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She reached for the volume button, turning it down. ‘Hey, I’m too old for this,” she said, laughing.
“You’re only as old as you feel,” he said with a wink as he turned onto her driveway. “Right, girl. Are you going to be okay putting yourself to bed, or are you going to fall over?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not that bad,” she laughed. She looked to him, all playfulness gone. “Thank you for tonight.”
“My pleasure, Zoe. You deserve to have some fun. Now go guzzle some water and get some sleep. And don’t brush your hair in the morning! Just run your fingers through it and you’ll have another day of beautiful hair.”
She grinned. “Noted, thank you!” Her eyes dropped to the hair clips. “Are you seriously going to do a client’s hair now?”
“Yes, and unlike everyone at the table, I wasn’t drinking. She’s getting married soon; this is the only time we could do a trial run, and as I am always available for my clients, off I go. Now get out, or otherwise I’m going to be late,” he said with a charming smile.
“Good evening, sir,” she said, climbing out of the car. She walked up the front steps and rustled in her bag for her keys. When she walked inside and closed the door, Jonathon drove off.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was refusing to drown in her grief any longer, but that night, Zoe slept in the master suite. She was in the bed she should’ve shared with her husband—but never would. And she realized that was okay.
It didn’t make her happy, obviously, but she didn’t feel like she was going to fall apart.
Progress, she thought with a sad smile before she fell asleep.
Zoe opened one eye and then the other, feeling disoriented and victimized by a banging headache. She groaned, covering her eyes with one hand. This was why she rarely drank—she did not recover well.
Regardless, she forced herself to get up. She went straight to the kitchen, made a strong coffee, then took it to the back porch. She sank into the chair, grimacing as her head pounded. She took a sip of her coffee and took in the view.
Her phone rang and she smiled when she saw this name.
“Hello,” she said. “How are you?”
“Hey. I’m okay, how are you?” Mitch asked.
“I have a headache,” she said with a groan. “Self-inflicted, so don’t feel sorry for me. For reasons beyond my comprehension,” she said with a smile, “I decided to go out for drinks with my hairdresser. You know Jonathan, right?”
“I do know him—he’s a nice guy. He used to date one of my friends, actually,” he said. “Well, I’m sorry to bother you with this while your head hurts, but I really need your opinion. This case has taken a turn...”
“Go ahead,” she said, sitting upright.
“The coroner identified another victim yesterday. Jessica Davis. The very strange thing is that a funeral was held for her two years ago and she was buried. Her case remained unsolved and no killer was brought to justice. At first I thought it was a case of mistaken identity and the coroner had incorrectly identified Jessica’s body. However, now I’m not so sure,” he said.
“Why? What makes you think that?” Zoe asked, hanging on to his every word.
“Because a fire alarm was set off at the morgue the night before her funeral. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but it seems weird now that we have her body in the Redwater morgue,” he said.
“Umm...” Zoe started, wishing her mind was firing on all cylinders right now. “So you think the killer switched the bodies and the family buried... someone who wasn’t Jessica?”
“Humor me for a moment and say that’s true. If it is, why would the killer do that?” he asked.
She thought about it a moment. “If that were the case, the killer was possessive of her—he wanted her for himself. Do you know where her body was first found?” she asked.
“In her apartment. There was no sign of forced entry or much struggle, so we assume she knew the killer,” Mitch stated.
A thought occurred to her. “Which morgue was she in when the fire alarm was set off?”
“Barnes-Jewish Hospital,” he said.
She knew what words were coming next.
“The same hospital Lana was in.”
The air in her lungs vanished.
