Page 114 of Buried Too Deep

“Are we getting out?” Cora asked.

Val nodded. “Just waiting for Burke to park his truck. We’re going to have you surrounded at all times.”

Cora slumped. “And I appreciate it. It’s just…confining.”

“It won’t be forever,” Val said cheerfully.

Phin hoped it would be for a long time, though. He hadn’t gotten his fill of Cora Winslow yet. Not by a long shot. He hoped she felt the same.

She took his hand and squeezed it. It was a good sign. He hadn’t had a chance to kiss her again, but right now she was stressed. He made do with kissing her temple and she relaxed into his side.

Burke’s truck rolled to a stop and he got out first. Phin tugged Cora to his side of the SUV, helping her out, his dog falling into step beside him. He, Val, and Burke surrounded her as they walked into the building that housed the Terrebonne Parish detectives.

Cora had called Detective Goddard when they’d been about twenty minutes out, letting him know they were coming. Burke had been against it, thinking that would give the man ample time to leave if he didn’t want to talk to her. But Cora insisted that it was only polite and one caught more flies with honey.

She’d also already made the call before informing Burke, apologizing versus asking permission.

Phin liked her style.

Goddard ushered them into a meeting room. The man was a fourth-generation cop and had several awards. Phin had looked him up. He’d also served in the navy and while that wasn’t as good as the army, of course, it was still a mark in the man’s favor.

Goddard gave Cora a smile as she sat at the meeting room table. “I figured you’d be calling me after I got the call from NOPD this morning. Hell of a twist, the gun that killed your father being found at the scene of a staged suicide.”

“You could say that,” Cora said quietly. “I need some information. I hope that you can help me.”

He looked wary. “I’m sending everything I have to Detective Clancy.”

Cora shook her head. “I’m not asking you to hold anything back from Clancy. But my life is now being targeted. Someone broke into my house again last night. He was armed and prepared to burn my house down. The intruder who broke into Mr. Broussard’s firm on Tuesday shot one of Mr. Broussard’s colleagues. She almost didn’t make it.”

“I heard about that,” Goddard said. “You’re okay, though? And Mr. Broussard’s colleague, too?”

“Cora is fine, and our office manager will be,” Burke said, taking control of the conversation. “We have some specific questions, especially given this morning’s ballistics report. I think you might have held back information when you first talked with Miss Winslow, out of respect for her shock and grief. But she needs to know as many specifics about her father’s death as is possible. We need to know so that we can help her. What can you tell us?”

Goddard studied the four of them for a moment, then glanced down at SodaPop. “Whose service dog?”

“Mine,” Phin said, proud that he hadn’t felt an iota of shame in the admission. “PTSD.”

“I looked you all up when Clancy told me that Miss Winslow had hired your firm, Mr. Broussard. He said you’d be by sooner or later. I honestly wasn’t expecting an entire entourage, but given that you’ve had an armed intruder and someone following you, I understand it.”

Phin could see that Burke was irritated because Goddard was letting Burke know that he didn’t hold all the control. “What can you tell us, Detective Goddard?” Burke repeated.

Goddard didn’t even blink. “Clancy called again this morning with the ballistics report and asked me not to reveal anything we hadn’t mutually agreed to.”

Cora’s shoulders sagged. “Then we’ve wasted our time.”

“Maybe not. I can show you photos of your father’s remains. And I can tell you about the summary of the handwriting expert’s analysis on the many, many letters.”

Cora nodded once. “All right, then. Let’s see the photos.”

Phin decided to step in. “Perhaps Burke, Val, and I can look at the photos. I’d prefer Cora not have those images in her mind.”

Cora raised her brows at him, assuming her regal-heiress persona. “You’d prefer?”

Phin didn’t back down. “You don’t want the dreams, Cora. Trust me.”

She deflated. “You’re right. On this, anyway. What about the handwriting analysis, Detective Goddard?”

“First of all, I just got it myself a few days ago.” He took a single sheet of paper from the folder in front of him. “I can’t hand this over to you, but perhaps you can give us a lead. In the opinion of the expert, the same person signed all of the letters. Of course, the signature is just ‘Your dad, Jack Elliot,’ but there are nineteen years’ worth of those same four words. There was a difference in the signatures before and after the four-year time gap.”

---