Page 102 of Buried Too Deep

Next time he’d buy his own damn car from a junkyard with cash. A car that still had a good frame and wouldn’t look out of place on a street in the Garden District. That was why he’d rented a damn Camry. It blended in.

Clearly it hadn’t, though. Someone had seen him or had at least seen the car.

Had they seen him personally, they would be knocking on his door.

They still might.

But they couldn’t prove that it had been him parked on Cora’s street. He’d worn a cap. His face hadn’t been clearly visible. And he’d worn gloves the entire time. No prints.

The only person who’d actually seen him in the car was that damned librarian. Minnie Edwards. She could identify him.

He cursed himself for his own stupidity. She’d surprised him, knocking on his window and demanding to know why he was there. He’d been stupid, telling her he was there for Cora. Dammit.

If she had been the one to report the Camry to Detective Clancy, she’d likely given the police his description. But again, if the cops knew that he was the driver, they’d have arrested him already. Although they might still figure it out if her description was good enough. Sage thought that the old woman with the sharp stare would give a very detailed description.

She was a witness. The only person who could identify him in a lineup should he become a suspect.

She had to be silenced.

But…

He wanted to scream. He wasn’t a killer. Not like his grandfather. But his other choices weren’t good. The old lady had to go. He’d make it fast. She wouldn’t feel any pain.

That was the best he could do.

He got out of bed and dressed all in black, hating that he’d left a loose end.

Two, actually. Because now that Detective Clancy had the Camry’s license plate, the cops would press Sanjay hard. Sanjay was a good guy, but he’d fold like a cheap suit.

When Sage was only borrowing cars to go clubbing, it wouldn’t have been a big deal if Sanjay blabbed.

This, though…This was a much bigger deal.

Dread settled on his chest, heavy as lead. Sanjay would have to go, too.

But that’s all. After them, no more. I swear it.

He would not become like Alan. He swore that, too.

14

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 7:40 A.M.

PHIN WOKE TO THE SMELL of sausage. And coffee.

He stretched, his neck popping. He couldn’t be sleeping sitting up against a wall anymore. Thirty-seven was too damn old for that.

He patted the floor to his right, unsurprised to find it empty. Cora was gone. But her bedroom door was open wide.

On his left, SodaPop blinked up at him and he scratched her neck the way she liked. “Good morning, girl,” he murmured, his voice craggy. “Thanks for sticking with me.”

She nuzzled his hand and gave a small whine. She needed to go outside. Phin got his body moving. He folded the blankets and put them on the end of Cora’s bed, already made. Blue was nowhere to be seen, so Phin guessed the old dog was downstairs where the sausage was.

He found a crowd in the kitchen. Burke, Molly, Antoine, and Val were there, and Phin wondered when they planned to return to the office. Or to Burke’s house.

Cora was at the stove, a cast iron skillet sizzling. He hadn’t realized she could cook, but she looked completely at home in her kitchen.

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