Page 18 of Buried Too Deep

“I don’t want trouble,” Cora said quietly, although every instinct was urging her to scream and run.

“Neither do we,” the dog’s owner said. “We just want to talk to you.”

Cora took a step backward toward the street. “Leave me alone. Please,” she added, unable to control the tremble in her voice.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” the woman said, her lips curving into a gentle smile. The smile was kind and Cora didn’t trust it for a moment. Until the little woman gave the dog owner a shove. “Phin, honey, you’re scaring her.” The woman stepped forward, holding her hand out. “I’m Delores O’Bannion. And you’re Cora Jane Winslow? We, um, couldn’t help overhearing your phone call.”

Cora swallowed, unwilling to believe the woman’s overture was genuine. “Go away, please. I will scream.”

“No need for that,” the man named Phin said. He made a visible effort to soften his scowl, but it really didn’t help. “I’m Phin Bishop. You have answers to our questions.”

Cora took another step back. “No, I don’t. I don’t know any of you.”

The biggest of the men stepped forward. “We work with Joy Thomas. My name is Burke Broussard. You came to my office this morning. I’d like to know why.”

Broussard. “Oh my God,” Cora whispered as her knees wobbled with relief. She stumbled backward, her shoe encountering nothing but air. A hand reached out, grabbing her arm and hauling her back onto the sidewalk as a car horn blared behind her.

She looked up at the dog’s owner once again. Phin Bishop. His hand still clutched her arm and she found herself staring at his large fingers on her skin. His fingers were callused, like he worked with his hands. Numbly she looked up at him before finally regaining her composure. She yanked her arm back and looked over her shoulder.

Sure enough, she’d nearly fallen into the street.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, then lifted her phone to take photos of their faces, including the man who’d saved her from becoming roadkill. “I’m going to send these photos to my friends who are waiting for me. They’ll let me know if you’re really Joy’s coworkers.”

“Which friends?” Broussard—if that was really his name—asked.

“Nala and Louisa Thomas.”

Broussard and Bishop both relaxed, as did the man with the laptops.

“That’s fine,” Broussard said. “Contact them.”

“Hurry,” Bishop said tersely. “We don’t have time to dawdle.”

She shot him an irritated glare. “Do not push me, Mr. Bishop. I’ve had a really shitty day.”

“So have I,” Bishop muttered. “Just…hurry. Please.”

It was the “please” that got her brain in gear. She tried to write a text, but her hands were trembling. Dammit. Finally she typed in Nala’s and Louisa’s phone numbers and attached the photos.

Do you know these guys? she texted.

Nala’s reply came first. That’s Mama’s boss, Burke. Why is he there?

Louisa’s reply was next. Burke, Antoine, and Phin. They’re from Mama’s office. Why are they there? Who are the other two?

I’m not sure, Cora texted back. But it has to do with your mother’s shooting. Can I trust them?

Her phone flashed with an incoming call from Tandy. Of course Nala and Louisa had shown the texts to Tandy.

Cora accepted the call, glaring when Phin Bishop tried to grab her phone. “Hands off, mister. Thank you for saving my life, but you’re not entitled to invade my privacy.”

She pressed it to her ear, not wanting them to overhear. “I’m here, Tandy.”

“Who’s there?” Tandy demanded, her phone on speaker. “You’re scaring us.”

“I’ll tell you when I can. Nala, Louisa, can I trust Broussard and his people?”

“Yes,” Nala said immediately. “But I don’t know who the other two people are.”

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