Drop Dead Gorgeous(83)
“How many times have you done this? Testify,” I clarify.
“Dozens, I guess. Usually drunks who wanna proclaim their sobriety. These made that happen a lot less frequently, though,” he says, tapping the body cam on his vest with an evil smirk.
“Why are you geared up?” I tug at the blouse I found at the back of my closet and wiggle in my chair, slicking my damp palms down my black pants-covered thighs.
I’m second-guessing my attire.
Okay, more like sixth guessing, but I didn’t have a lot of options. Either way, I’m definitely not as comfortable as I would’ve been in scrubs and clogs. Maybe I should’ve worn those so I’d look the part of a coroner like Jeff looks like a sheriff?
Do scrubs or business casual better portray that I’m someone you can trust about autopsies?
“Figure this’ll be quick, and I’m working a speed trap out on highway 14 later. Shh.” He holds a finger to his lips.
“Who would I tell?” I ask with a small laugh. “No one talks to me anyway, and I’m only going downstairs after court, but I hope you get the bad guys.” Speeders aren’t really all that bad in the big scheme of things, but I appreciate Jeff keeping our county roads safe. “What about the other investigation?”
He is doing something, right? He said he would, but he could’ve been giving me lip service so I’d leave well enough alone.
Jeff frowns, going quiet for a moment. His eyes scan the room, and I wonder what he sees. Does he plan exit strategies or store away details in case he needs accurate recall later?
I only see a place where I’m going to be the center of attention for the minutes I have to testify. I reach in my purse, under the guise of checking that my phone is on silent, but I actually touch the coaster from Blake that I stashed there.
I’m not sure what luck I’m hoping for . . . me testifying or Jeff investigating, or both . . . but a tiny bit of luck seals over the fissure in my nerves. Finally, Jeff leans toward me, his voice deep and low to say, “Remember, you’re here for your expert opinion. Keep it short and sweet, just the facts.”
“But I know a lot more than that report shows. The judge should have all the information to make a decision.” My intrinsic sense of right and wrong knows that for sure.
Jeff sighs and takes a deep drink of coffee. “You and I are here to answer the questions asked of us, nothing more and nothing less. If you tell more than that, you’ll put Yvette on notice and my investigation will go nowhere, I can promise you that.”
“But she might get the claim settlement.”
Jeff looks at me from the corner of his eye. “So?”
“What do you mean, so? It’s not right.”
“Money’s not my concern, yours either. The law is.”
I let that sink in, mulling over my own human nature that doesn’t want Yvette to get something that isn’t rightfully hers and mixing it with my responsibilities as a coroner and representative of Williamson County.
In the end, it’s neither of those things that help me find steady ground. It’s Richard Horne, face down in his breakfast with orange juice in his lap. It’s not a bad way to go, but it wasn’t his time. And time is too precious. No one deserves to have theirs cut short.
A few minutes later, Jeff and I watch with interest as Yvette Horne and her attorney come in. The lawyer is definitely not from around here. He looks too ‘city’ to be from Williamson County, and besides, everyone knows everyone out here and I’ve never seen this guy.
He’s someone I’d remember too, not just because of the slicked-back hair, navy suit, and purple tie, but because there’s something about him that screams ‘ambulance chaser’.
Or maybe I think that because he’s sitting with Yvette, who’s dressed demurely in a black, knee-length dress and heels and dabbing at her bone-dry eyes with a tissue. When she sees that the judges’ table is empty, I hear her quiet ‘oh’ as she drops the act and merely stands stock-still at the attorney’s side.
“Thanks for coming. I’m Holland Monroe, Mrs. Horne’s attorney.” He holds out a hand to Jeff, who shakes it, and then to me, and I do the same. “Should be an open and shut case today. We’ll have you out of here as quick as possible.”
He smiles congenially as though he truly believes that. Or if he doesn’t, he puts on a good act, but that’s probably a skill all good lawyers have.
A side door opens and Judge Hopkins comes in. “Mornin’,” he greets us. With a more important person in the room, Mr. Monroe forgets us and escorts Yvette to one of the tables to sit.
“Mornin’, Mike,” Jeff tells the judge, holding up his cup of coffee to return the greeting. As he sits down at his own table, I see the instant Judge Mike Hopkins, a serious, take-no-bullshit guy who scares me to my core, realizes I’m in his courtroom. It’s not that he’s a bad guy. Quite the opposite, actually, but he’s who handled the guardianship paperwork when I adopted Jacob, and he’d, quite literally, held my family in his hands.
But his eyes widen ever so slightly and his lips part, and though he might’ve let Jacob and me be a family, Judge Hopkins believes at least a little bit of the gossip he’s heard about me.
I could see it then and I can see it in every line on his face now.
“Zoey Walker, long time no see,” he says, and I’m pretty sure that if he’d never seen me again, it still would’ve been too soon.