Take Me Home for Christmas wc-5

by Brenda Novak

  “And that is...”

  She spread her arms with a dramatic flourish. “A trophy wife.”

  “Yet you claim you were happy.”

  “It doesn’t matter now that he’s gone.”

  He glanced around once again. “Mrs. DeBussi, would you be willing to allow me to search the house?”

  Her mind flitted through what he might come across. She couldn’t think of a single thing that would be incriminating. But she didn’t know how he might interpret what he found. What if Skip had planted some papers in his home office designed to implicate her? He wouldn’t like the idea of her moving on without him regardless of whether he was sunning himself on a beach halfway around the world with someone else.

  “Do you have a warrant?” she asked.

  “Do you have something to hide?” he replied.

  “No, but since you could misconstrue what you find, I’m not taking that risk unless I have to. As I said, my daughter needs me. I can’t go to prison.”

  “I see.” He stood. “That will be all, then.”

  She hadn’t expected him to accept her answer quite so easily. “Will you be coming back with a warrant?”

  “Not unless there’s some indication I need to go that far. For now, my business here is finished.”

  “You’re leaving?” she asked in surprise.

  “I am.”

  “Just my house or...Whiskey Creek?”

  “I believe I’ve learned all I can in this town.”

  Could she finally be catching a break? She wasn’t sure whether she could rely on that as she followed him to the door. “May I ask you one more question?”

  He nodded.

  “Is it reasonable to suppose I’m in the clear?”

  “That’ll depend on what turns up,” he said. “But if you’re as innocent as you say, you can relax. So far, I’ve seen nothing that leads me to think you played a significant role in your husband’s illegal activities.”

  She sagged in relief. “I’ve made my share of mistakes in life, Agent Freeman. But I had nothing to do with what Skip did. I swear it. I was as blindsided as anyone.”

  “I hope that’s true.” He gave her another long, assessing look. “Thank you for giving me a few minutes of your time.”

  She held the door while he stepped outside, but then he turned back.

  “Mrs. DeBussi?”

  Her heart beat a little faster. Was this when the blow would come? “Yes?”

  “Although it’s none of my business, you need to be aware of a certain reality.”

  She tensed. “What is it?”

  He softened his voice when he saw that she’d clenched her hands, bracing for the worst. “You have to stay off the booze.”

  Drawing a deep breath, she nodded rigorously to show she understood that. “Yes, yes, of course. I will. I came close a couple of times, like I said, but...I made it. I poured it all out.”

  “You can’t buy more. You can’t slip up even once.”

  Why was he making such a point of this? What concern was it of his? Whether or not she had a drink now, after the fact, couldn’t relate to the case. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “That daughter you love so much?”

  “Alexa.”

  “If you end up back in rehab, your in-laws will sue for custody.”

  The air rushed out of her. “They—they told you that?”

  “They tried to convince me you weren’t a good wife, and you’re no better as a mother.”

  She felt her jaw drop open.

  “Be careful of them.”

  “But...I do have a drinking problem. I told you as much. So...why...” She choked up, finding it impossible to finish.

  “Why did I warn you? From what I’ve seen, you’re the one who loves Alexa best.”

  She blinked rapidly to stem the tears. “How can you tell?”

  “I have a kid of my own,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Just hang in there. If you really didn’t know what your husband was doing, you’re the biggest victim of all. What happened isn’t fair, but you have to stay sober or you’ll lose the only thing you’ve got left and the one thing that matters most to you.”

  “Thanks.” She watched him stride to his car, feeling shocked that he’d try to help her—and hurt that a complete stranger would show more compassion than her in-laws.

  7

  Ted sat in front of his computer and read what he’d just written, then proceeded to edit it. Nothing he wrote seemed any good today; he couldn’t concentrate.

  Shifting restlessly in his chair, he tried to devise a more believable method of getting his protagonist out of the building that contained the bomb. But every idea he came up with seemed so...contrived. It’d all been done before and, in his current frame of mind, he was pretty sure it had been done better. Hot Pursuit was turning out to be his weakest book—and yet he’d loved the premise when he first started the story a month ago.

  What was wrong with him?

  His cell phone rang, but he didn’t bother to get up and find it. He didn’t answer calls during the day. Refusing to be distracted was the only way he could finish his page quota and have any hope of meeting his deadlines. But someone had been trying to get through to him for the past hour. And after what Kyle and Callie had said at Black Gold Coffee last week about the possibility of Sophia DeBussi applying to be his housekeeper, he was afraid of who it might be. She had to do something to support herself and her daughter, didn’t she? What else could she do except go after any menial job that might be available? In high school, she’d partied so much she’d barely graduated. She had no college credits, no work experience.

  He supposed she could model. She was pretty enough. But she couldn’t do that here in Whiskey Creek. And if her situation was as dire as he suspected from all the news reports, she wouldn’t have a car—at least not for long. She wouldn’t even have a house once the bank foreclosed.

  Pushing away from his desk, he got up to stretch his legs, spotted his cell on a side table and scooped it up. The call he’d missed had come from his agent. Damn. He should’ve taken that one. But he’d deal with Jan Andersen in a minute; he had another call to make first. He’d limped along without any domestic help for the past ten years, since he started writing. He figured he could manage for a few more months, until whatever was going to happen to Sophia DeBussi happened, and he could interview applicants without fear that she might knock on his door.

