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 peppermint 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 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 alclass="underline" 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 in Chappaqua?”
“Is someone complaining?”
“It’s more like an observation.”
“You don’t get it. This way she thinks she’s got something on you,” said Susan. “Dressing and driving beyond your means makes you more human.”
“Whatever happened to just being nice?”
“Nora comes across as nice, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah. Actually, she does.”
“I rest my case.”
“Did I mention the yellow Formica countertops?”
“C’mon, the place can’t be that bad,” Susan said.
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to live here.”
“It’s only temporary.”
“My saving grace. Hell, that’s probably the real reason for this apartment,” I said. “It’ll make me work faster.”
“The thought did cross my mind.”
“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”
“Not if I can help it,” she shot back. “Seriously, though, good work today.”
“Thank you.”
Susan gave me an end-of-the-day sigh. “Okay, it’s official. Nora Sinclair has gone backstage on Craig Reynolds. Now what?”
“That’s easy,” I said. “Now it’s my turn.”
Chapter 38
THERE WAS ONLY one empty seat in the first-class cabin. Under normal circumstances, Nora would’ve regretted that it wasn’t the one next to her. Then again, normally she didn’t have such a cute guy sharing the same armrest. From the side, he kind of looked like Brad Pitt, only with no wedding ring on his finger, no Jennifer on his arm.
During takeoff Nora—sans her own wedding ring—checked out her window-seat companion with a furtive glance. She was pretty sure he was doing the same with her. Of course he is. What man wouldn’t? When the captain turned off the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign, she knew the guy was ready to make a move.
“I’m a stacker myself,” he said.
She turned with the coy pretense of just now realizing she wasn’t alone. “Excuse me?”
“On the coffee table there.” He smiled broadly and nodded at the Architectural Digest open in her lap. On the right-hand page was a picture of a spacious living room.
“See how the magazines are spread out?” he said. “Fact is, there are only two types of people in this world… stackers and spreaders. So which one are you?”
Nora stared him right in the eye, unblinking. As conversation starters went, she had to give him a few points for originality. “Well, that depends. Who wants to know?”
“You’re absolutely right,” he said with an easy laugh. “You shouldn’t reveal such personal information to a complete stranger. My name’s Brian Stewart.”
“Nora Sinclair.”
He presented his hand, strong-looking, nicely manicured, and they shook.
“Now that we know each other, Nora, I believe you owe me an answer.”
“In that case, you’ll be pleased to know I’m a stacker.”
“Knew it.”
“Oh, did you?”