Whiskey Creek: Take Me Home For Christmas Part 4

"She probably never dreamed her actions would lead where they did." Callie crumpled the napkin she'd used and dropped it on her plate. "Haven't you ever done anything you regret?"

He was already on his way to the counter, so he left her question unanswered. But he had done something he regretted.

He regretted ever getting involved with Sophia.

5.

As Sophia had expected, hardly anyone attended the funeral. And those who came didn't have much to say. They filed past the casket, somber and subdued. Some managed a nod for her or Skip's parents. No one smiled but neither did anyone cry. Even Sophia didn't know how to act. Should she behave like the grieving widow? Or the hurt and angry spouse?

She told herself to behave as she honestly felt for a change. She was done with pretending. But Agent Freeman was there, watching her every move, every expression, and it made her nervous. How would he interpret what he saw? Would something she said or did make him decide that she was as guilty as her husband? He couldn't understand how Skip could do so much without her knowledge, but he had no idea what their marriage had been like.

Now she regretted telling the Brazilian police that they'd been happy together, that they'd been close.

When she twisted around to see who might've come in late, her eyes met Freeman's almost immediately, and she turned back. She hated having him there. But she couldn't have been honest with her emotions, anyway, or she would've seemed crazy-because she felt a little of everything. There were moments when she mourned the fact that she and Skip hadn't been happy together, that it had come down to this. Moments when she was grateful he was gone, that she no longer had to fear him. Moments when she felt so incredibly angry that she hoped he'd spend an eternity in h.e.l.l for betraying them, especially after getting her hopes up with such beautiful promises of change and fresh commitment.

She'd muddled through the past ten days by focusing on doing what she could to s.h.i.+eld Alexa, and by staying busy making arrangements for the return of Skip's body. She'd tried to arrange the funeral, too, but his parents hadn't liked some of her decisions, so they took over. That bothered her-they were always bossy and superior. The way they treated her made her want to drink. But her concern for her daughter had kept her off the booze. Her concern for Alexa had also enabled her to tell Agent Freeman that his interrogation would have to wait until she'd given Lex the chance to say goodbye to her father. She wanted to commemorate the things Skip had done right in his life, so the young girl he'd left behind wouldn't have to be completely devastated by his shortcomings and mistakes.

Unfortunately, however, the eulogy offered scant comfort. The clergyman, Rudy Flores, had known Skip all his life. This was where they'd gone to church every week, mostly at Skip's insistence. He'd demanded she attend whether he was home or not. But the reverend was obviously as disappointed in him as everyone else. Flores kept his comments almost entirely generic. Although he didn't refer to Skip's illegal and unethical activities, neither did he spare him any praise.

Sophia sat in her black Chanel dress, Manolo Blahnik heels and the Dolce & Gabbana sungla.s.ses she'd put on to hide the redness of her eyes, and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. With her hair slicked back in a bun at her nape, she knew she looked like an ice princess. But she was doing her best to cope, didn't want anyone to know that she was shaking inside. If they understood how vulnerable she was, they might set on her en ma.s.se, like vultures. After what Skip had done, there were plenty of people in Whiskey Creek who were looking for a target. She had the feeling they'd be more than happy to pick her bones. Her own reputation wasn't helping. Thanks to her past mistakes, there was no one to champion her, no one to insist that she was too good a person to have cooperated with Skip.

"...just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in the newness of life...."

Reverend Flores's voice droned on, but Sophia tuned him out. She didn't want to hear what he was saying, didn't want to think about Skip being resurrected. She doubted anyone here-even his brokenhearted daughter and parents-would be too pleased to see him in the afterlife. She wouldn't. This was one time she wanted to believe that dead was dead. The sight of Alexa sitting beside her with tears dripping into her lap convinced her that Skip had had enough second chances. How often had she forgiven his violent outbursts and agreed to try again?

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

When Alexa nodded, Sophia slid an arm around her. She wished she could've kept her from learning the ugly truth, but there'd been no way to preserve her innocence, not with the whole town talking about how Skip had used and tricked and cheated everyone. It was in the papers. It was on the news. It was on the internet, where strangers with various screen names like "chubbydate" and "village-itch" had posted nasty comments about how "vain" and "arrogant" she and Skip were to think they could "get away with it." "The wife has to be involved," some claimed. "It takes money to keep a woman as beautiful as that. He probably figured he'd lose her if he didn't give her the world."

Their lives had been torn apart in the most public manner possible, the wreckage strewn for all to see. Some kids, or maybe adults, had even thrown eggs at their house two nights ago.

"We could move," she whispered in Alexa's ear. The idea of a fresh start gave Sophia hope, but this suggestion just elicited more tears from her daughter.

