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.
Still, she wasn’t about to let her guard down.
She’d been watching Craig Reynolds carefully and making mental notes—from the moment he first showed up to when he wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and announced that there was “a little bit of a problem” with Connor’s policy.
“What sort of problem?” she asked.
“Ultimately, I don’t think it will be much of one at all. The thing is, because of Mr. Brown’s relatively young age, they’ve decided to investigate the claim.”
“Who’s they?”
“The home office back in Chicago. They basically call the shots.”
“You don’t have any say in the matter?”
“Not too much in this case. As I mentioned, Mr. Brown’s policy originated in our corporate division, which is run from the home office. Who services it, however, is based on proximity to the client. Meaning, if it wasn’t for the pending investigation, I’d be the one handling everything.”
“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.
“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.”
“Would she have actually known that?”
“No. But you can never be too careful.”
“Amen,” said Susan. “Did she believe you?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“Good. See, I knew you were the right guy for the job.”
“Ouch.”
“What?”
“That was my head hitting the ceiling.”
“Let me know what happens next.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Don’t be patronizing.”
“Won’t happen again, boss.”
Susan hung up on me.
Chapter 34
NORA HADN’T DRIVEN very far before the irritating, nagging feeling got the better of her. Right in the middle of the road, alongside Trump National Golf Course, she threw the Benz into a tire-screeching, 180-degree turn—the steering wheel spinning like a carnival wheel in her hands. If she hurried, she thought, she could still catch up to him.
There’s something funny about Craig Reynolds.
And it has nothing to do with his sense of humor.
Nora stepped on the gas and quickly began to retrace the route she’d taken from Connor’s house. Down one narrow tree-lined street and then another she sped, swerving to pass a sluggish Volvo along the way. A little farther down, an older lady walking her cocker spaniel administered a disapproving stare.
For a brief moment, Nora second-guessed herself. Was she just being paranoid? Was this really necessary? But the nagging feeling proved stronger than any lingering doubt. She stepped harder on the gas. She was almost there.
What the…?
Nora slammed on the brakes.
She’d reached the corner of Connor’s street and had to do an immediate double take. The black BMW was still there. Craig Reynolds hadn’t left.
Why not? What is he doing now?
She shifted into reverse and backed in along the curb by some overgrown hedges and pine trees. They came in handy, shielding most of her car while still providing a decent view of his. From that distance, however, Craig Reynolds himself was barely a silhouette. Nora squinted. She couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked as though he was talking on his cell phone.
Though not for long. Within a minute, the taillights of his BMW flared amid a sputtering of smoke from the muffler. The Insurance Man was finally leaving.
Nora had no idea where he was going, only that she had every intention of finding out. The plan to surprise Jeffrey up in Boston had been usurped by a new plan.
It was called Getting to Know the Real Craig Reynolds.
Chapter 35
OFF HE WENT.
Nora knew she couldn’t follow too closely. He was familiar with her car, and the fact that it was bright red didn’t help matters. What a shame Mercedes doesn’t make a camouflage-green convertible.
VILLAGE OF BRIARCLIFF MANOR INC. 1902
Even before she saw the sign, Nora had figured out that Craig was headed for the center of town. Lucky for her. After dealing with a couple of stop signs and merging traffic from Route 9A, she could barely keep him in sight. Had he been driving anywhere else but this peaceful burg, she probably would’ve lost him.
She was familiar with the small town, having been there several times with Connor. It was a mix of working class and chic, new money and no money. Rustic lantern posts dotted the main drag amid banks and specialty shops. Bluehairs shared the sidewalk with young supermoms pushing the latest and greatest in baby strollers. Amalfi’s, an Italian restaurant that Connor adored, was bustling with lunchtime business.
Again, Nora thought she’d lost Craig.
She sighed with relief when she caught a glimpse of his black Beemer making a left turn far ahead. By the time she followed, he was already parked and stepping onto the curb.
She immediately pulled over and watched as he disappeared into a brick building. His office, she assumed.
