Olivia was watching Susan and me, but she had listened to what the nurse had to say. “I suppose so.”
“Well, we’ve pretty much agreed to let Olivia stay here at Pine Woods anyway. But only if she agrees to help you.”
Olivia nodded, still staring at Susan and me.
“I’ll help,” she said in a whisper. “What choice do I have?” At which point, Olivia set down her novel and climbed out of bed.
As Olivia walked over to the closet, Emily spoke. “Every time Nora would visit, she’d bring a new novel for her mother to read, even though she didn’t believe Olivia actually read the books.”
Olivia was reaching into her closet and then pulled out a cardboard box. I could already see that it was filled with books and also some wrapping, some envelopes.
“Then Nora stopped visiting. But then a package arrived, addressed to Olivia. It was from Nora. There was even a note,” said Emily.
I started to get excited. A package. Surely, this was about tracing where it came from. Had Nora been foolish enough to include a return address? That would’ve been too good to be true.
And it was.
Emily explained that there was nothing on the package to reveal anything about Nora’s whereabouts.
“No return address. No foreign postage stamps or markings. Only a smudged, unreadable postmark.”
She turned to Olivia. “Please give Agent O’Hara the note you received.”
I took it, unfolded the paper, and read it aloud.
“‘Dear Mother, sorry I can’t be there to visit with you. Hope you enjoy the book. Always with much love. Your daughter, Nora.’”
I re-read the note, then shook my head. “What’s so special about this?”
Susan fielded this one. “Everything. As careful as Nora was, she wasn’t careful enough.”
She stared at Emily.
I stared at Emily.
Finally, Emily explained what she’d obviously already told Susan. “Look very closely at the piece of paper, Agent O’Hara. Hold it up to the light,” she said. “Do you see it? Lower right corner.”
I held the note to the window and then placed it close to my eyes.
Holy shit.
The stationery had a custom watermark.
I looked back at the others—and saw that Olivia had begun to cry. “She’s such a good daughter. Such a love.”
Chapter 111
NORA STROLLED OUT to her private terrace in the afternoon sun, wearing nothing but a pale blue bikini bottom and a brilliant smile. She sipped from a bottle of Evian, then pressed it against her cheek. She’d yet to tire of the view of the Baie Longue beach and its glowing white sand, the way it seemed to melt into the turquoise waters of the Caribbean. She couldn’t have designed it any better herself.
La Samanna on the island of St. Martin had a well-deserved reputation as an exclusive hideaway resort. Nora was employing the hideaway part. During the day, behind her Chanel sunglasses, she was a rich socialite lounging by the pool. And at night—well, the way she and Jordan had been heating up the bedroom, dinner was always courtesy of room service.
In fact, on some days, like honeymooners, they never left their villa. Thankfully, La Samanna also had a great room-service menu for breakfast and lunch.
“Darling, do you want the Duval-Leroy or the Dom Pérignon today?” Jordan called from the bedroom.
Decisions, decisions…
“You pick for us, honey,” said Nora.
Jordan Mauch, Dallas real-estate tycoon, was a born decision maker. The one that had made him the most money was recognizing Scottsdale, Arizona, as the next West Palm Beach before anyone else did. His latest decision involved his personal life. What a good move to hire Nora Sinclair to decorate my new house just outside Austin and then reward her with a little trip to the Caribbean.
He called to her again from inside the bedroom, the lunch order placed. “Darling, do you realize that you’re not exactly dressed out there?”
Nora replied, tongue in cheek, “I’m just trying to even out my tan lines.” She listened to him laugh. “Besides, this is the French side of the island, honey,” she said.
Earlier in the week, she and Jordan had driven up past Grand Case, over to the nude beach at Orient Bay. Were it up to Nora, she would’ve stripped and made herself at home. Not Jordan. Nothing doing. That was one local custom he had no intention of partaking in. Nora didn’t even try to talk him into it. She’d already come to learn that very rich men with overseas accounts never want to take their clothes off in public. No doubt it has something to do with shielding their assets.
Nora went back inside the villa and slipped into one of the resort’s fluffy white robes. It felt cozy against her skin. She climbed into bed with Jordan and snuggled up against his broad chest.
There was just one problem.
She couldn’t get John O’Hara out of her head. His smell, his taste, the way he seemed to get inside her head better than any man she’d ever been with.
And it made her angry. She didn’t want these thoughts, she didn’t want to be in the arms of someone else, Jordan Mauch or anyone, and be thinking about O’Hara. It hurt too much. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t fall in love.
“Earth to Nora…,” Jordan said.
She snapped out of her faraway gaze. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “I was just thinking how perfect everything is.”
He smiled. “Just another day in paradise.”
They shared a kiss, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. Lunch had arrived.
Jordan climbed out of bed and pulled open the door. “Thank you,” he said as the room-service attendants wheeled in their large serving table. They were wearing the usual Docksides and shorts, with linen shirts and large straw hats.
Suddenly, off came the hats.
“Hello, Nora. I told you we’d meet again,” said O’Hara.
“Don’t you dare talk to her!” snapped Susan. She drew her gun and took perfect aim at Nora on the bed. “You’re busted, you bitch!”
Then she turned to Jordan Mauch. “And you… you’re the luckiest man alive.”
Chapter 112
THAT AFTERNOON A VERY strange and unexpectedly nice thing happened—I got some time off, and I got to spend it with Susan. We wisely decided to check out the beach at La Samanna, which was long, wide, and dazzlingly white. There was even an old shipwreck down the shoreline.
“Are we sure we can trust these local guys?” I asked Susan as we caught a few rays.
“You’re acting like they’re the Keystone Kops, or something,” she said.
I was referring to the gendarmerie, the police on St. Martin.
They’d taken Nora into custody until the extradition papers could be finalized for her return to New York.
“Maybe it’s just me,” I said, “but it’s hard to put a lot of faith in policemen who wear shorts. We’re not even talking about normal ones, either. Did you see those things? They were so tight, I could tell their religion.”
Susan turned to me with an incredulous stare I’d seen many times before. “Shut up and drink your drink, John.”
She had a point. As she always does.
Our police work there was done. Nora was safely in custody, and the case was closed. We’d even checked in with John Jr. and Max back home to see that they were okay with their grandparents, Susan’s mom and dad, who still sort of liked me, in spite of everything.