Honeymoon

by James Patterson

  “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.

  Ring.

  Thank you, Molly.

  I picked up the phone and did my best impression of frenzied. “Nora, are you still there?”

  “I’m still here,” she said. I could tell immediately she wasn’t very happy about having to wait.

  “Bear with me for one more second, okay?”

  I put her on hold again before she could object. Then I stared back up at the ceiling. One one thousand, two one thousand… At fifteen one thousand, I got back on the line and let out a deep breath.

  “Gosh, I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Nora,” I said, now doing my best impression of apologetic. “I was finishing up with another client on the other line. I take it you got my note?”

  “A few minutes ago, yes. I’m here at the house now.”

  Time to test her lying ability. “How was your trip? Maryland, right?”

  “Actually, it was Florida,” she said.

  No. Actually, it was Boston, I wanted to say, but knew I couldn’t. Instead: “Oh, that’s right. Wouldn’t want to vote there! Was it a good trip?”

  “Very much so.”

  “You know I tried reaching you on that cell phone number you gave me—except it turned out to be somebody else’s.”

  “That’s odd. What number were you dialing?”

  “Let me check, I’ve got it right here.”

  I read it back to Nora.

  “That explains it,” she said. “The last two digits are eight-four, not four-eight. God, I hope it wasn’t me who mixed them up. I’m sorry if I did.”

  Oh, she’s smooth.

  “That’s okay. It was probably my mistake,” I said. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve suffered from digit dyslexia.”

  “In any event, we’re talking now.”

  “Yeah, we are. Anyway, the reason I wanted to speak to you was the insurance inquiry.”

  “Is there news?”

  “You could call it that.” I hesitated before going on. “Please don’t read too much into this, but I think we should discuss it in person.”

  “It’s bad, huh?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Except if it was good news, you would’ve told me over the phone. At least admit that.”

  “Yes, okay, it’s perhaps not the best news,” I told her. “Really, though, don’t read too much into it. Is there a time later today we could meet?”

  “I suppose I could come by your office around four.”

  And I suppose you won’t need directions, Nora, given that you’ve already staked the place out.

  “Four’s good—great, actually. Only we might want to do it someplace else besides here. There’s a crew here painting. The fumes are pretty bad,” I lied. “Tell you what, do you know where the Blue Ribbon Diner is?”

  “Sure, just outside of town. I’ve been there.”

  I know.

  “Good,” I said. “I’ll meet you inside at four for a cup of coffee. Or given the time, should I say high tea?”

  “Not if we’re talking about the same diner.”

  I laughed and agreed that we should stick to coffee.

  “See you at four, then,” she said.

  You can count on it, Nora.

  Chapter 51

  THE BLUE RIBBON wasn’t going to win first place for anything in the categories of food, decor, and service, but as suburban diners went, it was pretty decent. The eggs were never runny, the ketchup bottles were almost always filled, and the waitresses—while hardly a threat to win any congeniality contests—were nonetheless professional. They got your order mostly right and were quick on the coffee refills.

  When I walked in a few minutes shy of four, the host gave me a nod of recognition. In my short time in the area, the Blue Ribbon had become my go-to eating place. Though I was sure there were better haunts around, I didn’t care enough to go find them.

  “Actually, there’s going to be two of us,” I told the host, who’d automatically grabbed a lone menu upon seeing me. He was Greek and wore a stained black vest over a wrinkled white shirt. A walking cliché, yes, but the good kind, as far as I was concerned.

  Nora arrived a couple of minutes later. I waved from my seat, which was in a red-upholstered booth by the back. She was wearing a dark skirt, cream-colored blouse that looked like silk, and heels. For me, Nora? You shouldn’t have. As it was postlunch and predinner, the diner was only half filled. She spotted me easily.

  Nora walked over, and we shook hands and said our hellos. I thanked her for coming. I also noticed that she smelled nice. Watch it, Craig.

  As Nora took a seat, a waitress immediately appeared at the table. In a small bit of mirth amid her otherwise all-business demeanor, her name tag read, HEY, MISS.

  The two of us ordered coffee, and I tacked on a slice of apple pie. My waistline didn’t need it, but I figured it was a good strategic move. I mean, how can you not trust a guy who orders apple pie?

  To look at Nora as the waitress left was to know I should keep the small talk to an absolute minimum. Her body language spoke loud and clear. Tight, controlled, on edge. She was there to hear some bad news and had no interest in prolonging the suspense.

