Drop Dead Gorgeous(76)
“Here’s the coffees, Sheriff. DDG.”
Jeff holds out his hands to take them both. “Anything I should know about these, Alver?” he asks directly. Guess Jeff’s on the same thought train as I am about the coffees, at least. Alver shakes his head and Jeff’s eyes narrow. Moving one to his lips, he sniffs deeply before taking a sip. Smacking his lips, he says, “Seems okay.” Then he repeats the move on the other cup, drinking from them both as proof that they’re not laced with laxatives or Visine.
“Which one you want?” Jeff asks me.
“Either. Just set it on my desk, please.” It doesn’t matter because I won’t be drinking it anyway. I still don’t trust either cup. Jeff sets one down, switches, and then switches back before throwing me a wink.
“You promise?” I ask one more time.
Dipping his head, Jeff vows, “I do. Now clean this mess up.”
He added a little spice to that bit, probably for Alver’s sake because he smiles triumphantly.
As Jeff turns around to leave, I catch Alver’s eye and draw my thumb across my neck with a dark look that threatens murder and mayhem. Alver squawks and follows Jeff out, quick-stepping to get to his side. With a sigh, I look at my work. Everything I’ve done, that I knew would be helpful, reduced to . . . trash.
*
“Hey, sugar snookums!” a voice says with barely restrained laughter. I want to be amused by it, but my brain is a big, gray blob of ‘fuck everything’, and I don’t think there’s a thing in existence, not even one of Jacob’s pranks, that could make me smile right now.
Maybe I should install a revolving door in my morgue. With as many interruptions as I’m getting today, it’d make sense. Hell, it’d make moving bodies in and out easier too.
Don’t be grumpy because Jeff pissed on your parade.
I plaster a smile on my face. “Hey, Blake.” I aim for flirty but must miss the mark by a mile because Blake’s smile melts into a frown.
“What’s wrong?” He comes to me, gathering me in his arms with his hands on my hips, and looks deep into my eyes.
The worry is plain to see, no filters or walls, just pure openness and readiness to listen. I want to fall into him and rage out my frustration by yelling and sweeping the whole invoice into the trash.
But I don’t do that.
It’s not who I am.
I’m the calm in a storm, handling whatever shit life throws my way with a shrug of ‘never expected anything different’ and making sure other people don’t feel what I do. But I failed this time, like so many times before. Blake’s going to be disappointed . . . in Jeff, that our work isn’t going to result in a big arrest victory, and mostly, in me.
I can’t hold his intense gaze, so I focus on the tiny line between his brows instead.
“I talked to Sheriff Barnes. He says that I should drop this investigation while in the same breath telling me he’d look into it. Not sure I believe him, though. I think he was just placating me. Even though I figured out how Yvette did it.”
“You did?” Blake’s excitement is palpable, and he doesn’t seem upset about Jeff at all.
At least somebody gets it, how far we were willing to go to figure this out, how hard the research has been, and he’ll definitely appreciate how many teeny-tiny pieces of paper I puzzled together.
“Look . . .” I point at the table where the invoice is now taped together. “I went through the trash again because I felt like we might’ve missed something.”
“And I’m guessing we did.”
I tell him about fitting the scraps of paper back together, the online pseudo-pharmacy, and the supplement Yvette bought. His eyes narrow as he examines the invoice.
“You did it. This is how she poisoned him.” Blake holds the paper up, showing it to me like it holds the importance I thought it held. “You are so fucking brilliant! How long did this take you?” He makes it sound like I cured cancer or figured out how to make chocolate be calorie-free.
“Hours,” I lament, “which would’ve all been worth it if it were useful.”
He places a quick, soft kiss to my forehead that soothes me more than I’d admit. “Useful to Jeff or not, it’s useful to me.”
“Huh?”
Blake shrugs. “I work in insurance, not the law. And our standard is a lot more . . . asshole-ish might be the best word. Let me see what I can do. Because what you found is the truth. And that matters. Answers matter.”
I don’t think we’re talking about Yvette Horne’s shopping habits anymore, but rather, my finally agreeing to go on a date.
That ‘yes’ changed everything.
“They do. Does that mean we’re going out tonight? Are you here to sweep me off my feet and whisk me away to dinner?” I cringe at my awesomely bad flirting skills. They’re not the best, but hopefully, they’re better than my pep talks. And I could use some pity pizza for my pity party. Maybe a pity White Claw too.
“Uh, does whisking you away to your place count?” His sheepish grin begs me to say yes once more. “I went there first, and Jacob offered to watch Chunky so I could hunt you down here. I promised to bring pizza back as payment. It’s not the date I promised you yet, but it could be fun?”