Page 133 of Buried Too Deep

Cora hoped that she and Tandy could survive the fallout.

She rose and held a hand out to Phin. “Let’s go. Can you bring the box of my father’s college stuff with you? Just in case someone comes in and tries to torch my attic again.”

Phin grabbed the box, lifting it easily. And if his muscles flexed a little more than they should because he was preening for her, she’d just be grateful.

Phin Bishop was a beautiful man, inside and out.

“You’re a good person, Phin. Don’t let your brain tell you otherwise.”

He kissed her hard. “Same, Cora Jane. You are a good person and I’ll remind you of that after you talk with Tandy, all right?”

“All right.”

18

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 5:50 P.M.

PHIN TRUDGED DOWN CORA’S STAIRCASE, feeling fifty years older than he had only an hour before. Even SodaPop seemed subdued. Still, she stuck to his side like glue.

He reached down and gave her back a stroke. “Thank you.”

He hadn’t understood how much he’d needed the dog until he’d had her.

He hadn’t understood how much he’d needed Cora until she’d patted his chest and listened to him tell her about hiding from his sister.

Burke, Val, and Antoine were at Cora’s kitchen table. They gave Phin sad smiles as he pulled up a chair beside them.

“I know she’s not okay,” Val said, “but is she okay for now?”

Phin nodded, rubbing his hands over his face. “Yeah. She’s asleep. Dammit, Burke. I hated finding that damn connection.”

“I know,” Burke said. “I hated it, too, but it was a necessary avenue to check. Too many coincidences for my liking.”

“Mine too,” Antoine said. “Burke told us about the diplomas and yearbooks.”

Val patted Phin’s arm. “Poor Cora.”

Phin absently petted SodaPop, whose muzzle rested on his thigh. “Tandy might not know the answers Cora needs. We’re probably going to have to go straight to Patrick himself, without giving away the game. We need to get a handwriting sample. A recent one.”

“For the wobbly r,” Val said. “Patrick’s seen us. It’s fair to say that he knows who Burke and Antoine and Molly are, too. If he visited Joy in the hospital the other day, then she may have told him about us.”

“And, unfortunately,” Burke added darkly, “we do have an internet presence. Too many cases have gone public the past year. One search on Broussard Investigations will yield photos of nearly all of us except maybe Antoine.”

Even me, Phin thought. He’d been photographed on his last job. He’d been out of it by then, spiraled past bringing back. Too many triggers.

Too much blood.

He gave his head a hard shake. Stop it.

And then he realized that he hadn’t needed SodaPop’s intervention. He’d stopped his spiral on his own. Progress.

And then his mind careened away again, thinking of his sister and his mother and father seeing that photo of him from their last job, dazed and being led away by one of his friends.

He’d have to ask Stone if his family had seen it.

Stone.

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