Page 139 of Buried Too Deep

“I did. Why, Cora?”

“You went from living in a small house in Thibodaux to owning a house and the gallery in the Quarter. Do you remember how your father paid for them?”

The softness disappeared, the coldness returning. “Do I need a lawyer, Mr. Broussard?”

“No,” Burke said calmly. “We didn’t make this up, Miss Napier. We’re just following the leads. And the money. It’s an adage for a reason.”

Tandy squared her shoulders. “My father’s aunt died. Left him an inheritance. He’d always wanted a gallery. So he and my mother started one.”

“Did he do restorations?” Cora asked quietly.

“No.” Tandy sounded sure.

Cora exhaled in relief. She’d known it wasn’t possible. “Thank God,” she whispered.

Tandy crossed her arms over her chest. “Go on, Cora. Ask your questions.”

Cora’s relief was momentary. Tandy wasn’t going to forgive her for this.

“Did he do any travel to New Orleans before you guys moved here?”

Tandy laughed and it was a horrible sound. “You mean, did he come and spy on you? I remember the letters, Cora. Are you asking if he came to New Orleans to see what color your Christmas dress was?”

Cora’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes.”

Tandy was breathing hard, sounding more like a bull than the lady she was. “I don’t remember.”

Cora flinched, feeling like she’d been slapped. Because that was a lie. She’d known Tandy far too long not to know her tells.

Tandy had just lied to her.

She realized that she’d let go of the mug and had pressed her hand to her heart, which ached.

Lips pursed, Tandy arched a brow, daring Cora to say anything more.

Cora dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “My father had a secret Swiss bank account. He also had a dangerous side business. Like WITSEC, but private.”

Tandy blinked. Her arms slowly released the death grip they’d had on each other, her hands falling to the table. “What?”

Cora nodded. “I met one of his clients, a woman who’d hired him to get her out of an abusive marriage.”

“So anyone could have killed your father,” Tandy said, cold once again. “A jealous husband or the mob, even. He probably deserved what he got.”

Cora had considered both of those possibilities. Still Tandy’s words hurt. “Maybe. But his killer got Renaissance-era paint on my father’s clothing.”

Tandy drew a controlled breath and let it out. “I understand why your PIs are asking these questions, but you need to call your dogs off, Cora. My father has done nothing but love you and help you, and that you’d participate in this line of questioning is…I don’t even know. Because I can hear your doubt. I can hear your suspicion. And it’s ugly, Cora. So damn ugly. This isn’t like you. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” She pushed her chair away from the table and rose, chin lifted. “I’m going to walk out of your house, and I don’t want to hear from you again. I might be able to forgive someday, but right now, it’s best if you don’t contact me.” She dropped something and it clanged as it hit the table. It was the key Cora had given her. “Do you understand?”

Cora felt numb, because she understood perfectly. Tandy had just cut her out of her life. “Are there any copies of my key?”

“No. And fuck you for asking. Stay away from my father, Cora Winslow.” Tandy swept her gaze across the PIs’ faces. “All of you. Stay the fuck away from my father. I’ll get a restraining order. And I will sue you and everyone in your employ, Mr. Broussard, if you continue this defamation.”

She swept out of the kitchen in a cloud of fury.

A moment later the front door slammed, shaking the house.

Cora bowed her head. I’m sorry, Tandy. She knew how it felt to have the rug pulled out from under you.

There was absolute silence around the table. Cora didn’t want to look up. Didn’t want to see the pity on their faces.

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