I finally exhale, my lungs thankful for the reprieve. But while I’m breathing again in relief, Yvette Horne is inhaling sharply and loudly in shock. “What?”

She sounds defeated, and actual real tears slip down her cheeks. For the first time, I believe she’s actually feeling loss. Not the loss of her husband, but of the money.

Judge Hopkins narrows his eyes at Yvette, and I see no friendliness there, so my worries on that front were obviously not needed. “Mrs. Horne, once your husband’s death has been fully investigated and cause of death has been fully determined, I’m certain Everlife Insurance will be able to process your claim appropriately. I know time feels like it is not on your side, especially when you’ve had such a great loss.” He lifts his eyebrows as he dips his chin in challenge, and I’m pretty sure Judge Hopkins has a solid read on Yvette Horne’s true intentions. “The truth always comes out, and those who should pay, will.”

Judge Hopkins turns his attention to Frederick, but all the heat and accusation has melted from his expression.

“This is not over,” Yvette snaps as she rises. Pushing past her lawyer, her heels click on the floor as she stomps her way out of the courtroom.

Judge Hopkins adjourns court, and Frederick shakes Mr. Walsh’s hand. To Mason and me, he says, “Well done, gentlemen. Let’s get a bite before I head back to the office.”

A business lunch with Frederick is something that should excite me, and any other time, it would. Especially after a win like this morning’s case. But all I can think of is tracking Zoey down, and going back to the city, having lunch, and getting Frederick and Mason out of my hair means that it’ll be hours before I can see what’s wrong with Zoey.

Unfortunately, Frederick’s idea wasn’t a question, and I find myself walking down the stairs toward the front door of the Williamson County offices. I look around, hoping to see Zoey, or even Sheriff Barnes so I can step away for a minute and give him a piece of my mind. But we don’t pass anyone, and even the front desk, where Alver usually sits as the building’s guardian, is vacant.

Mason drives us back to town with Frederick and me sitting in the back seat.

“Where would you recommend for a good steak and a nice scotch?” Frederick asks.

I have no idea. A bar? I have multiple recommendations, and some of them don’t even have trivia nights.

A place to grab a quick bite that’ll leave me with leftovers for tomorrow and not kill my macros?

Sure, I’ve got those too.

But fancy, white tablecloth places for business deals on Frederick’s level? Nope, not my area of expertise.

“Sure, let me see if I can get us a reservation,” I tell him.