Drop Dead Gorgeous(90)

“Reservations made,” I tell Frederick and then give Mason the address. We head over there . . . and lunch drones on for hours. More precisely, Frederick does.

Our steaks are gone, so delicious I ate every bite despite knowing it’ll make me sluggish as hell for tomorrow’s run, and my second scotch is watered down to the point of being undrinkable after I sipped the first as slowly as possible.

Frederick swallows his scotch easily, imparting wisdom from his years in a role similar to mine—‘in the trenches’, he calls it—all the way up to sitting in a leather, button-tufted, VP chair.

Mason is rapt at attention, listening to every word from Frederick’s mouth as though he can absorb them and put them to instant use. Admittedly, Frederick is a brilliant man with a wealth of experience, and I respect what he’s accomplished. Any other time, a one on one with him would be a highlight of my career, an opportunity to learn and even show off a bit.

Today, all I want is for him to shut up, get in the back seat of his car, and let Mason drive him home. He’ll probably either be passed out for a power nap or back to working within minutes of pulling out of the restaurant lot, and at the same time, I’ll be well on my way back to Williamson County to find Zoey.

Finally, Frederick gives his corporate card to the waiter to pay the bill and I’m on the cusp of freedom.

“We can drop you by your office?” Frederick offers.

“Thanks, but I don’t mind taking an Uber. I know you have a long drive back,” I say as if that’s the reason I’m trying to ditch him.

“Appreciate the understanding,” Frederick replies as he offers his hand. “You did good work this morning, Blake. Really showed how dedicated you are to your clients and any claims. Everlife appreciates that. I appreciate that.”

“Thank you. That means a lot,” I reply honestly. “I take my client’s trust seriously, while ensuring that Everlife’s interests are protected. Integrity on all sides is what allows us, as an industry, to thrive.”

Damn, I should write that down for my next commercial with Amy. Though maybe I won’t have to hustle for more clients if Frederick stays true to his word and sends some corporate accounts my way.

Frederick beams, his smile a little sloppy but pure. “Well said.” The compliment comes with a pointed finger to my chest. “You’re a good man. Exactly what Everlife needs.”

I’d be floating on cloud nine, except that Frederick follows up the lovey-dovey fest with a hiccup that he doesn’t quite contain. Ignoring it, he leans in to whisper on scotch-scented breath, “Keep on top of the sheriff and that coroner out here. Make sure there are no shortcuts taken, because I’m sure this wasn’t the last we’ve heard of Yvette Horne. She’s a conniving one.”

“Sure. Will do.” I’m more than happy to stay on top of Zoey, and behind her, and beneath her, and any other position she’d like to try.

As for Sheriff Barnes, I will follow up to make sure he investigates further because I think Frederick is right. Yvette Horne methodically poisoned her husband for the money, and I don’t think she’s going to take a judge’s ruling as the final say on funds she feels entitled to.

Mason opens the back door for Frederick, making sure he’s in the car and buckled up before he shuts the door. “Drive safe,” I tell him, and he laughs.

“Always do.”

Finally free, I message for a ride and then text Zoey again.

Hey! I’m coming back out to see you. Should I meet you at work or home?

I don’t wait for a response, figuring I can check it when I get closer to her. Not while driving, of course, because texting while driving leads to 1.6 million car crashes each year and I would never be that irresponsible, but while pulled over safely.

The Uber driver drops me off to my office, and I don’t even go inside. I move from the Uber straight to my own car, hurrying as quickly as I can to get back to Zoey.

I buckle up, check my mirrors and surroundings the way I always do, and make the drive to Williamson County for the second time in a row today. I head to the morgue first, seeing as it’s late afternoon and Zoey’s a bit of a workaholic.

She’s probably elbows deep in the belly of a fresh body, with their guts being weighed on scales as she talks to the nonresponsive person about their family.

Or the weather.

Or last week’s Survivor episode.

The idea that once would’ve made my stomach churn and turn, and threaten to give back my steak, doesn’t so much as make me blink now. It’s simply what she does and who she is. A brilliant mind, passionate about her work and about giving her DBs the respect they deserve.

Once safely parked, I check my phone. Zoey hasn’t responded—not to my latest text and not to the one from this morning either.

Shit, I hope she’s okay. This morning was rough, but it turned out okay. Yvette didn’t get the money. That’s what matters.

Inside, I head downstairs to Zoey’s morgue.

“Hey, sugar snookums!” I yell, laughing a bit at the nickname that started as a joke to irritate Thelma and Louise but now makes me smile. But I don’t find Zoey. Instead, I find Sheriff Barnes sitting at Zoey’s desk with a file folder open in front of him, papers spread out along the desk’s surface. “Oh, hey, Sheriff. You looking into Yvette Horne? I can pass along what I have if it’d be helpful?”