor, will you?” I asked. “Run a cell phone check on Nora.”

“The number’s not already in her folder?”

“It may be, but I want to make sure she hasn’t changed it recently.”

“Okay. Give me ten minutes.”

“I’ll give you five.”

“Is that any way to treat your new receptionist?”

“You’re right,” I said. “Make it four minutes.”

“No fair.”

“Tick, tick, tick…”

Molly had been out of school for only two years. While still a little green, according to Susan, and prone to the occasional lapse in judgment, she was proving to be a quick study. No surprise then when she called me back in three minutes.

“It’s still the same number we have for her,” said Molly. She read it to me, and I checked it against the number Nora had given me.

I had to smile. The only difference was the last two digits. They were flip-flopped.

Interesting.

Maybe I was the one who mixed them up. Or maybe that was what Nora wanted me to think. Or, at least allow for.

“Anything else you need?” asked Molly.

“No, I’m all set. Thanks.”

I said good-bye, putting down the phone in favor of my notepad. On purpose or not, Nora had managed to elude me once again. Now what?

I’d learned early in my career that sometimes there is a difference between information you have and information you can use. This was one of those times. I had Nora’s correct cell phone number but had to act as though I didn’t.

With my banged-up hand I wrote her a note and left it at the front door of Connor Brown’s house. I was fairly sure she’d get it. The question was when.

Chapter 49

IT WAS THE NEED for closure that had Nora back in Briarcliff Manor a couple of days later. Despite Connor’s sister’s offering her the use of the house for as long as she wished, Nora wanted to move on. Actually, she hoped never to see the bitch from California again.

The offer she was going to take Elizabeth Brown up on was possession of the furniture. All 11,000 square feet of it. As the interior decorator, Nora knew what everything cost—and everything cost a lot. A small fortune, really. One she was all too pleased to pocket in the name of assuaging Lizzie’s guilt, or whatever it was.

All she needed was a little help.

“Estate Treasures, can I help you?”

“Hi, it’s Nora Sinclair calling. Is Harriet there?”

“Sure, Nora, hold on a second.”

Nora switched ears with her cell phone. She was in the backseat of the Town Car that was taking her out to Connor’s house.

Harriet got on the line. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite decorator.”

“I bet you say that to every decorator.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. And wouldn’t you know, they all believe me. So how’s business, Nora?”

“Pretty good. That’s why I’m calling.”

“So when can I expect you here in the shop?”

“Actually, that’s going to be my question to you, Harriet. I need you to make a house call.”

“ Oy. Where am I going? New York City, I hope. Nora? Talk to me.”

“Briarcliff Manor. A client of mine recently passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“So was I,” said Nora calmly. “Anyway, I was asked to deal with his furnishings on behalf of the estate.”

“You want to consign them?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“A house call, huh? How many rooms are we talking about?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Oy.”

“I know. That’s why I called you. No one could do a better job on this than you.”

“I bet you say that to all your suppliers.”

“And wouldn’t you know, they all believe me,” said Nora.

Nora took a few minutes to discuss some of the furniture and a date for when Harriet could come and look at it. By the time she said good-bye her Town Car was pulling into Connor’s driveway.

As the driver grabbed her suitcase, she got out and headed for the front door. That’s when she saw the note from Craig Reynolds.

Please call me ASAP.

Chapter 50

THE BUZZ FROM my office phone was followed by Molly’s voice. “It’s her,” she announced.

I smiled. There was only one her she could be talking about. Nora was back in town. It was about time.

“Here’s what I want you to do, Molly,” I said. “Tell Ms. Sinclair I’ll be right with her. Then put her on hold and stare at your watch for forty-five seconds. After that, put her through.”

“You got it.”

I leaned back in my chair and gazed at the ceiling. It was composed of those white acoustic tiles that begged to have sharp pencils thrown up into them. I could’ve been taking the time to gather my thoughts, only that’s all I’d been doing the past week. There wasn’t a stray thought of mine within a hundred-mile radius.