  Ed down at the Gold Country Gazette answered on the first ring. “What can I do for you, Ted?” he asked.

  Caller ID, no doubt. “I’d like to cancel my ad.”

  “But it hasn’t even run yet.”

  So far, he’d posted on Craigslist, but hadn’t received much interest. A woman named Marta, who’d actually used Sophia as a reference, had applied; however she had a slew of other clients and couldn’t focus strictly on him. Besides, she didn’t cook, and she didn’t know how to use a computer. He wanted someone who would act as maid, cook and secretary. An all-in-one assistant wouldn’t be easy to find, especially since he didn’t have time to sift through applications. So it wasn’t just that he was afraid Sophia might apply for the job, he told himself. Delaying the process meshed better with his schedule.

  “I’m aware of that,” he said. “I’m planning to hold off until after the holidays.”

  “But the holidays are the busiest.”

  “I don’t have time to interview, Ed. And I don’t have time to train anyone. Just yank the ad, okay?”

  “Does that mean you’re pulling it from Craigslist, too?”

  “Of course.” He was walking to his computer to do that this very second.

  “I’ll take care of it. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  Another call was coming in. Ted said goodbye and switched over. He wasn’t getting any writing done, anyway. “Hello?”

  “Ted?”

  It was his mother, Rayma, who’d raised him as a single parent after hi
s father left them for his female law partner. He and his mother had moved to Whiskey Creek from affluent Atherton, south of San Francisco, when he was three years old and she was offered the position of vice-principal at the elementary school. She was principal now, and had been for twenty years, but recently she’d been talking about retiring and moving back to the Bay Area to be closer to her mother and sisters.

  “What’s up, Mom?”

  “Rough day,” she said. “Since when do sixth-grade students bring guns to school?”

  “A twelve-year-old showed up with a gun?”

  “The nephew of those trashy people in the river bottoms. Carl Inera and his clan.”

  “Drugs have a lot to do with Carl’s situation.”

  “Chief Stacy said the same thing.”

  “So...what? Are you planning to retire even earlier than we talked about?”

  “No. Nothing’s changed there.”

  “Something’s different. You don’t normally call me while you’re at work.”

  “Mrs. Vaughn over at the middle school wanted me to hit you up for a donation.”

  “For what? You usually reserve my resources for your own school.”

  “She’s aware of how much you’ve done here and hoped you might see your way clear to helping over there, too.”

  “What do they need?”

  “They’re raising funds for a new gymnasium.”

  How could he say no? The school system had provided the job that’d enabled his mother to make a living and provide for him. And with the way schools were hurting these days, he helped out whenever he could.

  “How much?” he asked.

  “Could you do $10,000?”

  “That’s not exactly pocket change, Mom.”

  “Is it too much?”

  He considered his bank account; he could afford it. “No, I’ll do it.”

  “I’m proud of the man you’ve become, of your accomplishments. I hope you know that.”

  He smiled. “What are you talking about? You don’t even like my books.”

  “All that murder...it’s too graphic for me, but I can appreciate your talent.”

  “I’m glad. Because I’m proud of you, too,” he said, and it was true.

  “Have you seen Sophia since the funeral?”

  He’d been heading to the window overlooking the same river that ran past Carl Inera’s shack some miles away. But at this, he froze. “No. Why would I?”

  “Just checking.”

  His mother was an attractive, strong, capable woman. Unfortunately, she was also highly opinionated and often stuck her nose in his business, which he didn’t appreciate. “You mean you’re worried that I might take up with her again now that she’s available.”

  “I remember how much you loved her.”

  “Loved, past tense, being the key word. There isn’t much I even respect about her these days.”

  “But let’s face it. You’re a sucker for a damsel in distress. And she’s attractive. I can’t deny that. Please don’t feel you have to swoop in and save her from her misdeeds, though.”

  There was so much he wanted to respond to in what she’d said he hardly knew where to start. “You believe she’s to blame for what Skip did?”

  “She’s the one who married him to begin with. I thought she was certifiable at the time. Just like her mother.”

  Ted winced. “That’s kind of a low blow, don’t you think? She can’t help that her mother has mental problems. Even her mom can’t help that.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve never liked Sophia, and I’ve never made any secret of it.”

  He scratched his neck. “Because you were afraid I’d marry her before completing my degree.”

  “And because her values are all screwed up.”

  “How do you know she hasn’t changed? Grown up?” God, he was sounding like some of his friends. Only his mother could push him to the other side of an argument that easily. He loved her, but they were too much alike—both of them opinionated, take-charge people.

  “It’s obvious.”

  “A lot of people choose the wrong marriage partner.”

  Although he hadn’t meant to imply anything about her own decision to marry his father, the silence that followed indicated she’d taken it that way.

  He opened his mouth to clarify, but she spoke before he could. “At least I didn’t marry for money,” she said. “And it’s how she went about getting engaged. Leading you on while she was seeing Skip on the side. She agreed to marry him before she broke things off with you. We were almost the last to know!”

