Honeymoon

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?”