Second Honeymoon Part 74

Ned, of course, didn't sign the card. He didn't have to. He expected us to know the flowers were from him.

But why the poem? And of all poems, why Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"?

What promises do you have to keep, Ned?

That answer, I was convinced, was in my other hand.

It was the letter I'd found stashed behind Nora's photograph, in the frame buried at the bottom of the toy chest under Ned's bed. I still didn't know why he had all those DeLorean cars. But I knew why he kept the letter. It was from Nora.

My darling brother, it began.

The tone was big-sister and loving, the entire first page dedicated to questions about Ned's work and life in California. There was little doubt that she truly cared for him. I'm so proud of you, she wrote many times over.

Then came page 2.

The focus s.h.i.+fted to her life, the tone immediately dire. You're the only one I can tell this to, Ned.

She'd fallen in love with "the wrong man," someone who wasn't what he claimed to be. Everything was a lie. His job, his intentions, even his name.

I'm in danger; I can feel it. Agent John O'Hara is going to be the death of me, Ned.

She didn't elaborate; there were no further details. Only a request in the event her premonition would prove to be true.

Promise that you'll come visit me. And when you do, bring me yellow lilies, like you did after that horrible night when we were children, when we were just little kids. Just kids.

That request was the reason I was still sitting in the car in the pouring rain. I was waiting and waiting for Ned to finally show his face. To keep that promise to Nora.

Chapter 116

THERE WAS A splash of yellow in the distance, moving slowly through the downpour. I leaned forward, my eyelashes practically sc.r.a.ping against the winds.h.i.+eld as I blinked and squinted to see who was there. It could be anyone-but it wasn't just anyone.

Ned's head was down, his face obscured by the brim of a Mets baseball cap. Still, there was no mistaking where he and those yellow lilies were heading. Straight to his sister's grave.

I gripped the door handle, giving it a soft and silent pull. It was time to get wet.

Be quick, O'Hara. And stay low. Don't get yourself killed tonight.

The path from the car to the first headstone was a straight dash. Then I zigzagged my way forward, the route having already been plotted and practiced. The rain was my ally now, the sound masking my footsteps. Better still, it was keeping Ned looking down, his head hunched beneath his shoulders.

With one more zag after a zig, I was crouched behind a headstone, my back pressed so hard against the granite I could feel the quartz pieces through my soaked s.h.i.+rt.

Nora's grave was about twenty feet away. Strangely, I could see her face now. I remembered so much about her. About the two of us. With a quick peek I saw Ned and the lilies maybe another thirty feet beyond it. Out came my gun. A count to five or so and he'd be in my range. I counted, then-

"Freeze!" I yelled, springing up.

The lilies slipped through his hands as he looked up at me from under his cap. His eyes were wide with surprise and then even wider with fear. He had no idea what was happening.

And s.h.i.+t! I had no idea who he was.

"Put your hands up!" I barked, edging closer to the man, whoever he was.

You can tell whether a person is a true threat by how he responds to someone else holding a gun. If he's looking at the gun, he's not a threat.

This guy was no threat to me.

"Who are you?" I asked. He was so busy staring at my gun that I had to ask him twice.

"I work here," he said finally.

I looked him over. Sure enough, he was wearing Timberland boots and a jumpsuit, complete with KENSICO spelled out above his heart. A grave digger, probably.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Ken. I'm just Ken."

"Who are the flowers for?"

"Someone named Nora Sinclair. Her headstone's right there," he said, pointing. "Who are you?"

I lowered my gun, walked over to the guy, and showed him my badge.

"Oh," he said, making the connection. "You're the one in the car, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm the one in the car."

"My boss told me I wasn't allowed to ask who you were," he said. "Figures."

His knees no longer shaking, Ken bent down to pick up the lilies. Meanwhile, my mind was already plotting how I'd draw a bead on Ned again through the florist he used to order the flowers. Where did he call from? Did he use a stolen credit card? Would he use it again?

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" I asked.

Ken had said something but I hadn't heard him. He was scooping up the last lily.

"The guy told me he got really emotional standing next to the grave," he said.

"Wait; what?" What guy?

"He just handed me fifty bucks to deliver these," he said, standing up. "Easiest money I ever-"

"Get down!" I yelled.