Honeymoon Read Free Page A

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 dis-
     
tant 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 run-
     
ning water and electricity constitute an "updated kitchen,"
     
then, by golly, that's what I had. Otherwise, I doubt that yel-
     
low 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 actu-
     
ally 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