Page 147 of Buried Too Deep

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 11:15 P.M.

“That’s pretty,” Delores said, dropping onto the attic window seat next to Cora.

Cora held up the little shepherdess figurine. “It is. My father bought it for my mother for Christmas the year John Robert was born. I’m surprised I remember that. I was only three.”

Cora hadn’t been alone all evening. Phin’s people and Burke’s people had been taking turns sitting with her on the window seat, keeping her company after the fallout with Tandy and the new learnings about Patrick.

It had helped. A little.

Cora’s chest still hurt, the lie Tandy had told echoing in her mind. Patrick had traveled that year that Cora’s father had disappeared. Had died. Patrick might not have gone to New Orleans, but Tandy had been worried enough about the possibility to lie to Cora’s face. It was difficult to accept. Both the lie and the fact that Patrick could have killed Jack Elliot.

And now? Knowing that Patrick had possibly abused a child? Children? And that he could have known Vincent Ray?

It was too much. She had to think about something else, or she’d go insane.

“Was it a happy day?” Delores asked. “That Christmas?”

Cora forced her mind away from Tandy and Patrick to remember that Christmas, so long ago. “It was. All the days were happy days. Until they weren’t.”

She put the figurine back in the box with the others. She’d been going through her mother’s things all evening while the others searched the seemingly never-ending supply of boxes. Generations of Winslow boxes. “My mother collected little figures.”

“She kept the gifts your father gave her,” Delores noted.

“She did. I don’t think she ever stopped loving him. She never got over losing him. Over what she thought was a betrayal.”

“I’m sorry,” Delores murmured. “The words don’t mean much, but they’re all I have.”

“They mean a lot. That you train service dogs pretty much says that you’ve got a big heart.”

“It started with Cap,” Delores said. “One of my friends adopted a dog from my shelter, and he’d been a service dog but his owner had passed away. Somehow, he ended up with me. My friend’s got anxiety like Phin, with a healthy dose of ADHD. I watched the dog and saw how good he was for her, so I got trained on how to train dogs myself. SodaPop is my fifth service dog. I’ve been searching for the right dog for Phin ever since we met him, and SodaPop was perfect.”

Cora looked over to where Phin and Stone were wrestling to upend an antique buffet that had been behind rows of boxes for God only knew how long.

Phin’s expression was focused but not frenzied.

“He threads his fingers through SodaPop’s coat sometimes,” Cora murmured, watching him. He was such a pleasure to watch, and admiring his flexing muscles was so much easier than thinking about everything else. “I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it.”

“That’s good.” Delores smiled proudly. “I was so hoping they’d be good together.”

“I’ve only known him a few days and I can see that they are.”

“And they’re not the only two that are good together,” Delores said slyly.

Cora had been wondering when this was coming. “He’s a good man.”

“He really is. I wish he weren’t so hard on himself, but after knowing his family, I think that’s an inherited trait. They’re all overachievers that take it personally when things go sideways. Even if it’s not their fault.”

“So you know his family well?”

Delores heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh yes. And they are going to be so mad at us when they find out that our house is where Phin comes when he needs a safe place to heal. But they’ll get over it. Eventually.”

“Sounds like they’ll be more hurt than mad.”

Delores nodded. “Yeah. I hate that. But Phin’s recovery is what it is. The trips to our place had become less and less frequent. I think we all hoped he wouldn’t feel the need to run anymore, but he showed up again six weeks ago. This one was really bad.”

“Maybe it was because he’d thought success was at his fingertips since he’d gone a long time without a spiral. When he spiraled again, that success melted away.”

Delores gave her a shrewd look. “You get him. I’m glad.”

---