  So I cut to the chase.

  “I feel awful,” I said. “All along I’ve been talking about this inquiry like it was totally routine and no
thing to worry about. Then the other day…” My voice trailed off as I shook my head, exasperated.

  “What? The other day what?”

  “It’s this goddamn O’Hara!” I said. I didn’t scream it, though my volume was enough to turn a head or two at other tables. I took it down a notch. “I don’t know why they let a guy like that be in charge of investigations. It’s just not necessary.”

  Nora looked at me, waiting, which I could tell, she wasn’t used to doing.

  “He’s apparently contacted the FBI,” I said.

  She squinted. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I, Nora. O’Hara’s got to be the most suspicious guy I’ve ever met. As far as he’s concerned, the whole world is a conspiracy. O’Hara can definitely be a head case.”

  “Great.” Nora leaned back in the booth, her shoulders slouched. Her green eyes blinked in confusion. I almost felt sorry for her. “The FBI? What does that mean?”

  “Something that no one who’s suffering a loss should ever have to endure,” I said. Then came a short, sweet dramatic pause. “I’m afraid your fiancé’s body is going to be exhumed.”

  “What?”

  “I know, it’s terrible, and if there was anything I could do about it, I would. I can’t, though. For whatever reason, this idiot O’Hara refuses to accept that a forty-year-old guy can naturally have a heart attack. He wants more tests performed.”

  “But there was an autopsy.”

  “I know… I know.”

  “This O’Hara guy doesn’t believe the results?”

  “It’s not so much that, Nora. What he wants are more thorough tests. General autopsies are… well, they’re general; they don’t always uncover certain things.”

  “What do you mean? What things?”

  Nora’s question hung in the air as the waitress returned. As she put down our coffee and my apple pie, I watched Nora get more and more worked up. Her emotions struck me as genuine. It was the motivation that seemed less clear. Was she the grieving fiancée, or the murderous woman grappling with the sudden risk of being exposed?

  The waitress left.

  “What things?” I said, repeating her question. “Any number of things, I suppose. For instance, and I’m only speaking hypothetically, if Connor was an abuser of drugs, or perhaps there was some preexisting medical condition that went unreported on the insurance application—both these things could possibly void the policy.”

  “Neither was the case.”

  “You know that, and to be perfectly candid and off the record, I know that. Unfortunately, John O’Hara doesn’t.”

  Nora pulled back the paper lid on one of those oversize thimbles of half-and-half. She dumped it in her coffee. Added two sugars.

  “You know what?” she said. “Tell O’Hara he can keep the money. I don’t want it.”

  “I wish it were that simple, Nora. Centennial One actually has a legal obligation to pay off the policy, barring any discrepancies. Strange as it may sound, you don’t have a choice in this matter.”

  She lowered her elbows onto the table. Then her head dropped into her hands. When she lifted it back up I could see a tear rolling down her cheek. She whispered: “You’re literally going to dig up Connor’s coffin? That’s what you’re going to do?”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, and actually I did feel bad. What if she was innocent? “You can see why I didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone. The only thing I can tell you is that if I were O’Hara, I’d never do something like this.”

  As I said those words, watching as she dried her eyes with her napkin, I couldn’t help thinking about my father and his words.

  Things aren’t always as they appear.

  I still couldn’t tell if Nora’s tears were real or fake, but this much I did know. She’d come to despise John O’Hara. And the more she hated him, the more I could gain her trust.

  Pretty ironic, I had to admit.

  For John O’Hara wasn’t out in Chicago at the home office of Centennial One Life Insurance.

  Instead, John O’Hara was sitting in a booth at the Blue Ribbon Diner, eating a slice of apple pie and answering to the name of Craig Reynolds.

  And insurance wasn’t exactly my game.

  Part Three

  VERY DANGEROUS GAMES

  Chapter 52

  SUSAN WAS BARKING in my ear. She was pissed. “What do you mean, you told her we were exhuming Brown’s body?”

  “Trust me, it’s to our advantage,” I said. “More than ever, Nora thinks I’m on her side. Plus, you told me yourself that digging up the body poses a risk. She could find out on her own.”

  “I said it poses a small risk.”

  “And what I’m saying is that we just turned it around to our advantage.”

  “We didn’t do anything, O’Hara. You did this on your own without discussing it with me first.”

  “So I winged it a bit.”

  “No, you winged it a lot. That’s your trademark, isn’t it? That’s what gets you in trouble,” she groused. “There’s a reason we have a game plan, and that’s so we both know what the other is doing.”

