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 hell 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 shield 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 sunglasses 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 masse, 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 scrape together the funds that relocating would require. She could sell her household furnishings 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, reassuring 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 gratitude 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.