Zoya Hart has been eluding her gold-digging stepmother for the last few years. Knowing that this woman will do anything to gain control of her and her late father's company, Zoya finds herself hiding out on a farm. Now, with a PI on her trail, Zoya'...
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Zoya read over the escape plan one more time. It'd been years, but she couldn't help herself. At this point, it soothed her. Eight seasons of watching The Catch had helped put the plan in motion, but if she'd overlooked a step, they'd find her.
Episode 18-Keep go-bag packed for aquick getaway. For weeks she'd camouflaged the bag by burying it in a box of old clothes.
Episode 21-Destroy credit and debit cards. Put cash into pregnancy bag. On the day she left, she'd strapped on the fake belly, pulled on an oversized sweatshirt, and waddled around like a penguin for effect.
Episode 36-Get fake ID and cosmetology certification. Even after all this time, Zoya Hart still didn't sound right. She chose it after her favorite brand of nail polish, and Hart after her mom's maiden name. If Dad could see her now, he'd frown. But with the bogus identity, she needed to fit the part. And she did. Right down to the red highlights and nose ring.
Episode 74, transfer files to external hard drive. Pour coke into computer; toss it in the lake, along with cell phone. Living on the waterfront had made this step easy. She didn't have to lug the clunky old desktop too far. A month before, she'd bought a burner phone at a flea market.
Episode 89-Take the bus to Biloxi. Pick up the black Chevy Cruze stored there, then double back to Arcadia, Louisiana.
The timer dinged. Zoya put the notebook away and stared down at the frail woman in the casket. "Did you know Miss Charamel?" She lifted the curling iron and wrapped the final silver-brown strand around the barrel. "I miss her. I'm still living in her house, but it's not the same without her." She fluffed the wisp. "I gave you soft curls around your face, added a little gray eyeshadow, some pink lipstick, and a hint of blush to your cheeks. That's what your son wanted. He gave me strict instructions. I think he was a little nervous because of my style. But no chopped hair, piercings, or black fingernails for you."
Even before Zoya heard the soft trill of Renee Foster, the click of heels on marble announced her. "Excuse me, but are you finished with Mrs. Cormier?"
"Almost."
"Great. Ms. Tannert is waiting." The secretary walked away.
Zoya pulled her leather notebook from her pocket again and opened it. "Have you noticed the euphonious quality of Mrs. Foster's voice? That's another word for melodious. Or song-like." Not even noon and she'd already used her word of the day. Didn't always work out that way, but lately she'd been on a roll. She marked it off the list.
Joshua Foster, heir to Foster Funeral Chapel, interrupted her thoughts. "Hey, Zoya. My church is having a hamburger dinner tomorrow night. You wanna go?"
Joshua was nice enough, but she wasn't interested. Not in the Methodists, hamburgers or him. He was a high school senior, and she was too old for him, anyway. She lifted her head, looked him in the eye, and smiled. "No, thank you."
