"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 some-
thing 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?"
Chapter 33
I RANG SUSAN right after getting back into the car. My
initial two encounters with Nora merited a report back to
the boss.
"Is she as pretty in person?"
"
That's
what you want to know first?"
"Absolutely," said Susan. "This girl can't be doing what
she might be doing without being a knockout. So, is she?"
"Is there a way to answer that while still sounding pro-
fessional?"
"Yes. It's called being honest."
"Then, yeah," I said. "Nora Sinclair is a very attractive
woman.
Stunning
wouldn't be too much of a reach."
"You pig."
I laughed.
"What's your sense from talking to her?" she asked.
"Too early to tell. She's either got nothing to hide or is a
natural-born liar."
"I'm going to put ten bucks on the latter."
"We'll see if that's a good bet," I said.
"With you on it, I'm sure we will."
"You know, if you prop me up any more, I'm going to hit
my head on the ceiling."
"That, or actually come through for me."
"Oh, I see. The guidebook says to play into my confi-
dence."
"Trust me, there's no guidebook on how to handle you,"
she said. "Where are you now?"
"Outside the late Connor Brown's home."
"Did you already do the follow-up?"
"Yeah."
"How long did it take for her to see you?"
"Within minutes."
"Mets or Yankees?"
"Mets," I said. "Steinbrenner's done trading for the year.
At least until the pennant stretch."
"Would she have actually known that?"
"No. But you can never be too careful."
"Amen," said Susan. "Did she believe you?"
"I'm pretty sure."
"Good. See, I knew you were the right guy for the job."
"Ouch."
"What?"
"That was my head hitting the ceiling."
"Let me know what happens next."
"You got it, boss."
"Don't be patronizing."
"Won't happen again, boss."
Susan hung up on me.
Chapter 34
NORA HADN'T DRIVEN very far before the irritating, nag-
ging feeling got the better of her. Right in the middle of the
road, alongside Trump National Golf Course, she threw the
Benz into a tire-screeching, 180-degree turn -- the steering
wheel spinning like a carnival wheel in her hands. If she
hurried, she thought, she could still catch up to him.
There's something funny about Craig Reynolds.
Nora stepped on the gas and quickly began to retrace the
And it has nothing to do with his sense of humor.
route she'd taken from Connor's house. Down one narrow
tree-lined street and then another she sped, swerving to
pass a sluggish Volvo along the way. A little farther down,
an older lady walking her cocker spaniel administered a dis-
approving stare.
For a brief moment, Nora second-guessed herself. Was
she just being paranoid? Was this really necessary? But the
nagging feeling proved stronger than any lingering doubt.
She stepped harder on the gas. She was almost there.
What the… ?
Nora slammed on the brakes.
She'd reached the corner of Connor's street and had to
do an immediate double take. The black BMW was still
there. Craig Reynolds hadn't left.
Why not? What is he doing now?
She shifted into reverse and backed in along the curb by
some overgrown hedges and pine trees. They came in handy,
shielding most of her car while still providing a decent view
of his. From that distance, however, Craig Reynolds him-
self was barely a silhouette. Nora squinted. She couldn't tell
for sure, but it looked as though he was talking on his cell
phone.
Though not for long. Within a minute, the taillights of
his BMW flared amid a sputtering of smoke from the
muffler. The Insurance Man was finally leaving.
Nora had no idea where he was going, only that she had
every intention of finding out. The plan to surprise Jeffrey
up in Boston had been usurped by a new plan.
It was called Getting to Know the Real Craig Reynolds.
Chapter 35
OFF HE WENT.
Nora knew she couldn't follow too closely. He was famil-
iar with her car, and the fact that it was bright red didn't help
matters.
What a shame Mercedes doesn't make a camouflage-
green convertible.
VILLAGE OF BRIARCLIFF MANOR
INC. 1902
Even before she saw the sign, Nora had figured out that
Craig was headed for the center of town. Lucky for her.
After dealing with a couple of stop signs and merging traffic
from Route 9A, she could barely keep him in sight. Had he
been driving anywhere else but this peaceful burg, she
probably would've lost him.
She was familiar with the small town, having been there
several times with Connor. It was a mix of working class
and chic, new money and no money. Rustic lantern posts
dotted the main drag amid banks and specialty shops. Blue-
hairs shared the sidewalk with young supermoms push-
ing the latest and greatest in baby strollers. Amalfi's, an
Italian restaurant that Connor adored, was bustling with
lunchtime business.
Again, Nora thought she'd lost Craig.
She sighed with relief when she caught a glimpse of
his black Beemer making a left turn far ahead. By the time
she followed, he was already parked and stepping onto the
curb.