  “Sophia and I were young. I was away at school so we could only see each other on weekends, and with all my extracurricular activities, even those visits were few and far between. Anyway, she was pregnant and probably felt trapped. And it’s time to let go of the past.” He was glad Callie couldn’t hear him now....

  “You’re defending her?”

  He shoved a hand through his hair. “No, of course not. Just trying to keep it all in perspective. We were together for a couple of years almost a decade and a half ago. That’s long enough to carry a grudge.”

  “I don’t care how long it’s been. Her character is flawed, and you need to remember that when she sets her sights on you again.”

  “How do you know she’ll try to get me back?”

  “She needs money, and I’m sure it hasn’t escaped her notice that you’re now a wealthy novelist. I’d like to see you get married, but I don’t want you to end up with her. She caused you enough heartache the first time.”

  “You’re being overprotective again. I’m an adult and perfectly capable of making my own decisions, thank you. Anyway, you have nothing to worry about. I haven’t seen her and I don’t plan on seeing her.”

  “Good.”

  Before he could respond, someone entered her office—he could hear it in the background—and she had to go. Which was fine by him. That interruption might’ve prevented an argument. Although Rayma wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already believe, he didn’t like her talking about Sophia.

  His mother should’ve remarried and had other kids, he thought. Then she would’ve had to spread her attention around.

  Determined to finish his pages for the day, he decided he’d get hold of his agent later and returned to the computer. But when he clicked over to check his email, as he often did before starting, he found a message that was being forwarded all over Whiskey Creek. Several of Skip’s investors were trying to connect with others so they could band together and meet Sophia tomorrow night to talk about how they might recoup some of their losses. They mentioned the two Ferraris and how much they were worth. The Mercedes that Sophia drove. The art and sculptures in the house. When someone piped up to say that Skip had probably taken out loans against it all, another member of the group mentioned Sophia’s clothes and jewelry.

  Ted told himself to stay out of it. He hadn’t invested, so this didn’t pertain to him. But the idea of everyone ganging up on her bothered him enough that he called Kyle.

  “Are you planning to attend the meeting with Sophia about her remaining ‘assets’?” he asked.

  “No,” Kyle replied. “I don’t want to take what little she still has. Her husband screwed her over. How’s piling on going to make things better for any of us?”

  “What about Noah? Will he be going?”

  “I doubt it. He doesn’t hold her responsible for what Skip did any more than I do.”

  Ted’s mood improved after he hung up. His friends weren’t party to the next evening’s plans. But the image of Sophia being confronted by twenty or thirty angry men demanding her clothes and jewelry troubled him for the rest of the day.

  * * *

  Sophia had been grateful for Agent Freeman’s understanding and advice. She’d resolved to take advantage of it. But the depression that set in the following week proved so debilitating she could hardly get out of bed. She would force herself to get up and fix Alexa breakfast, then crawl
back under the covers and sleep until Alexa came home.

  At least her daughter talked about school as if it was going well. Considering how cruel kids could be, that came as an unexpected relief. Alexa insisted she was being treated kindly and that her friends rallied around her whenever she wasn’t. She seemed to be making the difficult adjustment. But the worry in her eyes whenever she took in Sophia’s bedraggled appearance spoke volumes. It said: You’re all I have left and I’m terrified I can’t rely on you. Look at you! I’ve never seen you like this. Maybe it even said: I guess Dad was right.

  Sophia could remember all the times Skip had told her she was a bitter disappointment. Part of her believed she deserved to hear it. Perhaps that was what had stolen the fight out of her; she’d essentially defeated herself by giving him so much ammunition. But, regardless of the reason for her depression, she wasn’t going to the gym anymore. She couldn’t bring herself to clean the house. She couldn’t even face showering on a regular basis or brushing her teeth.

  Although she scolded herself whenever she was awake, pleaded with herself to do better—for Alexa’s sake—she fell further and further into despair and self-loathing, and that made the craving for alcohol worse. She hadn’t succumbed, but only because there was no alcohol in the house, and she wouldn’t go out for fear of running into yet another Whiskey Creek citizen her husband had defrauded.

  Soon they had very little food in their cupboards and were surviving on canned soup. But no one knew that the “Queen of Whiskey Creek” had fallen quite so far, because no one came to check on her. Although she didn’t normally get a lot of visitors, there’d always been the domestic help. Now even they weren’t coming since she’d had to let them all go.

  Sharon had been her only visitor, and she didn’t come because she was concerned. She came to collect Alexa that first weekend after the funeral. Fortunately, Sophia hadn’t looked quite as bad then. Still, while waiting for Alexa to finish gathering her things, Sharon had stood in Sophia’s doorway, shaking her head in disgust.

  “This can’t continue, Sophia,” she’d said, her voice harsh and low.

  Sophia had ignored her. She’d just been grateful Alexa had a safe place to go for a couple of days, so she wouldn’t have to get out of bed at all. Part of her hoped Sharon would come back and take Alexa this weekend, too. If so, it might be possible to get a bottle of gin or tequila—anything. She could walk over to the liquor store late at night....