Honeymoon

Chapter 85

FUELED BY RAGE, betrayal, maybe even a little heartbreak, Nora drove like a demon back to Westchester. She was out of her 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.