Second Honeymoon

Chapter 116

THERE WAS A splash of yellow in the distance, moving slowly through the downpour. I leaned forward, my eyelashes practically scraping against the windshield as I blinked and squinted to see who was there. It could be anyone—but it wasn’t just anyone.

Ned’s head was down, his face obscured by the brim of a Mets baseball cap. Still, there was no mistaking where he and those yellow lilies were heading. Straight to his sister’s grave.

I gripped the door handle, giving it a soft and silent pull. It was time to get wet.

Be quick, O’Hara. And stay low. Don’t get yourself killed tonight.

The path from the car to the first headstone was a straight dash. Then I zigzagged my way forward, the route having already been plotted and practiced. The rain was my ally now, the sound masking my footsteps. Better still, it was keeping Ned looking down, his head hunched beneath his shoulders.

With one more zag after a zig, I was crouched behind a headstone, my back pressed so hard against the granite I could feel the quartz pieces through my soaked shirt.

Nora’s grave was about twenty feet away. Strangely, I could see her face now. I remembered so much about her. About the two of us. With a quick peek I saw Ned and the lilies maybe another thirty feet beyond it. Out came my gun. A count to five or so and he’d be in my range. I counted, then—

“Freeze!” I yelled, springing up.

The lilies slipped through his hands as he looked up at me from under his cap. His eyes were wide with surprise and then even wider with fear. He had no idea what was happening.

And shit! I had no idea who he was.

“Put your hands up!” I barked, edging closer to the man, whoever he was.

You can tell whether a person is a true threat by how he responds to someone else holding a gun. If he’s looking at the gun, he’s not a threat.

This guy was no threat to me.

“Who are you?” I asked. He was so busy staring at my gun that I had to ask him twice.

“I work here,” he said finally.

I looked him over. Sure enough, he was wearing Timberland boots and a jumpsuit, complete with KENSICO spelled out above his heart. A grave digger, probably.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Ken. I’m just Ken.”

“Who are the flowers for?”

“Someone named Nora Sinclair. Her headstone’s right there,” he said, pointing. “Who are you?”

I lowered my gun, walked over to the guy, and showed him my badge.

“Oh,” he said, making the connection. “You’re the one in the car, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m the one in the car.”

“My boss told me I wasn’t allowed to ask who you were,” he said. “Figures.”

His knees no longer shaking, Ken bent down to pick up the lilies. Meanwhile, my mind was already plotting how I’d draw a bead on Ned again through the florist he used to order the flowers. Where did he call from? Did he use a stolen credit card? Would he use it again?

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked.

Ken had said something but I hadn’t heard him. He was scooping up the last lily.

“The guy told me he got really emotional standing next to the grave,” he said.

“Wait; what?” What guy?

“He just handed me fifty bucks to deliver these,” he said, standing up. “Easiest money I ever—”

“Get down!” I yelled.