  “C’mon, Susan, at least agree this plays into our favor.”

  “That’s not the point. I need you to be a team player, understand? You’re not the undercover cop anymore.”

  I hesitated, but then said, “You’re right. I’m the undercover federal agent.”

  “Not for long if you call any more audibles like that. I don’t like cowboys.”

  Neither of us said anything for a few seconds. I broke the silence. “You know, I liked it better when you were building me up.”

  Susan managed a small, frustrated laugh.

  “Tell me, genius,” she said, “now that Nora knows we’re about to dig up her fiancé, what’s your next move?”

  “That’s easy,” I answered. “We wait for the results. If our lab says foul play, we’ve got our killer.”

  “You’ll still need evidence that she did it.”

  “Which happens to be a lot easier to find when you know what you’re looking for.”

  “What if the lab doesn’t find anything?”

  “Then I tell Nora the good news and work that much harder to trip her up.”

  “You’re forgetting one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She might actually be innocent.”

  “This coming from someone who thinks everyone’s guilty.”

  “I’m just saying…”

  “No, I understand. Anything’s possible. But the woman has been involved with at least two dead guys in two different states. If it’s a coincidence, then Nora Sinclair has had some serious bad luck with men.”

  “Silly me,” she said. “Let’s strap her to the electric chair.”

  “There we go, much better. I thought you were someone else for a second.”

  “Speaking of which, what are the odds Nora develops eyes for your alter ego?”

  “Nah. Craig Reynolds isn’t in her league,” I said. “He doesn’t make enough money.”

  “You never know. You’ve been telling me how much she thinks you’re on her side. Based on that, she might want to slum it for a change.”

  “Then I’ve got just the apartment. Perfect for slumming.”

  “You’re not going to start on that again, are you?”

  “No, but if I end up spending too much more time in that dump, I’m going to put in for hazard pay.”

  “O’Hara, should that turn out to be the hardest part of this assignment, you’ll be a lucky man.”

  Chapter 53

  NORA GENTLY PUSHED through the door of her mother’s room at the Pine Woods Psychiatric Facility and tried her best to smile. She was in a horrible mood and she knew it. So did anyone else who came into contact with her—Emily Barrows and that new nurse, Patsy, being the most recent, when she had arrived on the psych ward.

  For a little while, she pretended as if she had never met Craig Reynolds for coffee th
e day before. She acted as if he never told her that Connor’s body was going to be exhumed.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  Olivia Sinclair was sitting on top of the covers in her yellow nightgown. She glanced at Nora with a blank smile. “Oh, hello.”

  The clouds that were hanging low for most of the day had begun to clear. Sunlight now sliced its way into the room through the horizontal blinds. Nora grabbed the chair in the corner and pulled it to the bed.

  “You’re looking well, Mother.”

  Any daughter would’ve said that. The difference with Nora was that she actually believed it. She no longer used her eyes to see her mother. Only her memories. If anything, it was force of habit. After Olivia was sent off to prison, Nora was never allowed to visit. As she grew up, her mother stayed frozen in time. Nora went through a series of foster homes, and her idea of Olivia was one of the only constants in her life.

  “I like to read, you know.”

  Oh, shit. “I know you do, Mother. I’m afraid I forgot to get you a book this time. Things have been… well, they’ve been—”

  A lawn mower started up on the grounds outside. The raw churning of the motor penetrated the room and gave Nora a jolt. She suddenly felt paralyzed and out of breath. The only thing working was her tears. Her facade crumbled, and the outside world came pouring in. She wiped her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Mother.”

  For the first time, Nora told her mother about a recurring dream of watching Olivia shoot her father. How vivid in her mind the night remained. What was said, what everyone was wearing, even the smell of sulfur.

  What does it matter? She doesn’t even know who I am.

  Nora grabbed a tissue from the bedside table. It was as if the dam had burst. Her tears. Her emotions. Everything pouring out. She was losing control. There was an overwhelming compulsion to talk to someone.

  Nora drew the deepest breath, coaxing her lungs to expand. Finally exhaling, she closed her eyes and spoke. “I’ve done some terrible things, Mother. I need to tell you about them.”

  Nora opened her eyes, the truth on the tip of her tongue. But that’s where it stayed. Something awful was happening to her mother.

  Springing from her chair, Nora ran to the door. She burst out into the hallway and screamed, “Help! Hurry! I need help! My mother is dying!”