Honeymoon h-1

by James Patterson

“I can’t tomorrow,” he said finally.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve got this thing I’ve got to attend in Chicago at the home office. In fact, that’s what I was doing the reading for.”

  “What kind of thing? You can’t just blow it off?”

  “I would, it’s a seminar. Only I’m one of the featured speakers.”

  “Oh,” she said, deflated. “Poo.”

  “I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  “Will you call me from Chicago?”

  “You know it. Maybe we can even pick up where we left off.”

  “Maybe, if you’re a good boy.”

  “Oh, I’ll be good, all right,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  Chapter 83

  BUT NORA DID WORRY.

  All night long, in fact. She’d said she wasn’t going to be able to sleep much, and she was right. What she wanted—what she longed for—was to know if Craig had been telling her the truth. It was the way he talked about his seminar. She’d felt the same inkling of doubt when they’d first met. Something not quite right.

  The next morning Nora awoke at dawn. No shower. No makeup. No time to waste. In an old sweatshirt and a baseball cap pulled down over her eyes, she drove north to Westchester. The first stop was Connor’s house in Briarcliff Manor.

  There, she made a switch, dropping off the red Benz convertible for one of the two other cars collecting dust in the garage. A green Jaguar XJR.

  This way, Craig wouldn’t recognize her. Plus, she liked the Jag almost as much as the Benz.

  Twenty minutes later she was parked down the street from Craig’s apartment, waiting with a large cup of Starbucks coffee in her lap. She sipped and watched.

  The first time she’d followed him, she hadn’t known what to expect. This time was different. He’d told her he had a noon flight out of town.

  About ten the paint-chipped front door opened, and out he came. Bright yellow T-shirt, tan sport jacket—he looked good. The timing made sense if he was driving to the airport. Better yet, he was carrying a suitcase.

  She felt relieved.

  Then Nora watched as Craig climbed into his black Beemer. His combed-back hair was still wet from a shower. His good looks seemed so effortless, she thought. She missed him, and he hadn’t even left town yet.

  He backed out of the short driveway and turned in Nora’s direction. Hurriedly, she ducked down in the front seat, waiting for him to pass. The green Jaguar was just another parked car along the curb, albeit the nicest one.

  She’d follow him for a few miles until it was crystal-clear he was headed to the airport. Everything would be okay. Better than okay. He’d call later that night from Chicago and she’d tell him how much she missed him, which wouldn’t be hard to do. She’d joke with him about having an AT&T orgasm.

  Nora smiled at the thought. What is going on with me? she wondered.

  She was tailing Craig from about a hundred yards as he headed southeast toward the Westchester airport. It was a route she knew well. Along the way she chided herself. “Better paranoid than sorry” was her favorite mantra, but she felt she’d gone a bit overboard this time.

  She’d had these same doubts about Craig before, but like the first time, following him was turning up nothing.

  Nothing, that is, until he put his blinker on.

  Chapter 84

  THERE WERE A LOT of ways to get to the Westchester airport, but unfortunately, this wasn’t one of them. The road didn’t even qualify as the scenic route. When Craig signaled and made the turn, Nora knew right away: he had another destination in mind.

  She didn’t want to jump to conclusions. There was such a thing as a “good” lie, and she held out hope. Maybe he was surprising her with something.

  Miles later, when she saw a sign announcing Greenwich, Connecticut, straight ahead, she thought of her favorite jewelry shop there, Betteridge. She tried to picture Craig presenting her with a small box topped with a bow, telling her that he made up the trip to Chicago so he could surprise her with a gift, a little white lie.

  But Greenwich came and went.

  And with it, so did much of Nora’s hope. She still didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but she was as close to the edge of anger as someone could get. Anger, hurt, a lot of mixed emotions—and none of them good.

  That’s when Craig entered the town of Riverside, Connecticut. The way he was driving, it was pretty clear that he was familiar with the area. Why was that? Eventually he turned down a dead-end street.

  Nora stayed by the corner, finally easing to a stop. She looked around. The houses weren’t huge or anything, but they were well maintained. A far cry from his apartment in Westchester.

  So what is Craig doing out here in Connecticut? Why the suitcase? Why lie to me?

  About midway down the street his BMW pulled into a driveway past a red mailbox. Nora watched intently as he got out of his car, her eyes straining to cover the distance.

  He stretched, then walked up the front steps of the house, a white Colonial with forest green shutters.

  Before he could knock, the door swung open and out ran two young boys.

  They jumped into his arms and he hugged and kissed them in a way that instantly ruled out uncle, cousin, or volunteer Big Brother. Craig Reynolds was definitely their father.

  Does that mean he’s… married?

  Nora’s eyes shot to the front doorway at the sight of someone else. Her heart pounded and she wanted to throw up. But as quick as Nora saw the woman standing there, she realized she couldn’t be looking at Mrs. Craig Reynolds. Not unless he had a thing for foreign-grandmother types. This woman had nanny written all over her.

  Then someone else caught Nora’s eye. Leaning out of the far window on the second floor was another woman—attractive in a suburban kind of way. She was waving down to Craig. Something different written all over her.

