Page 142 of Buried Too Deep

“What?” Val asked.

Cora leaned over to see his phone. “Huh. I guess the church business pays well.”

“It’s registered to Reverend Beauchamp,” Phin explained. “He has that big church in Metairie.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of him,” Burke said with obvious disdain. “He does all that ‘healing.’ Takes advantage of desperate people. Calls it ‘donations’ but it’s really a big scam.”

Cora looked like she’d sucked a lemon. “My grandmother watched his show occasionally toward the end of her life, when she couldn’t get to our own church on Sundays. She tried to get John Robert to go to one of their revival meetings in the hope of getting healed, but John Robert was not a fan of the reverend. Grandmother normally wasn’t, either, but we were getting desperate.”

“Detective Clancy mentioned that Medford Hughes volunteered with his church,” Phin said. “Maybe it was Beauchamp’s church.”

“Maybe Beauchamp can tell us something about Medford,” Val said. “Should we crash their party or be polite and wait?”

Burke got out of the SUV. “Let’s try to crash. I’d like the reverend’s take on Medford Hughes. Who knows, maybe Medford gave the reverend some last confession before he was killed.”

Phin got out of the back and held his hand out for Cora to tug her across the seat. He liked holding her hand. He’d missed the simple intimacies.

“Protestant ministers observe sanctity of confession, too,” Cora said as she slid out of the SUV.

“I know,” Burke said. “But I can dream, can’t I?”

Val patted his shoulder. “Dream away, boss. I’ve never seen this guy’s show on TV, but I’ve seen the billboards all over town. I get the heebie-jeebies from televangelists, but if he can give us info on Hughes, I can say whatever I need to say to get on his good side.”

“Are we supposed to know that both Hughes and his wife were murdered?” Cora asked. “It wasn’t on the news. They covered it as a murder-suicide.”

“Good point,” Burke murmured. “We don’t mention that we were the ones that found the body unless the sister asks. Clancy might have told her. We don’t know. For now, Val, Phin, and I are here for information because Hughes had our laptops and the police aren’t being helpful. You’re here because the thief chased you and you haven’t felt safe since.”

“That last part’s not a lie,” Cora murmured, and Phin knew he’d give whatever he owned to make her feel safe again.

Strategy in place, they walked up the sidewalk to Sara Morton’s front door, the three of them flanking Cora so she was covered from the back and sides.

Phin was at her side, of course, and SodaPop was at his. Cora was clutching his hand so tightly that he had to hold back a wince. “You okay, Cora Jane?”

Her smile was tremulous. “I will be. I mean, this was my idea.”

“You’ll be fine,” Val said. “It’s all good. This is just a chat.”

“She’s grieving,” Cora said. “We’re intruding on her grief.”

“I’d hope that she’d want justice for her sister and Medford,” Phin said. “I guess we’ll see.” They’d reached the door and Phin knocked.

A fortyish man in a suit answered the door, scowling at them. “We’re not interested.”

He started to slam the door and Phin slapped a hand against it. “We’re not selling anything. We’re here to speak to Miss Morton. Are you a family member?”

“No.” The suited man stepped back. “I’ll see if she’ll receive you.”

Cora blinked. “Receive us? He talks like my grandmother did.”

“I think he’s the driver,” Phin murmured. “Probably a bit of a bodyguard for the reverend, too. Or at least he clears him a path.”

The door opened again, revealing a middle-aged woman. “You’re from Broussard Investigations, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Val said. “We don’t mean to intrude, but we were hoping you’d have some time to talk to us.”

“I’ve been expecting you. Detective Clancy said you’d be stopping by.”

“Told you,” Phin muttered, and Burke grunted his displeasure at having been wrong. “Is it okay if my service dog accompanies me?”

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