Doesn’t she feel this?

How can she not feel the power of this?

I pull at my shirt over my heart, trying to ease the fear and pain.

“Let me see that invoice that got everyone all up in arms,” Barnes tells me.

“I thought you didn’t want to see it?”

“That was before Zoey went missing. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the DA’s case or any temper tantrum they might throw when Zoey’s out there and needs my help.”

I dip my chin, my misery and desperation loving his company. I run out to my car and grab a file folder from the passenger seat. Back inside, Barnes looks the pieced-together invoice over carefully.

“This is the online pharmacy Zoey was talking about?” he asks, pointing to the logo.

“Yeah, and you can see it went to Yvette Horne at her home address,” I add.

“Hmm . . . what about this? Did you two Sherlocks look into this?” Barnes asks.

“What?”

“The billing information. This credit card number—it’s all blocked out except for the last four digits, but this isn’t Yvette’s credit card or debit card. Not Richard’s either.”

“How’d you know that?”

Barnes looks at me like I’m stupider than a box of dumbass. “First thing you do in a questionable death is investigate the spouse. I’ve been through their bank records, investments, credit cards . . . all of it. And that’s not Yvette Horne’s.”

“Then whose is it?” Alver butts in from his perch.

Barnes snatches his phone up once again, dialing numbers and directing Alver. “Call Judge Hopkins. I’m gonna need a court order for this.”

“He’s here this late?” I interrupt to ask.

Alver chuckles. “It’s his wife’s book club night, so he stays out of the house while they talk about Fifty Shades of whatever color they’re doing these days.”

Thankfully, he’s already dialed the phone while he explained and he turns to give me his back while telling Judge Hopkins what’s happening.

Sheriff Barnes says into the phone, “Operator.” After a moment, he sighs and says through gritted teeth, “Customer service agent.” To me, he whispers, “Damn automated phone system. What happened to the days when someone answered the phone?”

I don’t get a chance to explain that if that were still the case, he probably wouldn’t get a live person this late at night anyway, because he straightens and talks to whoever is on the other end of the line. “I need a supervisor. Now. This is a police matter.”