While waiting, she reminded herself that she had one more suspect. Bettijean’s billionaire fiancé might have no economic motive, but the FBI never ignored the victim’s nearest and dearest.
The sisters reached the mansion fifty minutes before the man himself arrived. They were in the cavernous kitchen unpacking the dinner delivered five minutes earlier from a Thai restaurant when Ed staggered in, toting a heavily loaded carton.
Dressed in cargo shorts and a T-shirt with twinkl.com on the pocket, Ed was her sister’s height—five foot seven—but sturdier by forty pounds. The reddish gold hairs adorning his pale arms and legs matched the thatch on his head.
To Dawna, an ordinary looking guy who didn’t spend much time in the sun. But Bettijean’s eyes glowed at the sight of him, as if new power