  Wife.

  Nora threw her head back against the seat of the Jaguar and cursed like crazy. Every four-letter word in the book. “You fucking liar, cheat, scum, Craig!”

  Nora kept watching as he herded the two boys inside; she couldn’t take her eyes off them. She was trying to sort everything out. There was still a part that didn’t make sense: why did he have an apartment in Westchester if he lived out here?

  No sooner did she finish mulling the question than the front door opened again. Craig and the two boys came out, laughing and trading playful arm slaps, and now his sons each had a knapsack. Craig had a large duffel bag. They all piled into the BMW. They were leaving. To go where?

  Nora glanced up at the DEAD END road sign in front of her. She shifted into drive. She couldn’t have Craig pass a parked green Jaguar for a second time that morning.

  Turning into the next street over, she sat there and stewed for a few minutes, figuring out what to do next. She couldn’t care less where Craig was taking his kids. It sure wasn’t a seminar in Chicago, with him as the featured speaker. What else was there to know besides that he was cheating on his wife?

  Nothing.

  She decided she’d drive back to Westchester. Later, at some point, Craig would call her. That would be interesting, wouldn’t it?

  But before getting back on the road, Nora couldn’t help herself. She had to take one last look at his cute little house in the subs. A closer look. It was almost as if she couldn’t believe what she’d seen in the past few minutes. Craig was sure something else, wasn’t he? Actually, he was more like her than she could have dreamed. Maybe that was the attraction?

  She turned down Craig’s street and slowly approached the driveway. Suddenly she slammed the brakes. And stared. On the side of his red mailbox a name was stenciled, faded but still legible.

  Nora really couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  The name on the mailbox was O’HARA.

  Chapter 85

  FUELED BY RAGE, betrayal, maybe even a little heartbreak, Nora drove like a demon back to Westchester. She was out of h
er mind and seething with contempt.

  But she was also besieged by unanswered questions, dangerous ones. Why the setup by O’Hara? Was there really an insurance policy? And what about the sex—how did it factor in? The only thing she knew for sure was that she’d been lied to, and by an expert.

  How about that, sweetheart? Lied to by a pro.

  She arrived back at the Westchester house and went on a rampage, breaking expensive things left and right. She upended a table and ripped down a painting. She hurled a Baccarat vase against the wall. Shards of glass were everywhere.

  Then it was Nora who got smashed.

  She drank more than half a bottle of vodka, mumbling to herself the entire time until her words became one big slur. She vowed revenge, but the planning and plotting would have to wait. By midafternoon she was passed out on the sofa in the living room.

  She didn’t wake until the following morning. The hangover was almost a blessing, wicked as it was. It immediately took her mind off of what had made her drink in the first place.

  Not for long. Simply by brewing coffee, her wrath returned. It was the smell. Vanilla hazelnut. The same coffee she’d shared with Craig after he first introduced himself.

  Only it wasn’t Craig. It was never Craig.

  The hangover eventually eased. With a clearer mind, she came back to those unanswered questions. First and foremost, why was O’Hara posing as someone else?

  Forget about the insurance policy, does the Centennial One company even exist?

  After seeing the office in town, she took for granted that it did. Now all bets were off. Nora picked up the phone. She dialed information in Chicago, asking for Centennial’s supposed home office.

  “Please hold for the number,” said the operator.

  But Nora wasn’t convinced that proved anything. She wrote it down and dialed.

  “Good morning, Centennial One Life Insurance,” said a woman with a pleasant-sounding voice.

  “Yes, may I speak with John O’Hara, please?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. O’Hara is traveling.”

  “Can I have his voice mail?”

  “Unfortunately, the voice mail system is down right now,” said the woman.

  “How convenient.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Never mind.”

  “If you’d like, I can take a message.”

  “No, that’s okay.” Nora was about to hang up. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

  “It’s Susan.”

  “Actually, Susan, I do have another question. Can you tell me if a Craig Reynolds is still employed with your company?”

  “Hold on, let me check the directory. Reynolds, you said, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, here he is. Mr. Reynolds is with one of our offices in New York. Briarcliff Manor, to be exact. Would you like the number?”

  “Sure.”

  Nora took it down. “Thanks, Susan.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Ms.—” She paused. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Nora hung up. She immediately went to her purse and retrieved the business card “Craig” had given her. Sure enough, the numbers matched.

  “Oh, you’re good, O’Hara,” she mumbled to herself as she grabbed the car keys.

  But the honeymoon’s over.

  Part Four

  TILL DEATH DO US PART

  Chapter 86

  NORA KEPT JABBING a finger at the SEEK button on the radio, jumping from one station to another all the way to Briarcliff Manor. There wasn’t a single song she wanted to hear, most of it rap crap that made her want to scream. Finally, that’s what she did! She was anxious and fidgety, and not just from all the coffee she had drunk. Thinking about O’Hara had left her wired.

  When her cell phone rang she nearly drove off the road.

  It’s him.

  Her first thought was to call him out right there, a few choice words to let him know she knew who he really was. But as she reached for the phone, she decided no. O’Hara wasn’t getting off that easy.

