His fatherly advice glances off my back, which is riled up with his dismissal of the information I shared.

“Sure.”

I hang up the phone and Blake frowns. “That’s it?”

“The county coroner can keep a file open,” I admit, “and leave a cause of death as unknown. But it’s not something to do without a good reason. This is a small county, not a big one where the ME is a whole separate department. Jeff’s going to want this file closed ASAP. He sure as hell isn’t going to help us.”

Blake nods but looks determined. “Looks like we’ve got some investigating to do on our own.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, we’re driving in Blake’s car. The sun’s almost down, and even though we’re not speeding or anything, I feel like I’m hurtling uncontrollably into madness. “Tell me again how you talked me into this? I’m not Nancy Drew!”

Blake grins, all sure, calm, and collected, which irritates me. “Of course, you’re not. You’re Velma. Smart, sexy, and I bet you’d look fucking awesome in knee socks and nothing else.” His eyes scan down my body quickly before safely returning to the road, but it feels like he’s creating that very image in his mind.

“Oh,” I say, coming up short on a reply for that. What was I arguing about again? I’ve totally forgotten, lost in the sparkle in Blake’s eyes. And oh, God, when he lays his hand on my thigh and squeezes, I reach out and touch the wood-veneer again, closing my eyes as I whisper, “Don’t let him die before we have sex. Please, God.”

Blake chuckles. “Did you just pray for sex?”

I crack one eye open to glare at him. “No. I wished. It’s totally different.”

He nods his head with a cocky smirk. “If you say so. But now I wonder what you look like in a Catholic schoolgirl’s uniform.”

The joke calms me some and I ask again, for the tenth time, “Are you sure this is a good idea? What if she recognizes your car? Or you? Or me? Shit, I’m going to be Stalker Barbie next, aren’t I?”

Okay, maybe not calm, but slightly less hysterical.

“Yvette Horne has never seen my car. And even if she saw us driving by, there’s nothing that says two people can’t drive down the road together. It’s only suspicious if you make it suspicious.”

I nod, singing a TikTok song under my breath, “Don’t be suspicious . . . don’t be suspicious . . .”

I guess it doesn’t work because Blake squeezes my thigh again, ordering me, “Relax. Breathe. We’re just two people out for a drive.”