Slowly she drove by. Sure enough, there was a sign above the second-floor windows. CENTENNIAL ONE LIFE INSURANCE, it read.
Well, that’s a good sign, so to speak.
Nora doubled around and parked about forty yards up from the entrance. So far, so good. Craig Reynolds seemed to be who he said he was. But she wasn’t satisfied yet. Something told her there was more to him than met the eye.
She settled in for the wait, staring at the building, a two-story, nondescript rectangle. Certainly nothing flashy about it. She wasn’t even sure if the bricks were real. They looked kind of phony, like that facing technique she’d seen on TV.
The wait didn’t last long. Less than twenty minutes later, Craig walked out of the building and got back into his car. Nora straightened up in her seat and waited for him to pull away from the curb.
Where to now, Insurance Man? Wherever it is, you have company.
Chapter 36
THE BLUE RIBBON DINER was where. It was a few miles out of town heading east, not far from the Saw Mill River Parkway. The place had that classic, old-time diner look. Square box with chrome accents, a ribbon of windows all around.
Nora found a space off to the side in the parking lot that had a view of the front doors. She glanced at her watch—well past noon.
She’d skipped breakfast and was starving, actually. It didn’t help that she was also downwind from the kitchen exhaust fan. The smell of burgers and all things fried had her rifling through her purse for a half-eaten roll of peppermint Life Savers.
About forty minutes later Craig came strolling out of the diner. As Nora watched, she recorded another impression. He was definitely an attractive man who carried himself well. There was a certain coolness. A confidence. A swagger.
The tailing resumed.
Craig ran a couple of errands and eventually returned to his office. A dozen times during the rest of the afternoon, Nora wanted to call it a day, and a dozen times she talked herself into remaining parked about a block and a half from his building. She was mainly curious about what the night would bring. Does Craig Reynolds have a social life? Is he dating anyone? And where exactly does he call home?
At about six, the answers started to come.
The lights went off at Centennial One Life Insurance, and out walked Craig from the building. However, there would be no bar scene, no big dinner plans, no girlfriend to meet up with. At least, not that night. Instead, he picked up a pizza and drove home.
That’s when Nora discovered that Craig
Reynolds was hiding something after all: he wasn’t nearly as well-off as he’d have everyone believe.
By the looks of the place where he lived, he’d clearly put all his money into his car and wardrobe. The apartment in Pleasantville was a run-down unit in the middle of a bunch of other run-down units in what looked like a strip mall of housing. A few white vinyl-sided buildings with black-shuttered windows. A small patio or balcony for each unit. Not exactly impressive. So is Craig paying alimony? Child support? What is his story anyway?
Nora considered hanging outside the Ashford Court Gardens a little while longer. Maybe Craig had plans, only for later.
Or maybe, thought Nora, she was getting delirious from not eating all day. Looking at the pizza box balanced on Craig’s hand had been enough to set off a new round of stomach growling. The peppermint Life Savers were a distant memory. It was time to get some dinner. Maybe the Iron Horse in Pleasantville? Dining alone—how quaint.
She drove off, satisfied with her decision to follow Craig around. She knew that people weren’t always whom they appeared to be. All she had to do was look in the mirror. Which reminded Nora of another of her mantras: Better paranoid than sorry.
Chapter 37
THE AD IN THE Westchester Journal said this apartment had a spectacular view. Of what, I have no idea. The front looked out on a side street in Pleasantville while the back sported a sweeping vista of a parking lot complete with the mother of all Dumpsters.
It got only worse inside.
Vinyl flooring throughout. Faux black leather armchair and a love seat that probably hadn’t seen much love. If running water and electricity constitute an “updated kitchen,” then, by golly, that’s what I had. Otherwise, I doubt that yellow Formica countertops were somehow the rage again.
At least the beer was cold.
I put down the pizza and grabbed one out of the fridge before plopping down on the lumpy couch in the middle of my “spacious living room.” It’s a good thing I don’t suffer from claustrophobia.
I picked up the phone and dialed. I had no doubt that Susan was still in her office.
“Did she follow you?” she asked right off the bat.
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