James Patterson - Honeymoon

We drove to nearby Pocantico Lake and found a patch of grass that offered some privacy, not to mention gorgeous views of the Rockefeller estate with all its expensive hills and dales and whatnot.

“See, doesn’t this beat going to work?” she said after we plopped down on the blanket.

But I was at work. As we talked over the food and wine, I was doing my subtle best to get something from Nora that would point to her involvement in Connor Brown’s death—and the transfer of his money that had started this whole investigation.

Trying to gauge her computer literacy, I casually referred to the firewalls built into a new web program I was using at the office. When she nodded I tacked on, “To think, only a year ago I thought a firewall had to do with asbestos.”

“You and me both. I only know what it is from one of my former clients. He was some big Internet guy.”

“One of those dot-com millionaires, huh? Jesus, what do they do with that kind of money?”

Nora made another funny face.

“Lucky for me, a lot of redecorating. You can’t imagine.”

“Very true. Though I can imagine the taxes these guys must pay.”

“I know. Of course, I guess they have their ways of minimizing them,” she said.

“You mean like loopholes? What?”

She looked at me for a moment. “Yeah, like loopholes.” There was a slight squint in her eyes. Hesitation bordering on suspicion. Enough to make me back off.

So for the rest of the afternoon, I played it cool… like a guy enjoying an unexpected day off from work, with a beautiful woman he couldn’t get enough of.

Chapter 77

GO HOME, O’HARA. Run away, you idiot.

But I didn’t run.

After the picnic, we caught a movie at the art-house cinema in Pleasantville. That was Nora’s idea as well. Rear Window was playing at the Jacob Burns, and she told me it was one of her all-time favorites. “I love Hitchcock. Do you know why, Craig? He’s funny, and he also gets the dark side of life. It’s like two great flicks for the price of one.”

By the time the movie was over, we’d filled up so much on popcorn that we decided to pass on the dinner Nora had planned at the nearby Iron Horse Grill. I stood in the town parking lot with her as if the two of us were in high school again, unsure of how our date should end.

Not Nora. “Let’s go to your place,” she said.

I regarded her for a moment, fixing on her expression. She’d already seen “my place,” run-down shoebox that it was. Was she playing me, wondering how I’d react? Or did she really not care how I lived?

“My place, huh?”

“Is that all right?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ve got to warn you, though, it may not be what you’re expecting.”

“What would that be? What am I expecting?”

“Let’s just say it’s a far cry from what you’re used to.”

Nora looked me in the eye then. “Craig, I like you. That’s what this is about. Just you and me. Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Can I trust you? I want to.”

“Yeah, of course you can trust me. I’m your insurance guy.”

With that, we drove to my place. Nora didn’t bat a pretty eyelash when she saw it—for the second time. Ashford Court Gardens, my home sweet home.

Hand in hand, we ventured inside.

“I should point out, the maid is on strike,” I said with a grin. “Unbearable work conditions, she claims.”

Nora looked around at my less-than-tidy surroundings. “That’s okay,” she said. “It tells me you’re not seeing anybody else. I kind of like it, actually.”

I offered her a beer and she accepted. Handing it to her in the kitchen, I was sure to make fun of the yellow Formica countertops before she did.

She took a swig and put down her red leather purse. “Well, aren’t you going to show me around?”

“You’re pretty much looking at it,” I said.

“You do have a bedroom, don’t you?”

I’d told myself this had to stop right here, right now. Of course, if I’d really meant it, we never would’ve been standing in my kitchen. I would’ve said something back at the movie theater, a pretense of wanting to “slow things down.”

Instead, we were already starting to kiss as we headed to my bedroom. I was about to get between the sheets with Nora again. Talk about giving new meaning to undercover agent.

But I was actually planning to turn it to my advantage. And I thought I knew right where to start.

Chapter 78

“HOW’D YOU GET into her purse without her knowing?” Susan asked.

Well, you see, boss, after Nora and I had wild, crazy sex in my bachelor digs, I waited until she fell asleep. Then I slipped out to the kitchen and rummaged through her bag.

On second thought…

“I have my ways,” I simply said. “Isn’t that why you chose me for this?”

“Let’s just say you have a track record, O’Hara. And you were available.”

I was in the office behind my desk the next day, giving Susan an update over the phone on what we’d last discussed: my “dinner date” with Nora. Susan’s main concern was that I might be coming on too strong—that I might scare Nora off.

Ha.

Once I assured Susan that wasn’t the case, her attention fell on what I’d found in Nora’s purse.

“What’s the shyster’s name again?” asked Susan.

“Steven A. Keppler.”

“And he’s a tax attorney in New York City?”

“That’s what his card said.”

“How soon can you talk to him?”

“That’s the thing. I called and Keppler’s away on vacation until next week.”

“Of course, he may not know anything.”

“Or he may know everything. I’m an optimist, remember?”

“He’ll claim client privilege if indeed that’s what Nora is.”

“He probably will.”

“What will you do then?”

“Like I said, I have my ways.”

“I know, that’s what scares me,” she said. “Remember, you’ve got to be careful with lawyers. Some of them, believe it or not, actually know the law.”

“Funny how that works, huh?”

“You’ll keep me informed? You will keep me informed.”

“I always do.”

Hanging up with Susan, I pushed my office chair back and took a deep breath. I felt restless and out of sorts. My computer was in screen-saver mode, and with the heel of my shoe I hit the space bar on the keyboard. The monitor lit. I pulled up my chair and clicked open the file I had on Nora. I started to browse through the pictures I’d first taken of her with the digicam after Connor Brown’s funeral.

I stopped on the last one and studied it.

It was the shot of her talking with Connor’s sister, Elizabeth, on the front steps. Nora was dressed in black, with the same pair of sunglasses she wore with me on our picnic. Elizabeth Brown was almost as good-looking, only she was a California blonde—an architect, according to my notes.

I leaned forward and stared at the photograph closely. On the surface there was nothing unusual about what I was looking at. But that was the thing. Perception versus reality. Either Nora had nothing to hide… or she had everyone fooled. The police. Friends. Elizabeth Brown. Christ. Could she really be standing there and calmly talking to the sister of the man she’d murdered?

Was Nora that convincing? That conniving? What made her so dangerous was that I couldn’t tell for sure. Not even now.

All I knew was one thing: I couldn’t wait to see her again.

I closed the file, telling myself I was out of control. I had to do something. I was standing way too close to the flame, the heat was getting to be too much. I needed to get away. Cool it, O’Hara. At least for a few days.