Moments later, when no one was there, Olivia removed the jacket from her new novel and flipped it around. With the pages right side up and the jacket upside down, she began to read.
Chapter 29
I’D JUST CLEANED the lens of my digicam for the third time in twenty minutes.
In between, I counted the number of stitches on the leather steering wheel (312), reprogrammed the position of my driver’s seat (up a scooch and angled a tad more forward), and learned once and for all the optimal pressure for the kind of tires I had on the BMW 330i (thirty PSI in the front, thirty-five in the back, said the manual in the glove compartment).
Boredom had officially set in.
Maybe I should’ve called her first. No, I decided. The introduction had to be in person. Face-to-face. Even at the risk of my butt falling asleep while waiting there in my car.
If I’d known this was going to turn into a stakeout, I would’ve brought doughnuts. Dunkin’s, Krispy Kreme’s, 7-Eleven’s, anybody’s.
Where is she?
Ten minutes later I watched from across Central Drive as a bright red Mercedes convertible pulled into the late Connor Brown’s circular driveway. It stopped in front, and out she came.
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.
“The kitchen’s this way,” she said, leading me around a corner. When we got there, it too was bigger than my apartment. She pointed to the granite slab of counter next to the refrigerator. “You can put the groceries there. Thanks.”
I placed the bag down and started to empty it.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s the least I can do after that optimist comment.”
“Really, it’s okay.” She walked over to me and picked up the bag of vanilla hazelnut. “Can I offer you a cup?”
“Absolutely.”
I made sure it was nothing but small talk while the pot brewed. I didn’t want to do too much too fast—the risk being that she might ask too many questions. As it was, I figured a couple were already headed my way.
“You know what I don’t understand?” she said a few minutes later. We were sitting at the kitchen table, coffee mugs in hand. “Connor had plenty of money and no ex-wife or kids. Why would he bother with life insurance?”
“That’s a good question. I think the answer lies in how this policy originated. You see, Mr. Brown didn’t come to us. We went to him. Or rather, his company.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Something Centennial One is doing more and more of is workers’ compensation policies. As a way of enticing companies to insure with us, we offer the top people free term life insurance.”
“That’s a pretty nice perk.”
“Yeah, it seems to seal the deal a lot for us.”
“How much did you say Connor’s policy was for?”
As if she’d forgotten.
“One point nine million,” I said. “That’s the maximum for his size company.”
Her brow furrowed. “He really listed me as the sole beneficiary?”
“Yes, he really did.”
“When was this?”
“You mean, when was the policy administered?”
She nodded.
“Fairly recently, it turns out. Five months ago.”
“I suppose that would explain it. Though we’d been together at that point for only a short time.”