Yvette shakes her head. “No, thank you. I’d rather get this over with, you know. It hurts” —she holds her palm against her chest over her heart— “but better to rip it off like a Band-Aid.”

“Brave soul,” Mr. Monroe murmurs.

I must make some sound of disbelief because Jeff bumps his knee against mine, and when I look over, his eyes are screaming at me to ‘shut up’ and ‘stick to what we talked about’.

“Fine,” I mouth back, and he looks back to the front of the room just in time for Mr. Monroe to call him to the stand.

“In the interest of Mrs. Horne, I won’t ask you to get too detailed, Sheriff Barnes, but is it safe to say Mr. Horne is dead?” Mr. Monroe asks.

Jeff crooks one eyebrow as though that’s the stupidest question he’s ever heard, but true to his word, he answers only what was asked. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Monroe says, and Jeff’s mouth pinches.

“Mr. Horne probably didn’t think so,” Jeff interrupts.

Oh, so you do more than sit there and robotically answer, Jeff.

Judge Hopkins snorts, amused. “Good one, Jeff.”

Mr. Monroe has the good grace to look at least slightly chagrined, but he recovers quickly, holding up a piece of paper. “This is the Sheriff’s Department report on Mr. Horne’s death, correct?”

He hands it to Jeff, who looks it over. “Yes.”

“Can you read the cause of death?”

“Myocardial infarction.”

“Now, based on this report, did you close the investigation into Mr. Horne’s death?” Monroe asks. “Wrapped it all up?”

I sit up a little straighter. Jeff promised me he’d look into what we’ve found. My heart sinks when Jeff says clear and strong, “Yes, I closed the case when we received this report.”

But Jeff is looking past Mr. Monroe, straight to me. I replay what he said and realize that he’s answering exactly what’s asked, not showing his hand. He’s sticking to his plan and reminding me to do the same. I give him the smallest nod of recognition.

“No further questions.”

Mr. Walsh stands and tells the judge, “We have no questions for Sheriff Barnes at this time.”

I’m next. In what seems like a haze, I find myself sitting next to Judge Hopkins’s desk, my hands twisting in my lap as I look at Blake. Finally, his eyes are on me, but they’re empty, no sign of what we were doing mere hours ago. And his teeth are clenched, making his jawline look extra sharp.

What’s wrong, Blake?