Page 74 of Buried Too Deep

“SodaPop. She’s mine. A service dog. For PTSD,” he added haltingly and wondered how long it would take before he admitted that freely, without feeling ashamed.

“I wish I’d thought of that,” Joy said. “Who did?”

“My friend Stone’s wife. Delores trains dogs. She started training SodaPop for me over a year ago.”

Joy nodded. “That’s where you go when you leave.”

Shame crept up his throat. Then he startled when Joy flicked his hand with her fingernail. “Ow, Joy.”

“You always come back, Phin. We know that you’ll always come back. I’m just glad you’ve had a safe place to land all this time. Tell me about them.”

So he did, talking about how Stone and Delores had opened their home. He talked about all of Delores’s dogs. And about how he was going back home at Christmas.

All the while, he was aware that Cora hung on every word. He wasn’t sure if this pleased him or not, because now she knew how fucked up he really was.

He couldn’t fix that. Not today, anyway.

So he told Joy about his family. His mother, the retired English teacher. His father, the captain in Cincinnati PD. His twin, Scarlett, who had a smart mouth and a tender heart, who’d adopted a three-legged bulldog and spoiled him rotten. He talked about his brothers and his uncle, the priest, softening his voice as Joy’s eyes began to blink, her eyelids heavy.

“You’re going to love them,” he ended in a whisper, smiling when Joy let out a most unladylike snore. Not that he’d ever tell her that she’d done such a thing.

“You think they’ll visit New Orleans?” Cora asked softly.

He met her gaze over Joy’s bed. “I hope so. I hope they don’t turn me away.”

It was one of his deepest fears.

“I hope they don’t, too. But it’s hard to believe they could, based on how you’ve described them.”

She had questions, Phin could tell. Like why have you avoided your family all this time when they’re wonderful? But he was grateful that she didn’t ask him anything more.

Cora rose stiffly and he saw her exhaustion. The dark circles under her eyes had grown deeper and darker. She’d sleep in the car on the way to Baton Rouge if he had to sing her a lullaby himself.

Phin met her at the end of Joy’s bed, slipping his arm around her shoulders, gratified when she leaned against him. Why she’d latched onto him was still a mystery. He wasn’t an investigator. He wasn’t a bodyguard. He wasn’t much of a friend or someone who could be depended on in an emergency.

But he wanted to be. He wanted it so badly he could taste it.

“Come on,” he murmured. “You need to rest.”

Val gave him a nod as she followed them out to Burke’s company SUV. It was as bulletproof as a vehicle could be, and Phin felt safer having Cora in it.

“You drive?” he asked Val. “And I’ll sit in back with her.”

SodaPop sat on the floor, curled around his feet, while Cora leaned against him. Before they got on I-10 toward Baton Rouge, Cora was asleep.

Baton Rouge, Louisiana

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14, 12:30 P.M.

Alice VanPatten’s house was tucked behind some trees at the end of a cul-de-sac. Cora stared at it numbly, not sure what she should be feeling.

“Cora?” Val prompted from the driver’s seat. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Cora admitted. “Logically, I should be angry at this woman for having an affair with my father. But all I feel is…nothing.”

Beside her in the back seat, Phin squeezed her hand. “Let’s go ask her what happened. Or at least what she knows. Then you can decide what you feel.”

Val turned in her seat to meet Cora’s eyes directly. “And if you zone out and can’t listen, Phin and I will be there. Sometimes hearing things that you never expected to hear—and that are diametrically opposed to what you want to believe—can send your brain into a kind of stasis. If that happens, you’re far from alone. I’m even going to record the conversation on my phone.”

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