Page 30 of Buried Too Deep

“Then I’ll do that room last. Antoine, you ready to check for bugs?”

Antoine had already taken his scanner from one of his computer bags. “I am. I’ll wait here with Cora until you’re done.”

“And you’re carrying?” Phin said loudly, kind of hoping this morning’s asshole was listening. The bastard would know that Cora was being kept safe.

Antoine grinned, understanding completely. “I am,” he said, just as loudly.

Cora watched them with apprehension. “Am I allowed to make a few phone calls?”

Antoine sobered and fished a phone from his pocket. “Use my burner until I check your phone for listening devices, and don’t say anything confidential.”

“I just need to call Tandy at the gallery and let her know I’m home safe. Oh shit. My lawyer, too.” She grimaced. “Everyone worries.”

Phin understood. She had a delicate air, even though he knew she was tough. He had a lot of respect for Cora Winslow.

“I’ll call down as I clear rooms,” he said, then started up the grand staircase with a gleaming mahogany banister that looked original to the house.

Exceptional workmanship.

SodaPop at his side, he went all the way up to the third-floor attic, working his way down, clearing each room. When he opened a bedroom door on the second floor he stopped in his tracks, his mouth falling open.

Cora had an incredible computer station, comparable to the one Antoine kept at Burke’s office. Multiple monitors, a sleek tower, and an ergonomic keyboard that looked like something out of science fiction.

He looked down at his dog. “What the hell does she do in this room?” The dog didn’t answer, of course. Just gazed up at him calmly, making him feel calm, too.

He cleared the computer room and all the others save the living room before returning to the foyer, where she was still talking on the phone.

“I’m okay, Harry. I promise. I’m home and I’m about to set the alarm. Blue’s here with me.”

Phin had overheard her speaking to the older man after he’d followed her out of the police station and had quickly realized that Harry was the lawyer who’d accompanied her. If I’d been Harry, I would have insisted Cora get in the cab with me and not left her standing on the curb after being chased by Joy’s attacker.

But maybe her lawyer knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t have listened. Still, Phin had been annoyed that the old man had put his afternoon appointments ahead of Cora’s safety.

“I’ll call you in a few hours. Bye, Harry.” She ended the call and rubbed her forehead. “Honestly,” she muttered. “I’m not a child. But Harry’s known me my whole life, so he still thinks I’m a little girl.” She looked up at Phin. “All clear?”

“All but the living room. I’ll do that while Antoine’s doing his sweep.”

Antoine saluted, then took the same route up the stairs that Phin had taken.

“This way.” Cora led Phin to another amazing room with high ceilings and lush draperies that were only a little faded. He admired the details as he completed his search for any hidden intruders.

It, too, was clear.

This room had aged much better than some of the others had. It was furnished with modern, comfortable sofas and chairs, but the walls were covered in old portraits. Like, really old. “Who’s this?” he asked, pointing to a severe-looking woman in a black dress with an elaborate pearl necklace around her throat.

“My great-great-grandmother, Blanche Winslow. She was married to him.” She pointed to a man with an amazing beard in a naval uniform. “Seymour.” She pointed to another portrait, newer than the others. The woman had Cora’s red hair, piled atop her head. “My grandmother, Norma Winslow.”

Phin studied Cora’s profile. “You’re wearing her pearls.” They were a single strand, both simpler and classier than the ones that Blanche had worn in her portrait.

Cora smiled. “I am.”

“What happened to the fancy pearls Blanche is wearing?” He wondered if someone might also be looking for valuables.

“Gone. They disappeared somewhere around 1900. Pirates,” she said dramatically, making him chuckle. “Or maybe a thieving relative. Nobody knows.”

Phin turned from the portraits to the old dog, who lay curled up on a braided rug in front of one of the room’s two fireplaces. “Blue, I presume?”

Cora’s smile held a tinge of sadness. “Yeah. He sleeps most of the time these days. He’s twelve, which is getting old for his breed. We’ve had him since he was a puppy.”

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