Drop Dead Gorgeous(87)

I replay his exact question back in my mind, remembering Jeff’s advice to answer only what is specifically asked. Nothing more, nothing less. “Heavy metal poisoning does not directly cause a heart attack.”

Mr. Monroe’s lips quirk as though he won both the battle and the war, but I’m not done answering. If I have to answer these questions, I will do so precisely and to the best of my ability, so that both legally and morally, I can look at myself in the mirror without cringing.

“But the results of heavy metal poisoning could indirectly contribute due to the damage that it causes throughout the body.” It’s as close as I can get to saying “you’re damn right” without actually saying it.

“I see,” Mr. Walsh gloats. “So, with this new information, would you consider Mr. Horne’s heart attack an open and shut case with no need for further investigation?”

There’s only one way to answer that question . . . with the absolute truth that I’ve known since the beginning. “No.”

Judge Hopkins excuses me from the witness seat, and Jeff barely glances at me as I return to sit beside him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He lifts his shoulder noncommittally, not saying anything, but I can feel a lecture coming on full-force and I’m not looking forward to it.

The law’s supposed to be one team. And I just made Jeff look like Rosco P. Coltrane up here. He’s not going to like that. What damage have I done? For Yvette Horne and some money that I don’t even care about? No, if I wreck my job over this, it will be for Richard Horne. So his truth is known.

Mr. Walsh calls Mr. Neilhouse up next. “I’ll keep this brief. Mr. Horne’s life insurance contract . . . it states that Everlife has reasonable time to pay out a contract once a death claim has been made, correct?”

“Yes, the contract also defines reasonable time as three months from the date of claim. In this case, Mrs. Horne filed the claim six weeks ago, so we are well within our contracted timeframe,” Mr. Neilhouse answers dryly.

“I see. And does today’s information, particularly Miss Walker’s statement that further investigation is warranted, affect the three-month timeline?”

“Yes, it does. For a claim to be filed, the death must be of natural causes, or if there are questionable circumstances, those concerns must be addressed first. Seeing as there are remaining concerns, the current claim would be null and void until those have been handled by law enforcement. If Mr. Horne’s death were then deemed acceptable, Everlife’s three-month window would then begin with the filing of the updated claim.”

“Acceptable death?” Mr. Walsh asks with a furrowed brow. “Could you explain that?”

Neilhouse adjusts his glasses, nodding.

“Mr. Horne’s life insurance policy has exemption clauses for various reasons, including suicide or foul play by a beneficiary. Standard industry terms for this level of contract. In those situations, there would be no claim payout of any kind.”

Mr. Walsh spins, giving Mr. Monroe a triumphant look before sitting down.

Judge Hopkins looks at Monroe and says, “I’m sure you have questions.”

“Yes,” Mr. Monroe answers as he stands. “Mr. Neilhouse, so what I’m hearing is that it benefits Everlife to find a way to make a death questionable to avoid payment.”

Mr. Neilhouse chuckles, unbothered by the accusation. “Obviously, we would prefer to not pay claims if they’re fraudulent in some way.”

But Mr. Monroe is gathering steam. “Fraudulent in some way?” he repeats with the added twist of bitter sarcasm. “And if the claim is valid, you attempt to undermine it by whatever means necessary—including having employees like Blake Hale dig through trash, question doctors, and harass law enforcement and coroners. Using any means to not pay a rightful claim.”

Mr. Monroe spreads his hands wide, as though Everlife is in the habit of refuting claims this way.

Jeff sighs, and when I look to him, he meets my gaze with sad eyes.

“Sorry, Zoey,” he whispers.

“What?” I murmur in confusion.

Why is he apologizing? What is he sorry for?

Jeff’s eyes go hard and flinty as he turns away from me, giving Blake the full power of his laser focus. Blake doesn’t look my way, but his chin lifts an extra inch and the muscle in his jaw is working furiously. Too slowly, new puzzle pieces begin to slide into place, parts of a much larger puzzle I didn’t even see. Too focused on the invoice, too focused on Yvette Horne, that I didn’t even see it until now.

By any means?

Like coming to see me in the morgue about a case . . . questioning the autopsy report and labs . . . investigating to find an explanation that would lead to enough doubts to deny the claim?

Could that be what Blake has been doing all along?

That first time he came to the morgue about Yvette Horne’s case, it was Holly who pushed him into going for drinks.

Not him. Maybe he saw an opportunity and took it? A chance to use me and get a little something extra out of it too. Holly says guys will lie, cheat, and steal to get laid, so what if Blake did lie?

Manipulate me to get what he wanted with a bonus. He’s probably been laughing the whole time at how superstitious, lonely, and pathetic I am.

Drop-Dead Gorgeous?

Trailer Park Princess?