  Nora glanced at the caller ID. In the glare of the sun, she couldn’t make out the number. Still, she was certain it was him.

  “Hello?”

  “Where have you been?”

  So much for certainties. The slightly annoyed voice on the cell belonged to Jeffrey. She hadn’t returned his calls the past two days.

  “I’m so sorry, honey, I’ve been meaning to call you,” she said. “You beat me to it.”

  He instantly warmed. “Jeez, I was getting worried, hon. I couldn’t imagine where you were.”

  An excuse was needed, a good one. “It’s that same damn client of mine—the client from hell. You know, the same one who threatened to fire me if I didn’t personally pick out fabrics with her?”

  “How could I forget—she cost me a weekend with you.”

  Nora stayed silent, ominously so.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “Don’t tell me.”

  “I’m going to try to get out of it.”

  “What’s she demanding this time?”

  “She wants me at her house in East Hampton to look at the new conservatory. She is a good client, one of my first.”

  “It’s already Friday, Nora. When will you know?”

  He’s mad. He calls me Nora only when he’s pissed.

  “I’ll call you this afternoon. Believe me, the thought of spending another weekend with this woman is killing me. I miss you.”

  “Actually, you do sound stressed, sweetie. Is everything else all right?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine.” The image of O’Hara flashed in her head. “Sometimes one person can just put you on edge, you know?”

  “All the more reason to be with the one person who can make it all better,” said Jeffrey. “Call me later? I love you.”

  Nora agreed and said good-bye, ending the call with an “I love you, too.”

  She was satisfied with her on-the-spot Jeffrey Maintenance—but just barely. It was getting harder to keep track of her lies, which meant risk. Nevertheless, she wasn’t about to commit to Jeffrey for the weekend without having a better bead on O’Hara and what he was up to.

  A minute later she arrived in the village center. She miraculously found a parking space, then stepped out and looked up at the sign above the second-floor windows.

  “Centennial One Life Insurance.”

  She read the name slowly, as if she’d somehow missed something the first time. She wasn’t taking anything for granted.

  Not anymore, O’Hara.

  Chapter 87

  “HI, CAN I help you?”

  Through her sunglasses, Nora stared at the cheerful young woman sitting behind the desk: mid-twenties, intelligent eyes. Overqualified for this job.

  “Yes, I’m here to see Craig Reynolds. Is he in?”

  She watched as the young woman hesitated ever so slightly. She has to be in on the charade. Not a bad actress, really.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Reynolds isn’t here right now.”

  Nora glanced at her watch. “Is he at lunch? Maybe at Amalfi’s?”

  “Actually, he’s traveling today.”

  “Do you know when he’s expected back?”

  “Monday, I believe,” said the young woman. “Did you have an appointment to see him? Would you like to set one up?”

  “No. Craig said I should just drop by. Maybe you can help me, though. I’m looking to get a copy of an insurance policy.”

  There was that slight hesitation again, a little dart of the eyes. Otherwise, the girl was excellent in her role.

  “Is it your policy?” she asked.

  “No, but I’m the beneficiary.”

  “I see.” The young woman shook her head. “Unfortunately, I’m only able to give out a copy to the actual policyholder.”

  Nora glanced down at the nameplate on the desk. “Molly, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you see, Molly
, that’s going to be a little difficult in this case. Reason being, the actual policyholder is dead.”

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, I am, too. He was my fiancé.”

  A look of recognition came over Molly’s face. “You’re Ms. Sinclair, aren’t you?”

  “How did you know?”

  Molly glanced over her shoulder as if to underscore the smallness of the office. “It’s just a two-person operation here. So I’m familiar with your case. Again, I’m terribly sorry.”

  Nora removed her sunglasses and stared directly into Molly’s eyes. “I suppose it wouldn’t be a problem, then, to give me a copy of the policy, right?”

  Molly blinked a couple of times before breaking into a smile. “Of course not. Let me see if I can locate it back in Mr. Reynolds’s office.”

  As she got up and headed into a back room, Nora glanced around. It was a small office and it had all the appearances of being legitimate. There were files lying about and printed pamphlets. Still, there was something not quite right. Namely, Molly. For someone who purported to know everything going on in the office, she was winging it a little too much.

  Just then she returned from the back office… empty-handed, shaking her head.

  “I apologize, Ms. Sinclair, I can’t seem to find the policy,” she said.

  Nora tapped her forehead. “You know what? I just realized something. Craig told me it was up at the home office in Hartford.”

  “He did? Oh, well, that’s where it must be.”

  She studied Molly for a second. The young woman had winged it one too many times. Apparently her “boss” had neglected to tell her that the home office for Centennial One Life Insurance was supposed to be in Chicago.

  Nora slid her sunglasses back on. “In that case, why don’t I wait until Monday, when Craig gets back.”

  “I’ll tell him you stopped by, though, okay?”

  I’m sure you will, Molly.

  Nora returned to her car and immediately took out her cell phone. The ripple effect O’Hara was having on her life suddenly felt more like an undertow. Nora pressed 2 on her speed dial. That’s what it was all about from here on out. Speed. She had to work fast and tie up all the loose ends.