She immediately pulled over and watched as he disap-
peared into a brick building. His office, she assumed.
Slowly she drove by. Sure enough, there was a sign above
the second-floor windows. CENTENNIAL ONE LIFE INSURANCE,
it read.
Well, that's a good sign, so to speak.
Nora doubled around and parked about forty yards up
from the entrance. So far, so good. Craig Reynolds seemed
to be who he said he was. But she wasn't satisfied yet. Some-
thing told her there was more to him than met the eye.
She settled in for the wait, staring at the building, a
two-story, nondescript rectangle. Certainly nothing flashy
about it. She wasn't even sure if the bricks were real. They
looked kind of phony, like that facing technique she'd seen
on TV.
The wait didn't last long. Less than twenty minutes later,
Craig walked out of the building and got back into his car.
Nora straightened up in her seat and waited for him to pull
away from the curb.
Where to now, Insurance Man? Wherever it is, you have
company.
Chapter 36
THE BLUE RIBBON DINER was where. It was a few miles
out of town heading east, not far from the Saw Mill River
Parkway. The place had that classic, old-time diner look.
Square box with chrome accents, a ribbon of windows all
around.
Nora found a space off to the side in the parking lot that
had a view of the front doors. She glanced at her watch --
well past noon.
She'd skipped breakfast and was starving, actually. It
didn't help that she was also downwind from the kitchen
exhaust fan. The smell of burgers and all things fried had
her rifling through her purse for a half-eaten roll of pepper-
mint Life Savers.
About forty minutes later Craig came strolling out of the
diner. As Nora watched, she recorded another impression.
He was definitely an attractive man who carried himself
well. There was a certain coolness. A confidence. A swagger.
The tailing resumed.
Craig ran a couple of errands and eventually returned to
his office. A dozen times during the rest of the afternoon,
Nora wanted to call it a day, and a dozen times she talked
herself into remaining parked about a block and a half from
his building. She was mainly curious about what the night
would bring.
Does Craig Reynolds have a social life? Is he dat-
ing anyone? And where exactly does he call home?
At about six, the answers started to come.
The lights went off at Centennial One Life Insurance,
and out walked Craig from the building. However, there
would be no bar scene, no big dinner plans, no girlfriend to
meet up with. At least, not that night. Instead, he picked up
a pizza and drove home.
That's when Nora discovered that Craig Reynolds was
hiding something after all: he wasn't nearly as well-off as
he'd have everyone believe.
By the looks of the place where he lived, he'd clearly put
all his money into his car and wardrobe. The apartment in
Pleasantville was a run-down unit in the middle of a bunch
of other run-down units in what looked like a strip mall
of housing. A few white vinyl-sided buildings with black-
shuttered windows. A small patio or balcony for each unit.
Not exactly impressive.
So is Craig paying alimony? Child
support? What is his story anyway?
Nora considered hanging outside the Ashford Court
Gardens a little while longer. Maybe Craig had plans, only
for later.
Or maybe, thought Nora, she was getting delirious from
not eating all day. Looking at the pizza box balanced on
Craig's hand had been enough to set off a new round of
stomach growling. The peppermint Life Savers were a dis-
tant memory. It was time to get some dinner.
Maybe the Iron
Horse in Pleasantville? Dining alone -- how quaint.
She drove off, satisfied with her decision to follow Craig
around. She knew that people weren't always whom they
appeared to be. All she had to do was look in the mirror.
Which reminded Nora of another of her mantras: Better
paranoid than sorry.
Chapter 37
THE AD IN THE
Westchester Journal
said this apartment
had a spectacular view. Of what, I have no idea. The front
looked out on a side street in Pleasantville while the back
sported a sweeping vista of a parking lot complete with the
mother of all Dumpsters.
It got only worse inside.
Vinyl flooring throughout. Faux black leather armchair
and a love seat that probably hadn't seen much love. If run-
ning water and electricity constitute an "updated kitchen,"
then, by golly, that's what I had. Otherwise, I doubt that yel-
low Formica countertops were somehow the rage again.
At least the beer was cold.
I put down the pizza and grabbed one out of the fridge
before plopping down on the lumpy couch in the middle of
my "spacious living room." It's a good thing I don't suffer
from claustrophobia.
I picked up the phone and dialed. I had no doubt that
Susan was still in her office.
"Did she follow you?" she asked right off the bat.
"All day long," I said.
"Did she see you go inside the apartment?"
"Yep."
"Is she still outside?"
I gave her an exaggerated yawn. "Does that mean I actu-
