If he believed me, he made no sign of it, instead switching gears abruptly. "What about your step-mother?"
It took me a moment to realize who he was talking about, the words "mother" and Britton never quite going together in my mind. "You mean Britton?"
He nodded. "Death is a lot less messy than divorce. Especially when there's a pre-nup involved."
I shook my head. "No way. You've got her all wrong," I told him. "There is no way Britton would hurt my father." Defending Britton was the last thing I expected to do. But despite the fact that she dressed somewhere between a stripper and an oversize tween, I couldn't imagine Britton actually hurting my father. As strange as it seemed, I got the impression that she had actually cared about him.
But Agent Ryder didn't seem convinced. "How well do you know Britton?"
I could feel him watching my body language. I did my best not to give anything away. Which was ridiculous because I had nothing incriminating to give away.
"We aren't best friends, if that's what you're asking."
"Did you know her before she married your father? I understand she was a cocktail waitress here."
Honestly? This was the first I'd heard of that. I guess I'd never really asked much about their relationship or how they'd met. I shook my head. "No. I never met her before they married."
"But you didn't approve of the marriage?"
I hesitated to answer. The truth was I hadn't. But somehow I felt like that was the wrong answer here.
"My father didn't need my approval," I finally settled on.
"Is that what caused the rift between you?"
"There was no rift," I shot back.
"Yet you haven't seen him in two years."
"I-I've been busy."
"Hmm." Agent Ryder narrowed his eyes at me.
I pulled my robe tighter, willing myself not to fidget under his assessing glare.
Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Verlana hovering in the hallway and jumped on the welcomed interruption.
"Are we done here?" I asked Agent Ryder.
He paused and turned to see Verlana. Then he nodded in my direction. "For now. But I'd appreciate it if you'd stay in town."
Unfortunately, I planned to.
I watched him turn and leave, his back stiff, his posture on alert as if expecting a killer to jump out at him from behind the rack of colored nail polish by the pedicure room.
Verlana entered, apologizing about the delay. I assured her I was fine. But the truth was, there was no way I was going to relax now.
Someone had killed my father.
And it was as clear as the crystal blue waters of the lake at our doorstep that the FBI thought that someone was me.
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My Ex-Boyfriend's Wedding Page 20