"No, Mom. Please!" she begged. "I-I don't want to go. I can't leave my friends, and Grandma and Grandpa, and Uncle Colby and my cousins."

Sophia could understand why. Whiskey Creek was all Alexa had ever known. It was all Sophia had known, too. But that made it harder to face the many people Skip had wronged, especially when the presence of Agent Freeman seemed to signify that she might be as guilty as Skip. The longer he remained in town, asking his insidious questions, the more convinced everyone became that she'd been living the high life at their expense. Someone online had even accused her of having a "bundle" tucked away.

She wished she did have some money in a safe place. Then she really could move, providing she could persuade Alexa. As it was, Sophia wasn't sure how she'd be able to sc.r.a.pe together the funds that relocating would require. She could sell her household furnis.h.i.+ngs and her wardrobe. They'd been expensive to begin with, but used items of that kind didn't retain their value. In any case, as soon as she sold her belongings, there'd be people lining up to get the money.

"Okay," she murmured, rea.s.suring Alexa with a quick squeeze. "I just... I thought I'd make the offer."

"So we'll stay?" Alexa confirmed. "You promise?"

"We'll stay." At least as long as she could hang on to the house. The cars would go first. She had no way of making the payments. She'd learned this past week that every single one had a loan against it. So did the yacht. Sophia had tried to track down her wedding ring, but there was no record of where Skip might've taken it, and it was nowhere to be found in the house or the cars.

Alexa smiled her grat.i.tude and Sophia managed to smile in return, but when she glanced around, she realized that more people were watching her than the preacher. Would the funeral never end?

Fortunately, Reverend Flores seemed to sense the unrest. He finally finished the service. Then the organ music swelled, and Sophia stood, eager to get out of the church and away from the expensive floral sprays his parents had insisted on ordering-since no one else was likely to send flowers. There was the graveside service still to go, but even fewer people would join her at the cemetery, and her time there would be limited to a short prayer. Soon she'd be able to go home, where she could find refuge from the prying eyes....

"I'm so sorry, Sophia. I'm sure that what you're going through is just...awful." Gail DeMarco-O'Neal approached her first, with her movie-star husband, and gave Sophia a tight hug. It was a testament to how glum everyone was feeling that they weren't making a big deal of Simon's being in attendance. But, of course, they'd seen him around town on a number of occasions.

"Thank you." She swallowed hard, hoping to stave off the tears that burned behind her eyes now that someone had shown her some kindness. "It's nice of you to come. Truly." In recent years, she'd tried to join Gail's circle of friends, had loved having coffee with them. She would've kept going if not for Ted. Although she longed for his forgiveness, he'd made it clear that he couldn't or wouldn't forget the past.

"Is there anything we can do to make things easier?" Gail murmured.

Sophia had a feeling she'd need a good attorney and she had no idea how she'd pay for one. Even filing bankruptcy, which was inevitable, cost a couple thousand dollars. But that was none of Gail's concern. Although Gail and Simon were rich, Sophia had no right to ask for a loan or anything else. She and Gail had connected briefly one night before Gail got married. It wasn't as if they'd been friends for life. They hadn't been friends at all-until then. "No, but thank you."

"You'll call if something comes up?" Gail prompted.

What else could go wrong? She'd already lost everything. "Of course," she lied.

"Good. I'm afraid we can't stay for the graveside service. Simon has commitments in L.A. And we left the children at home. But I wanted to see you in person, if only for a few minutes."

"I appreciate it. I really do. I know you don't like to leave your babies."

"Ty is hardly a baby. He's almost eight! But he had school and the other two are more of a handful-definitely hard to manage on quick trips. Anyway, you're worth it." Gail handed her a sympathy card before moving on so that Simon and Levi, Callie's husband, could offer their condolences. Eve Harmon was with them, too, which was nice of her, given that Sophia was fairly certain her sympathies leaned more toward Ted than her.

They each spoke to her, but it was Callie who turned back. "I'm here for you, you know. I don't have the millions you need but...if you'd ever like to talk, you've got my number, right?"

"I do. Thanks so much." After accepting another hug, Sophia held her head high and let them go. Since they'd been the friendliest people at the funeral, she wanted to cling to them, to beg them to save her from the despair that threatened to consume her. Maybe she would have, if she felt she deserved their help, but she knew they had almost as many complaints against her as Ted did.

Although Agent Freeman didn't speak to her, he stood close enough to make her aware of him. When she'd been in Brazil and heard his deep, resonant voice over the phone, she'd a.s.sumed he would be young and maybe even attractive-not that it mattered-but that didn't turn out to be the case. Close to fifty, he had gray hair and sharp features, which contributed to a rather severe look. And his att.i.tude reminded her of Javier, the police inspector from Les Miserables.

