Take Me Home for Christmas by Brenda Novak Read Free Book Online Page B

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 assumed 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 attitude reminded her of Javier, the police inspector from Les Misérables.
    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 assistant, 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 entitled 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 damn 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