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We eye each other carefully, hearing the different ways we try to protect the same woman.
“Well, shit,” I say.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he answers with a chuckle. “Your . . . what’d you call her . . . sugar snookums? She ain’t here, and she’s pretty mad at you, so when you find her, your best bet is to be on your knees, groveling for forgiveness.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
He shakes his head, laughing. “Hell, boy. I’ve been married a long time, and let me give you a hint I learned from my Martha . . . what you did or didn’t do don’t matter a lick. Apologize long and hard, and then, when she’s cooled down, maybe you can have a little chit-chat and explain things. But to start? Groveling’s the way to go.”
That’s the second round of advice I’ve gotten today from men I respect.
Frederick’s, I can put to use tomorrow when I go back to work. Sheriff Barnes’s?
I plan to put his into action immediately . . . as soon as I find Zoey.
Chapter 23
Zoey
“Say that again,” Holly orders as she slams a mixing bowl on the counter. “And get the M&M’s out of my secret stash.”
I open the fridge and shuffle the bag of wilted spinach to the side to reach into the back recesses of the vegetable drawer to get the hidden bag of candy Holly requested. I drop it next to her, and as she mixes the ingredients she’s added to the bowl, I tell her about court today.
“I didn’t see it. Was absolutely, stupidly, blindly, dumbstruck by Blake Hale,” I tell her morosely.
Her mixing gets aggressive, and I’m pretty sure there was some shell added with the egg she just cracked on the bowl’s edge. “You’re sure? Absolutely certain? Because I’m going to kill him, so I need you to be positive.”
She threatens me with the dripping spoon and an evil glare promising bloodshed—maybe mine, probably Blake’s.
“You’re not going to kill him,” I tell her, even though the idea that both Holly and Jeff independently put forth holds some merit. Not for real, but an imaginary bus running over an imaginary Blake sounds pretty fucking justified. Or maybe he could be pecked to death by razor-beaked chickens while being held down by barbed wire? Something slow and painful and memorably humiliating so that it makes it onto one of those ‘How They Died’ shows and he becomes a trivia tidbit people laugh at. “Don’t kill him, but yeah, I’m sure. Jeff realized it before I did.”
That holds weight for both of us since Jeff is a pretty steady and solid sort, known for his level head. That’s how he became Sheriff of Williamson County.
“Break it down for me, step by step,” Holly instructs, and I find myself giving her the replay of the entirety of testimony.
“Blake didn’t mention that I helped him dig in the trash, put together the invoice puzzle, or did the research on what it meant. He held it up like he’d done it all himself.” I groan and steal a handful of candy, shoveling the whole bunch in my mouth at once. Chewing open-mouthed, I keep telling Holly, “That might’ve been okay, like maybe he was covering for us the way we talked about? But then Mr. Neilhouse basically agreed that Everlife would do anything to not pay a claim. It started to come together then.”
“What makes you think that,” she asks, swinging the spoon left, “includes this whole thing between you and Blake?” She swings the spoon right, a glob of dough flying to the counter.
Rolling my eyes, I huff out, “Duh. It’s me, Hols. Blake was using me so they wouldn’t have to pay out this big claim, and like a sucker, I fell right into the trap. I knew better, I fucking knew better, but I let myself get carried away. By him, by hope.” Pain burns fresh in my chest again, and I shake my head, feeling dumb for not seeing it, for not questioning Blake’s intentions when almost every time we saw each other, it was about this investigation.
That’s not true. This morning didn’t feel like that, my heart tries to argue, remembering the needy growls and heady conversation. Facts are facts, my brain tells my heart. However I thought things were this morning, I’ve since learned differently.
“So, did Yvette really kill Richard?” Holly asks.
“It doesn’t matter. I mean, it matters to Everlife and Blake,” I snipe, “and it definitely mattered to Richard Horne. But that’s the point. If Everlife hadn’t needed me to change the autopsy ruling, Blake would’ve never spent a minute with me. It was all for show. Like you said men do, he was using me, for professional gain and sex.”
I fidget, sorting out the spilled M&Ms into piles by color, and Holly is quiet as she takes the candy from me to add them to the dough.
