Honeymoon - James Patterson [58]
“I’m not a big fan of sardines,” I said. “Other than that, go for it.”
She ordered a small feast. Various cheeses, roasted peppers, a pasta salad, olives, dried meats, some French bread. I offered to pay. Reaching for her purse, she said she’d hear nothing of it.
Next stop was a liquor store.
“How about we go with white today? I prefer pinot grigio, myself,” she said.
She checked to see what was already chilled and pulled out a bottle of Tieffenbrunner. We were all set for our picnic.
More so when Nora showed me the blanket in the trunk. Cashmere, with a Polo logo. She’d packed it while I was in the shower.
We drove to nearby Pocantico Lake and found a patch of grass that offered some privacy, not to mention gorgeous views of the Rockefeller estate with all its expensive hills and dales and whatnot.
“See, doesn’t this beat going to work?” she said after we plopped down on the blanket.
But I was at work. As we talked over the food and wine, I was doing my subtle best to get something from Nora that would point to her involvement in Connor Brown’s death—and the transfer of his money that had started this whole investigation.
Trying to gauge her computer literacy, I casually referred to the firewalls built into a new web program I was using at the office. When she nodded I tacked on, “To think, only a year ago I thought a firewall had to do with asbestos.”
“You and me both. I only know what it is from one of my former clients. He was some big Internet guy.”
“One of those dot-com millionaires, huh? Jesus, what do they do with that kind of money?”
Nora made another funny face.
“Lucky for me, a lot of redecorating. You can’t imagine.”
“Very true. Though I can imagine the taxes these guys must pay.”
“I know. Of course, I guess they have their ways of minimizing them,” she said.
“You mean like loopholes? What?”
She looked at me for a moment. “Yeah, like loopholes.” There was a slight squint in her eyes. Hesitation bordering on suspicion. Enough to make me back off.
So for the rest of the afternoon, I played it cool . . . like a guy enjoying an unexpected day off from work, with a beautiful woman he couldn’t get enough of.
Chapter 77
GO HOME, O’HARA. Run away, you idiot.
But I didn’t run.
After the picnic, we caught a movie at the art-house cinema in Pleasantville. That was Nora’s idea as well. Rear Window was playing at the Jacob Burns, and she told me it was one of her all-time favorites. “I love Hitchcock. Do you know why, Craig? He’s funny, and he also gets the dark side of life. It’s like two great flicks for the price of one.”
By the time the movie was over, we’d filled up so much on popcorn that we decided to pass on the dinner Nora had planned at the nearby Iron Horse Grill. I stood in the town parking lot with her as if the two of us were in high school again, unsure of how our date should end.
Not Nora. “Let’s go to your place,” she said.
I regarded her for a moment, fixing on her expression. She’d already seen “my place,” run-down shoebox that it was. Was she playing me, wondering how I’d react? Or did she really not care how I lived?
“My place, huh?”
“Is that all right?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ve got to warn you, though, it may not be what you’re expecting.”
“What would that be? What am I expecting?”
“Let’s just say it’s a far cry from what you’re used to.”
Nora looked me in the eye then. “Craig, I like you. That’s what this is about. Just you and me. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Can I trust you? I want to.”
“Yeah, of course you can trust me. I’m your insurance guy.”
With that, we drove to my place. Nora didn’t bat a pretty eyelash when she saw it—for the second time. Ashford Court Gardens, my home sweet home.
Hand in hand, we ventured inside.
“I should point out, the maid is on strike,” I said with a grin. “Unbearable work conditions, she claims.”
Nora looked around at my less-than-tidy surroundings. “That’s okay,” she said. “It tells me you’re not seeing anybody else. I kind of like it, actually.”
I offered her a beer and she accepted. Handing it to her in the kitchen, I was sure