Page 194 of Buried Too Deep

“I’m at my place, cleaning up. I smell like a bonfire.”

“Please report to me in thirty minutes. It’s urgent.”

“Absolutely,” Sage said, the word a clash of discordant notes. “I’ll be there.”

Alan stared at the phone when the line went dead. Sage had hung up on him.

Something was very wrong.

He’d lost control of his grandson.

Unfortunately, Alan would have to end the boy very soon. A staged break-in. A thwarted robbery. A bullet between the boy’s pretty blue eyes.

I’ll do it myself. A sleeping pill in a cup of coffee to knock him out and Alan wouldn’t need to be able to see to aim. He’d put the gun up against Sage’s head and kill him like he’d done Medford Hughes.

He’d leave Sage’s body to be discovered by a cleaning lady. Alan would be shocked. He’d be out of his mind with grief.

The congregation would grieve with him. They’d mourn.

And Alan would finally be free of this whole nightmare. Because two can share a secret if one of them is dead.

His phone buzzed in his hand.

His PI. Finally.

“Yes?” he answered hoarsely.

“Your grandson is a motherfucker,” Reavey snarled. “He hit me. Knocked me out. Tied me up in the back of my own car. Two cops had to free me. I had to tell them that my date had tied me up for kink and then left. They hauled me downtown.”

“Did you tell them about me? About Sage?”

“You really are a selfish asshole. No, I didn’t, even when I almost got arrested. If I find your grandson, I’m going to kill him.”

Alan closed his eyes, so tired. “What exactly happened?”

“I went to the address you gave me and waited for him. He arrived, talked to some girl and an old lady, then drove away. I followed him out.”

So Sage had lied. He hadn’t killed them.

Why hadn’t he killed them?

“Did he say anything when he hit you?”

“Oh yes. He said to tell you that you’re a sonofabitch and he’s not doing your dirty work ever again. Oh, and that your granddaughter is very sweet and he told them to run. Look, Reverend Beauchamp, I don’t care what you’re up to. I don’t want to know any more. I’m out. You’re not worth it.”

And then, once again, Alan was staring at his phone after being hung up on.

Sage had turned on him. Sage knew that Ashley was Alan’s granddaughter.

His stomach roiled. Sage hadn’t killed the Caulfields. And Cora Winslow knew about Jenny. How could she have found out?

And then Alan knew. Cora Winslow had found Ashley. She’d found the Caulfields.

She knows everything.

I need to run.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. Twenty-three years ago, he’d had a brilliant escape plan. He’d leave New Orleans by boat for Mexico.

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