“Yeah?”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“I’m still not used to you and humility being in the same room.”
“I’m trying. Lord knows, I’m trying.”
“I know you are,” she said. “Good luck.”
Chapter 26
THE PINE WOODS Psychiatric Facility, a New York State- run institution, was in Lafayetteville, about an hour-and-a-quarter drive heading north from Westchester. Unless, of course, you were Nora in her new Benz convertible. Zipping along the winding, forest-lined Taconic Parkway at over eighty miles an hour, she turned up at the hospital a solid fifteen minutes sooner.
Nora found a parking space and put the top up with a single press of a button. Neat. She did a quick check in the vanity mirror and shook her hair back into place. No touch-up on the makeup was needed. She was barely wearing any to begin with. Then, for some crazy reason, she had a thought about Connor’s sister—the Ice Blonde. Something about Elizabeth bothered her. As if there hadn’t been closure between them.
Nora shrugged it off. She locked up the convertible—even out here in the boonies. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a simple white button-down shirt. Clutched under her arm was a bag from a bookstore. As she walked toward the entrance of the main redbrick building, there wasn’t another soul on the grounds.
She knew the routine inside by heart. A visit every month for the past fourteen years guaranteed that.
First came the obligatory check-in at the front desk. After showing a photo ID of herself, Nora signed in and was given a pass.
Next she made her way to the elevator bank, to the left of the desk. One was open and waiting.
During her first year of coming to the facility, it was the second-floor button she pushed. After twelve months, though, her mother was moved to an upper floor. Though no one ever admitted it to Nora, she knew that the higher up the room, the less likely the chance of the patient’s ever being released.
Nora stepped onto the elevator and pressed eight.
The top floor.
Chapter 27
HEAD NURSE EMILY BARROWS was having one of those days. No big surprise. The computer system was down, her back was just killing her, the copy machine was out of toner, she had a splitting headache, someone on the night shift had spilled coffee on the medication log.
And it wasn’t even noon yet.
Plus, for what seemed like the hundredth time—and may actually have been just that—she was breaking in a new nurse. This one was the type who smiled too much. Her name was Patsy, which unto itself was a little too happy sounding.
The two women were sitting at the nurses’ station that anchored the eighth floor. One of the elevators, which were located right in front of them, opened. Emily looked up from the java-stained page of the medication log. A familiar face walked toward her.
“Hello, Emily.”
“Hello, Nora. How are you?”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s doing fine.”
She and Nora basically had the same brief exchange every month, and it always ended the same way. Nora’s mother was always the same.
Emily glanced over at Patsy. The new nurse—smiling insipidly—was watching and listening to the conversation.
“Patsy, this is Nora Sinclair,” said Emily. “Her mother is Olivia in eight-oh-nine.”
“Oh,” said Patsy with a slight hesitation. A rookie mistake.
Nora nodded. “Nice to meet you, Patsy.” She wished the new nurse good luck before starting down the long hallway.
Meanwhile, Patsy’s voice dropped to a solicitous whisper. “Olivia Sinclair… she’s the one who shot and killed her husband, right?”
Emily’s whisper in reply was more matter-of-fact. “So a jury said. Long time ago.”
“You don’t think she did it?”
“Oh, she did it.”
“I don’t understand. How did she end up here?”
Emily peered down the hall. She wanted to make sure Nora was definitely out of earshot.
“From what I’ve been told—and keep in mind, this goes back a long way—Olivia was fine during the first years of her life sentence. A model prisoner. But then she just went bonkers.”
“How so?”
“She basically lost touch with reality. Started to talk in a made-up language. Would only eat foods beginning with the letter b.”
“The letter b?”
“It could’ve been worse. She could’ve chosen x, or something. At least with b she had bread, butter, bananas….”
Patsy chimed in like a quiz-show contestant. “Bundt cake?”
Emily blinked a few times. “Uh… I suppose. Anyway, then Olivia tried to kill herself. In the wake of that, they shipped her here.” She thought for a second. “Or maybe it was the suicide attempt that happened first, and then the crazy behavior. Whatever—all I know is that twenty years later, Olivia Sinclair doesn’t even know her own name.”
“Wow, that’s so sad,” said Patsy, who, to Emily’s amazement, could register concern without ever losing her smile. “What do you think happened to her?”
“No idea. It’s like a mix of autism and Alzheimer’s. She can still talk a little, do things on her own. Except none of it makes much sense. For example, you see the bag under Nora’s arm?”
Patsy shook her head no.
“Every month Nora brings her a novel to read. But then when I see her reading it, the book is always upside down.”
“Does Nora know this?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
Patsy sighed. “Well, it’s good that she can be there for her mother.”
