Drop Dead Gorgeous(86)

Mr. Monroe rests his case, and Mr. Walsh stands for his turn. “I’d like to call Blake Hale, please.”

Blake walks to the judge’s desk and sits down. He looks comfortable, calm and collected—the opposite of me, considering my pits are still sweaty with nerves—and sexy with those glasses!

A sexy nerd of my very own! Maybe he can leave those on for the date . . . and later.

“Mr. Hale, you heard Miss Walker discussing the abnormal lab levels,” Mr. Monroe says. “Were you aware of these?”

“Yes, I discussed them with Sheriff Barnes and Miss Walker previously when I received the autopsy report and repeat lab results.”

“And do you know what caused them?”

No, no, no, no! I plead telepathically to Blake, begging him with my eyes as hard as I can . . . don’t say it!

“I suspect I might,” he says evenly.

No!

Now she’ll know we’re on to her. Any advantage Jeff would have in his investigation is going to be blown to smithereens. Without having enough for a search warrant, any evidence Yvette might’ve left will be destroyed by the end of the day for sure.

“And what do you believe caused Mr. Horne’s high heavy metal levels?”

Blake clears his throat and looks back sure and clear. “A supplement purchased off the internet by Yvette Horne. I suspect the supplements were added to Mr. Horne’s morning smoothies.”

“Those are very serious allegations. Do you have any proof?” Mr. Walsh is obviously already well aware of Blake’s big reveal but is feigning shock surprisingly well while laying out a verbal pathway that might as well be lit up like the yellow brick road leading right to Yvette. Mr. Walsh is even standing directly in front of Yvette, calling Judge Hopkins’s attention to her as Blake explains.

“I have an invoice from an online pharmacy for the supplement, purchased by Yvette Horne and delivered to the Hornes’ home. And Mr. Horne’s medical records show that he was making a concentrated effort to be healthier, even mentioning the green smoothies his wife made him every morning for breakfast. Along with their disgusting taste and resulting heartburn.”

Yvette makes an exaggerated, huffing sound of displeasure. “Hmph. Why, I never . . .” and Mr. Monroe bumps her with his shoulder.

She quiets instantly, but when she turns to listen to her attorney, I can see the fury burning in her eyes and the sneer on her red lips as he whispers to her urgently. I look to Jeff, but he seems particularly busy burning holes through Blake with his trademark sheriff glare.

Mr. Walsh takes a carefully measured step back from Yvette as though she’s a dangerous murderer who might go off at any moment.

“How did you come to be in possession of this invoice, Mr. Hale?”

Oh, shit. This is bad, so bad.

I reach in my purse for the coaster, hoping to rub some worry away, but instead it goes clattering to the floor, loudly interrupting and getting everyone’s attention. They’re all looking directly at me, exactly what I didn’t want, as I scramble to pick up the coaster from the floor.

“Sorry! Just dropped something. Pardon me.”

As I sit up, Blake makes true eye contact with me for the first time since he entered the courtroom, and I see something flash in the depths of his blue eyes behind the frames, but it’s gone too fast for me to label it.

But there was something.

“Zoey, you good?” Judge Hopkins asks.

“Yes, Your Honor,” I say, trying to sink into my chair, through the floor, and right back downstairs to my morgue where it’s safe and quiet. And no one looks at me.

Mr. Walsh seems frustrated at having his dramatic reveal interrupted, but he makes sure to remind everyone exactly where he was.

“How did you get this invoice?”

Jeff goes stock-still beside me, knowing full well that he saw that very invoice on my table days ago.

Blake licks his lips before slowly and clearly saying, “I got it out of Yvette Horne’s trash a few days after her husband’s death.”

Even Judge Hopkins looks disgusted by that, and he didn’t smell it. He blurts, “You dug through her trash?”

Blake nods. “I did. I also found a container of the green smoothie mix Mr. Horne told his doctor he was drinking, as seen in the medical records from Dr. Yu.”

Mr. Walsh drops a piece of paper with a green highlighted section off to Judge Hopkins’s desk. Meanwhile, Mr. Monroe is flipping through papers in front of him, scribbling back and forth on a notepad with Yvette. She writes something I can’t see and underlines it three times, pointing at it with the pen.

“Uh, no questions at this time, Judge.”

“Very well, I’d like to call Miss Walker back to the stand,” Mr. Walsh says.

What? Do I have to go up there again?

Judging by the way every pair of eyes in the room turn to me, I guess so.

“Oh, uh . . . yeah. Be calm, Zoey. Breathe.” I’m talking to myself, but not quietly enough, because Mr. Walsh is watching me with hungry eyes. Not like he wants to actually eat me, cannibalistically or sexually, but rather like he’s looking forward to verbally fileting me the instant I sit down.

“Your oath to tell the truth still stands, Zoey,” Judge Hopkins tells me, and I nod robotically.

Mr. Walsh sets the invoice that I painstakingly pieced together in front of me. “Miss Walker, you testified the heavy metal levels were of no consideration since Mr. Horne died of a myocardial infarction. If he was, in fact, being systematically poisoned, could that have played a factor in his death?”