Take Me Home for Christmas. Brenda Novak

      6

      Agent Freeman knocked at Sophia’s door two days after the funeral. She was impressed he’d waited that long. She figured she was lucky he hadn’t followed her home the day they’d laid Skip to rest, hoping he’d get her to reveal something she might not have had she been emotionally stable.

      “Do you have a few minutes?” he asked.

      A knot of anxiety formed instantly in her stomach, or maybe it had been there since Skip first disappeared. Lately, she seemed to flinch at the slightest provocation. She didn’t know when the next blow would hit or where it would come from, but almost every day held another nasty surprise, from news of the FBI probe, to the discovery of Skip’s body, to the large number of people who’d been cheated, especially here in Whiskey Creek, to the unexpected coldness of his family.

      Knowing it wouldn’t do her any good to put off this interview, Sophia stepped back. “Come in.”

      He didn’t react to her invitation right away. He angled his head up, as if he was taking in the size and grandeur of her home. Skip had spared no expense when he’d had the mansion built. He’d wanted to inspire jealousy and admiration, and he’d succeeded—which was coming back to bite her now that there was nothing to be admired.

      “Is your daughter here?” Agent Freeman asked when he finally moved past her.

      “No.” That provided Sophia with a small measure of relief. She’d been careful to say nothing disparaging about Skip; she couldn’t see how depriving Alexa of her father on a completely different level—destroying all the good memories she still had—would make anyone’s life easier. But in the past week her daughter had heard plenty. Still, there was no need for Lexi to get another earful, especially in her own home. “She’s back in school.”

      “So soon?”

      “Because of the trip, she was off for over a week before Skip went missing. She brought her homework and was keeping up, but she and I both thought it might be better for her to jump into her usual routine as soon as possible. Circulating in town is...hard, with the way people are feeling toward us, but there’s nothing for her to do here all day except remember her father and be sad.” She motioned to the soft leather couch Skip had purchased in Belgium and had shipped over. “Would you like to sit down?”

      She perched on the edge of a nearby chair while he took the couch, which afforded her less space than she’d anticipated when he rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “Are you sad, Mrs. DeBussi?”

      She didn’t want to be called by Skip’s last name anymore. She wasn’t about to say so quite yet, but she wasn’t a DeBussi and, in her heart, she hadn’t been one for a long time. The way his family had behaved during the past couple of weeks convinced her that she’d never had anything in common with them, never shared anything, least of all love. “I look so unaffected that you can’t tell?” she responded glibly.

      He didn’t smile at the joke. “You seem...disengaged, if you want the truth.”

      Because she had to be disengaged and stay disengaged or she’d never be able to tolerate the fear and uncertainty of the future. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

      “I would have to agree with that.”

      “Considering what my husband did, how would you expect me to feel?”

      He rubbed his chin. “Betrayed, for one.”

      “There is that.”

      “What about brokenhearted?”

      She was tempted to be honest and say she wasn’t brokenhearted in the way he meant, but decided to keep that information to herself. She preferred to be sensitive to the fact that her daughter and Skip’s family still loved him. Publicly breaking ranks with them would only leave her more isolated. She already felt like she was living on her own island. Besides, she’d rather be hated by the citizens of Whiskey Creek than pitied by them. If they knew how Skip had treated her, how unhappy she’d been since marrying him, her humiliation would be complete.

      “Does this have any bearing on my guilt or innocence, Mr. Freeman?” she asked. “How sincerely I mourn the death of my husband? Don’t tell me you think I strapped that money to his back and pushed him off the side of the boat.”

      A muscle flexed in his jaw. She was putting up a fight and he hadn’t expected it. “I’m merely trying to get to know you better. Opinions of you here in your hometown vary...greatly.”

      “You’re saying I’m not well-liked. Your sympathy for my situation overwhelms me.”

      He shrugged off her sarcasm. “I’m not your friend, either. I have a job to do.”

      “And that includes making this week even worse by speaking to everyone I know about me on the heels of my husband’s death?”

      “You mean on the heels of your husband’s fraudulent activities. He stole over $60 million from innocent investors, Mrs. DeBussi. These interviews help me build an accurate picture.”

      “How do you know it’s accurate?”

      He studied her. “The secret is not to rely too much on any one opinion.”

      But no one knew the whole truth. She couldn’t see how the people of Whiskey Creek would have anything of value to contribute. She was no longer the girl she used to be, and they didn’t know the woman she’d become. She’d been active in various charities and other community events, yes. But she’d been playing a role, fulfilling her duties as the wife of the richest man in town. She couldn’t let anyone get close to her, despite Skip’s absences, for fear of his jealous reaction once he got home. There’d even been a brief period when he’d hired a private investigator to keep an eye on her.

      “What is it you’re really after?” She wished she didn’t have to suffer this intrusion. She felt as if she’d been violated—not physically but emotionally.

      “How much did you know about Skip’s business dealings?”

      “Absolutely nothing,” she replied without hesitation.

      “Yet you told the Brazilian police you two were close.”

      She stared at him without blinking. “There are different kinds of close.”

      He cocked his head to one side. “The two of you never fought?”

      She never fought back. She couldn’t, or it would make things that much worse. “Our arguments weren’t serious.”

      “Even the ones where he was upset about your drinking?”

      When she stiffened but didn’t attempt to explain, he continued, “Your mother-in-law told me you recently spent a month in rehab.”

      Her mother-in-law? Skip’s family had acted so strange since his death. As if she was somehow to blame for what he’d done. As if she’d driven him to it. And now they were creating suspicion and undermining her credibility with the FBI? “I guess they need someone to blame besides their beloved son.”

      “What Sharon said isn’t true?”

      She sighed. “It is true. In case you haven’t verified it, I completed a program at a clinic in Los Angeles right before our trip.”

      “Why