But that might just be her fear talking. Arms folded and lips pursed, he eyed the procession with obvious skepticism. The way he glared at the casket left little doubt as to how he felt about Skip. He'd spent two years pursuing the evidence he needed to punish a criminal, only to be denied the pleasure of seeing justice done. She figured that was why he wanted to believe she had some culpability in the fraud. Then he'd be able to prosecute at least one of the "bad guys."

In addition to Gail, Simon, Callie, Levi, Eve, Gail's brother, Joe, and the FBI, some of Skip's former schoolteachers had come to pay their respects. Apparently, he hadn't hit them up to invest. Or they hadn't had the money. Or maybe they just remembered him from a far more innocent time. His a.s.sistant, Kelly Petruzzi, had driven over from San Francisco, along with a handful of coworkers. Besides those with a connection to the business, there was the gardener who'd cared for their yard the past five years, Marta, who came in once a month to do the deep housecleaning (Skip prized his privacy too much to have anyone come more often), and the man who washed their cars. Sophia thought it was a sad state of affairs that a large proportion of the people in attendance were employees probably hoping to save their jobs by showing some support.

The rest of the funeral party comprised Skip's immediate and extended family, and they seemed eager to pretend she wasn't there. They looked past her, focused strictly on Alexa as if Sophia wasn't standing by her daughter's side. Or they spoke quietly among themselves, trying to console Dale and Sharon, acting as though Sophia wasn't ent.i.tled to their sympathy.

"I'm not willing to believe Skip did what they say. He wasn't the type."

This came from the cousin who'd pulled out a chair for her once, spurring Skip to hit her so hard she'd had to have emergency dental surgery.

"The FBI's got to be wrong," an uncle agreed. "They're after his money or...something. We got a d.a.m.n liberal for president. Maybe it's a new way of stealing from the rich to give to the poor."

"Then why did he go on the run?" his aunt asked.

"Because he knew they were setting him up," his brother said. "He knew they were after him."

"But if he was innocent, why wouldn't he have come to us for help?" This was the aunt again. "Or hired a good attorney? Instead, he put $100,000 in a waterproof pack and tried to swim to Brazil."

Finally, someone less blinded by love and loyalty.

"Or so they say," the cousin responded, once again infusing some doubt.

They had no idea that the real Skip bore no resemblance to the image he portrayed. And Sophia knew they wouldn't believe her, even if she tried to tell them.

"We'd better head over for the graveside service." Dale said this but as he looked up, he caught Sophia's eye and glanced away as if the mourners who'd be driving over together didn't include her. "Let's go."

Since the family had only been able to come up with four pallbearers, including Skip's father, they'd decided to have the mortuary provide this service so that wouldn't be obvious. But as anxious as Sophia was to be done with this day, she waved them off and lingered with Alexa after everyone had left. She thought that her daughter might need some private time to pay her last respects.

"Would it help to have a few minutes to...to say goodbye to your father?" she asked.

More tears spilled over Alexa's eyelashes, but she shook her head. "No. Daddy's not here. I don't even know who that man in the casket is."

"I'm sorry." Sophia hugged her again. No one knew him. Except maybe her. But she didn't add that.

Sharon poked her head into the church. "Alexa, would you like to ride over with Grandma and Grandpa?"

Lexi seemed hesitant, but Sophia gave her a nudge. "It's okay. You go. I'll join you in a minute."

With a sniff and a nod, her daughter hurried out, leaving Sophia alone with her husband's body.

"How could you?" she whispered when Alexa was gone. He'd always told her how vain and selfish she was. She'd allowed him to defeat her with that because she'd known in her heart it was true. She'd caused a lot of heartache in her teens. A young man had lost his life because of her immaturity and thoughtlessness. But no one could be more vain or selfish than Skip.

She was still clutching the card Gail had given her when the pallbearers came back. Needing a little more time before she could bring herself to join the others in the cemetery, she waited for them to carry the casket out to the hea.r.s.e but stayed behind to open the card. She'd expected to find nothing more than a few words of consolation, but a check fell out and fluttered to the floor. No one else had given her money. She a.s.sumed everyone thought she'd already "taken" enough.

When she bent to retrieve it, she saw the amount. Five thousand dollars! She returned her attention to the card. "We all need a little help now and then," Gail had written. "I hope this will come in handy."

The words blurred before Sophia's eyes as, for the first time that day, she broke down and started to cry. "Thank you," she said.

Gail couldn't hear her but maybe G.o.d could.

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 s.h.i.+pped 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 s.p.a.ce than she'd antic.i.p.ated 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.