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“Even though I tried,” she confides.
That is new information, and I latch on to it with fervor.
“You didn’t . . .” I trail off, not sure how to say ‘cheat on your husband’ without sounding judgmental.
Yvette catches my meaning and shakes her head. “No, Sebastian pursued me, but I told him I would never hurt my Dickie. But when Dickie was gone, Sebastian was right there to comfort me.”
“That’s convenient,” I say, giving an inch when what I really want to do is shake Yvette so she sees the miles of scheming Sebastian has been up to.
Sebastian has been quiet, hugging and comforting Yvette but truly keeping her at his side, under his control. Them against me, especially as I pick and prod for details. Now, he tests back, though he’s wearing the façade of a sweet and caring boyfriend and not his true self.
“See? I knew you’d understand why Vettie needs Richard’s death to be from natural causes. A quick and simple change and one signature, and you’ll make her . . . us . . . so happy. The way we were meant to be.”
Is he stupid? Or willfully ignoring the obvious? “I can’t. Or well, I can,” I correct myself, “but no one will believe it.”
“You’ll have to make them.” His mask is slipping again, exposing his ugly side, promising an unspoken punishment if I don’t get everyone to believe something so obviously untrue.
Unaware of the change in Sebastian, Yvette coos, “It’ll be fine. At least we can be together.”
He snarls. “The money fucking matters, Yvette.”
She looks like he slapped her, though I don’t think it was his words but rather that he called her by her given name, not the cutesy nickname he’s been using.
“Sebastian?” she questions, sounding small and unsure. For the first time, I see Yvette Horne differently, as a victim herself. Sebastian recommended the smoothies, he added the supplements to poison both Richard and Yvette, and when Richard died, Sebastian slickly stepped right into Yvette’s heart to take advantage of her.
For what? Is it really about the money? I guess people have done worse for less, but Richard’s insurance policy was only for $100,000.
“Yvette, do you have a life insurance policy too?” I ask quickly.
She answers mindlessly, her eyes never leaving Sebastian, who looks murderous. “Yeah, same as Richard.”
“Who gets the money if you die?”
That’s Sebastian’s proverbial line in the sand. He shoves Yvette back, charging toward me with his finger pointing threateningly, “You shut your fucking mouth.”
I try to back up, but I’m caught against the hood of the car with nowhere to go. I see it coming and flinch, but Sebastian’s backhand across my cheek still surprises me with its force and I see flashing stars again.
From the ground where she fell when he pushed her, Yvette squeaks, “Rusty does. It goes in a trust for my baby.”
The maniac dog that nearly took an officer to the ground? That Irish Retriever stands to inherit $200,000?
That’s ridiculous and exactly what someone like Yvette Horne would do for the dog she calls her baby.
“And who gets the dog, Yvette? Who inherits Rusty?” I spit through a jaw that’s vibrating with my heartbeat and already swelling.
“Sebastian,” she says in confusion but with slowly dawning realization. “He’s the only one Rusty behaves for, and he takes good care of my baby. Oh!”
Sebastian whirls at Yvette’s exclamation, his face desperate to keep his plan together a bit longer. “Vettie?”
But he’s not fast enough to stop her from finally seeing reality. Yvette, thankfully spryer than she gives herself credit for, leaps onto Sebastian’s back, scratching and clawing. “You killed my Dickie Boo! You monster! How could you?”
Chapter 26
Blake
Barnes and I crowd around his desk, Alver bringing up the rear. I whirl on Alver, unable to hold back any longer. “You let this happen. You’re supposed to watch the front, patrol the building. Yvette wouldn’t have gotten to Zoey if you’d done your damn job!”
Alver blusters, trying to fight back, but he’s a frail old man. One who not too long ago, I had pressed against the wall. I try not to feel guilty about that, but Zoey missing is an extenuating circumstance to the most extreme degree. “I’m sorry! I had to take a shit!”
Barnes snorts in shock, fighting a school boy chuckle. “You were taking a shit and left the front door unmanned?”
“Not like we’ve got coverage for bathroom breaks or even need it. I know my role is basically a glorified greeter. Might as well go work at the Wal-Mart in town,” he grumbles before adding bitterly, “Welcome in . . . have a good day.”
Barnes sighs and plops into his chair. “You’re right. Sorry, Alver.”
“What?” I shout.
“Blake, if you want to keep yelling at the man for taking care of nature’s call, be my guest,” Barnes says. “But you know inside that we’ve all had to drop a deuce while at work. If you want to help me find Zoey, then let’s do that while we still have a chance at finding her alive.”