“I’d agree, except for one thing,” said the head nurse. “Her mother doesn’t even recognize Nora.”
Chapter 28
“HELLO, MOTHER. It’s me.”
Nora walked across the small room and took her mother’s hand. She gave it a squeeze but got nothing in return. Not that she expected to. Nora was used to feeling nothing on these visits.
Olivia Sinclair was lying in bed on top of the covers. She was propped up by two thin pillows. A withering frame and glassy stare. The woman was fifty-seven, but she looked eighty.
“Have you been feeling all right?” Nora watched as her mother slowly turned to her. “It’s me, Nora.”
“You’re very pretty.”
“Thank you. I had my hair done. For a funeral, of all things.”
“I like to read, you know,” said Olivia.
“Yes, I know.” Nora reached into the bag and pulled out the latest John Grisham novel. “See, I brought you a book.”
She held it out to her mother, but Olivia didn’t take it. Nora placed it on the bedside table and sat down in a nearby chair.
“Are you eating enough?”
“Yes.”
“What did you have for breakfast?”
“Eggs and toast.”
Nora forced a smile. These were the moments that hurt the most, when it seemed that she was having an actual conversation with her mother. She knew better, though. Inevitably, almost self-destructively, she tested her mother to make sure.
“Do you know who the president is?”
“Yes, of course I do. Jimmy Carter.”
There was never any point in correcting her, Nora knew. Instead, she told her mother about her work and some of the houses she’d decorated. There were updates on her girlfriends in Manhattan. Elaine was working too hard at her law firm. Allison was still a fashion barometer at W.
“They really care about me, Mother.”
“Knock, knock,” came a voice.
The door opened and Emily appeared with a tray. “It’s time for your medication, Olivia.” The nurse moved with a crisp, almost robotic rhythm. She poured water into a glass from a pitcher on the bedside table.
“Here you go, Olivia.”
Nora’s mother took the pill and washed it down without a fuss.
“Oh, is that his latest?” asked Emily, eyeing the novel on the table.
“It just came out,” said Nora.
Her mother smiled. “I like to read, you know.”
“Of course you do,” said Emily.
Nora’s mother picked up the novel. She opened to a page and began reading. Upside down.
As she was about to leave, Emily turned to Nora, who always seemed so brave, so beautiful.
“Oh, by the way,” said Emily, “the singing group from the local high school is performing in the cafeteria. We’re taking everyone on the wing down. You’re welcome to come along, Nora.”
“No, that’s okay. I was about to head out. It’s a busy time for me.”
Emily left the room and Nora stood. She walked over to her mother and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead. “I love you,” she whispered. “I wish you knew that.”
Olivia Sinclair didn’t say anything. She just watched as her daughter walked out the door.
Moments later, when no one was there, Olivia removed the jacket from her new novel and flipped it around. With the pages right side up and the jacket upside down, she began to read.
Chapter 29
I’D JUST CLEANED the lens of my digicam for the third time in twenty minutes.
In between, I counted the number of stitches on the leather steering wheel (312), reprogrammed the position of my driver’s seat (up a scooch and angled a tad more forward), and learned once and for all the optimal pressure for the kind of tires I had on the BMW 330i (thirty PSI in the front, thirty-five in the back, said the manual in the glove compartment).
Boredom had officially set in.
Maybe I should’ve called her first. No, I decided. The introduction had to be in person. Face-to-face. Even at the risk of my butt falling asleep while waiting there in my car.
If I’d known this was going to turn into a stakeout, I would’ve brought doughnuts. Dunkin’s, Krispy Kreme’s, 7-Eleven’s, anybody’s.
Where is she?
Ten minutes later I watched from across Central Drive as a bright red Mercedes convertible pulled into the late Connor Brown’s circular driveway. It stopped in front, and out she came.
Nora Sinclair. And I guess that I should add, Wow.
She bent from the waist and reached into what passed for the backseat and removed a bag of groceries. By the time she was fiddling with the keys to the house, I was halfway across the lawn.
I called out. “Excuse me… Uhm, excuse me!”
She turned around. Her all-black outfit from the funeral was now a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt. The sunglasses were the same. The hair looked great—thick, lustrous, chestnut brown. I repeat myself, but—wow.
Finally I was standing right in front of her. I cautioned myself not to overdo the accent. “Are you Nora Sinclair, by any chance?”
Sunglasses or no sunglasses, I could tell she was sizing me up. “That depends, I suppose. Who are you?”
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I should’ve introduced myself first.” I extended my hand. “I’m Craig Reynolds.”
Nora shuffled the groceries in her arms and we shook. “Hello,” she said, her voice still guarded. “You’re Craig Reynolds—and…?”
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 pe
ople 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.
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