Honeymoon - James Patterson [24]
Nora Sinclair. And I guess that I should add, Wow.
She bent from the waist and reached into what passed for the backseat and removed a bag of groceries. By the time she was fiddling with the keys to the house, I was halfway across the lawn.
I called out. “Excuse me . . . Uhm, excuse me!”
She turned around. Her all-black outfit from the funeral was now a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt. The sunglasses were the same. The hair looked great—thick, lustrous, chestnut brown. I repeat myself, but—wow.
Finally I was standing right in front of her. I cautioned myself not to overdo the accent. “Are you Nora Sinclair, by any chance?”
Sunglasses or no sunglasses, I could tell she was sizing me up. “That depends, I suppose. Who are you?”
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I should’ve introduced myself first.” I extended my hand. “I’m Craig Reynolds.”
Nora shuffled the groceries in her arms and we shook. “Hello,” she said, her voice still guarded. “You’re Craig Reynolds—and . . . ?”
I reached into my suit jacket and clumsily removed a business card. “I’m with Centennial One Life Insurance,” I said, handing her the card. She looked at it. “I’m very sorry about your loss.”
She softened a bit. “Thank you.”
“So, you are Nora Sinclair, right?”
“Yes, I’m Nora.”
“I assume you must have been very close to Mr. Brown.”
So much for her softening up to me. Her tone was wary again. “Yes, we were engaged. Now, please, what is this about?”
It was my turn to show a little confusion. “You mean, you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
I paused for a moment. “About the insurance policy on Mr. Brown. One point nine million dollars, to be exact.”
She stared at me blankly. I expected no less.
“Then I gather you also don’t know this, Ms. Sinclair,” I said. “You’re listed as the sole beneficiary.”
Chapter 30
NORA KEPT HER COOL incredibly well.
“What did you say your name was again?” she asked.
“Craig Reynolds . . . it’s there on the card. I manage the field office here in town for Centennial One.”
As Nora shifted her weight—a very well executed weight shift, I must say—and looked down at my business card again, the groceries began to slip from her grasp. I jumped forward and grabbed the bag before it could hit the ground.
“Thank you,” she said while reaching to take back the groceries. “That would’ve been a mess.”
“Tell you what, why don’t you let me carry this. I need to talk to you.”
I could tell what she was thinking. A guy she’d never met before was asking his way into the house. A stranger. One bearing candy, no less. Though in my case it was a very sweet insurance payout.
She looked at my business card yet again.
“Don’t worry, I’ve been house-trained,” I joked.
She smiled slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to come off as overly suspicious. It’s just been—”
“A very tough time for you, yes, I can only imagine. You don’t need to apologize. If you’d prefer, we can discuss the policy at a later date. You could come to my office?”
“No, that’s okay. Please, come inside.”
Nora started toward the house. I followed. So far, so good. I wondered if she was a good dancer. She certainly was a good walker.
“Vanilla hazelnut?” I asked.
She looked back over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”
I motioned toward the ground coffee peeking out from the grocery bag. “Though I recently came across some of those newfangled crème brûlée beans, which smell awfully similar.”
“No, it’s vanilla hazelnut,” she said. “I’m impressed.”
“I would’ve preferred to have been blessed with a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball. Instead, I got a heightened sense of smell.”
“Better than nothing.”
“Ah, you’re an optimist,” I said.
“Not these days.”
I smacked my forehead. “Damn. That was dumb of me to say. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, and almost smiled.
We walked up the front steps and went inside the house. The foyer was a lot bigger than my apartment. The chandelier over our head was at least a year’s salary. The Oriental rugs, the Chinese vases. Jeez, what a spread.