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.