Honeymoon

Chapter 48

AFTER I LOST Nora up in Boston that Saturday, the rest of the weekend could be summed up in one word: shitty.

On my list of spontaneous dumb things to do, squaring off with a rental-car window scored pretty high. Thankfully, I hadn’t broken my hand, at least according to my extensive medical self-evaluation. The epitome of rigor, it consisted of one question: Can you still move your fingers, you idiot?

When Monday morning finally rolled around, I swung by Connor Brown’s house to see if Nora had returned. She hadn’t. After making the same trip, with the same result, in the late afternoon, I decided it was time to try her cell phone.

I took out my notepad, where I’d written the number Nora had given me, and dialed from my car.

A man answered.

“I’m sorry, I may have the wrong number,” I said. “I was trying to reach Nora Sinclair.”

He didn’t know anyone by that name.

I hung up and checked my notepad against the log my cell phone kept of outgoing calls. Nope. I’d definitely dialed the right number. It just wasn’t Nora’s.

Huh.

I stared at my steering wheel for a moment before grabbing the phone again and dialing. This time a young, pleasant-sounding female voice.

“Good morning, Centennial One Life Insurance.”

“Very convincing, Molly,” I said.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a nail file in your hand.”

Molly was my new receptionist. After Nora followed me to work, it was decided that the “field office” could no longer be a one-man operation.

“Do me a favor, will you?” I asked. “Run a cell phone check on Nora.”

“The number’s not already in her folder?”

“It may be, but I want to make sure she hasn’t changed it recently.”

“Okay. Give me ten minutes.”

“I’ll give you five.”

“Is that any way to treat your new receptionist?”

“You’re right,” I said. “Make it four minutes.”

“No fair.”

“Tick, tick, tick…”

Molly had been out of school for only two years. While still a little green, according to Susan, and prone to the occasional lapse in judgment, she was proving to be a quick study. No surprise then when she called me back in three minutes.

“It’s still the same number we have for her,” said Molly. She read it to me, and I checked it against the number Nora had given me.

I had to smile. The only difference was the last two digits. They were flip-flopped.

Interesting.

Maybe I was the one who mixed them up. Or maybe that was what Nora wanted me to think. Or, at least allow for.

“Anything else you need?” asked Molly.

“No, I’m all set. Thanks.”

I said good-bye, putting down the phone in favor of my notepad. On purpose or not, Nora had managed to elude me once again. Now what?

I’d learned early in my career that sometimes there is a difference between information you have and information you can use. This was one of those times. I had Nora’s correct cell phone number but had to act as though I didn’t.

With my banged-up hand I wrote her a note and left it at the front door of Connor Brown’s house. I was fairly sure she’d get it. The question was when.