Page 149 of Buried Too Deep

Anticipation. The stirrings of desire. It had been a long, long time. She felt like she’d been frozen for years and was only now thawing out.

She crouched down beside Phin, shining the flashlight from her phone at the area he was working on. It was set into the base of the piece of furniture. “I would have missed that, even if I’d been looking for it.”

“Phin has magic hands,” Stone said, waggling his brows.

Burke laughed. “Oh my God. Shut up.”

Phin just shook his head. “I’ve seen these secret compartments before. Made a few myself.”

Cora stared at him, fascinated. “You make furniture?”

“Sometimes.”

“Lots of times,” Stone said. “He’s got a workshop in that house he’s renting.” He waggled his brows again. “You should ask him to show you his wares.”

Phin barked out a laugh. “Stop. Just…stop.”

Burke was laughing so hard that his eyes had teared up.

Cora couldn’t stop her own laugh that bubbled up. It felt so good to let go and laugh. “Tame your husband, Delores.”

“Nah. I like him that way.”

“I’m perfect,” Stone said with a cocky smile.

“You’re so full of shit,” Phin muttered then made a pleased sound. “Got it.” He gestured to the edge of a drawer that had seemed to magically appear. “You want to do the honors, Cora Jane?”

“Not till we find gloves,” Burke said. “If it’s evidence, we need to treat it as such.”

Val slapped a pair of latex gloves into Cora’s hand. “I never leave home without them.”

Cora had to steady her heart. She’d been laughing just moments before. Now she felt sick with dread. What would they find in there? What had her father left behind? Had he killed any other people?

Worse, had he been after Patrick? Because Patrick was hurting children? She didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to know.

She gave the gloves to Phin. “You found it, you get to open it.”

Phin brushed the hair from her face, his expression understanding. “I’ll do it.” He pulled on the gloves. “Hold the light on the drawer.”

Cora had to wipe her now-sweaty palms on her jeans before holding the phone again. She couldn’t keep her hands from shaking.

Stone took the phone from her hand. “I’ll do it,” he said gently.

Phin opened the drawer and Cora had to force herself not to look away.

“Letters,” Phin said with surprise. “Old ones. I don’t think your father wrote them.” He peered at the writing on the envelope on top of the stack. “Who was Seymour Winslow?”

“My grandfather’s grandfather,” Cora whispered. “Wow. He died in 1899.”

“Can you get me a clean box or a bag, Val?” Phin asked.

Val pulled an evidence bag from her pocket. “Put them in here.”

Phin did, then reached in again. And pulled out a shallow box.

An old jewelry box. The kind that came from a high-priced jewelry store. Cora recognized the name embossed on the box. It was one of the fanciest jewelers in New Orleans and had been in business for a very long time.

She held her breath as Phin lifted the box’s lid. Then she gasped. “Oh my God.”

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