Honeymoon - James Patterson [29]
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 dating 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 distant 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 running water and electricity constitute an “updated kitchen,” then, by golly, that’s what I had. Otherwise, I doubt that yellow 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 actually have to get off the couch and look?”
“Of course not,” she said. “Take the couch with you.”
I smiled to myself. I’ve always loved a woman who can give as good as she gets.
The window next to the couch had a ratty old roller shade that was drawn all the way. Carefully, I pulled back one of the edges and sneaked a peek.
“Hmmm,” I muttered.
“What is it?”
Nora had parked about a block down the street. Her car was gone.
“I guess she’d seen enough,” I said.
“That’s good. She believes you.”
“You know, I think she still would’ve believed me if I had a decent apartment. Maybe something