Page 16 of Buried Too Deep

Harry was shaking his head. “Will you at least call me when you get home from the hospital?”

The man had always been able to spot her bullshit. He’d attended her christening, after all. Had watched her grow up, had been an honorary uncle. He’d known her longer than anyone else. Anyone who was still alive, anyway. “I will. That I promise.”

“Call, don’t text. I want to hear your voice. And if you run into any trouble, we need a code word.”

She huffed a surprised laugh. “A code word?”

Harry nodded, totally serious. “In case you’re abducted.”

She did smile then, a real one. “I didn’t think you believed me.”

“I’m not sure I do, but you’ve always had a level head. If you think he was after you, I have to at least assume it’s a possibility.” He grimaced. “And there is that business with your father. We can’t ignore that there might be a link.”

Well, that was something, at least. “How about ‘help’? That’s a good code word.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re as much of a smartass as your grandmother was. Your brother at least pretended to be respectful.”

Another stab of sorrow made her chest ache. “Yeah. He was a suck-up.”

But she said it fondly.

Harry smoothed his hand over her hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned him. That was unkind of me.”

“It’s okay, Harry. It’s been a year. I can talk about him now.” She hadn’t for the longest time, deep in her grief. “John Robert was more respectful than I am. How about ‘gator’ as a code word?”

Harry cupped her cheek. “That’ll do, Cora. You be careful.”

“I always am.”

She really was. In whatever she did. Today it hadn’t seemed to help.

He held out his hand to hail a cab, one miraculously stopping. Hailing cabs was Harry’s superpower. That and managing her grandmother’s trust. There was always enough money for the taxes with enough left to do the most critical upkeep on the house. Harry had been her rock this year.

“Call me, Cora,” he ordered over his shoulder as he got into the cab.

“Yes, sir.” She watched the cab drive away, then looked at her phone, wincing at all the text messages from Tandy. There were also fifteen missed calls and three voicemails from her best friend.

Glancing up and down the street, she relaxed a little. There was still no sign of the man who’d chased her that morning. He’d probably left town now that Joy’s shooting was all over the news.

She hit Tandy’s name in her contact list and held the phone away from her ear, bracing herself for the screeching. She was not disappointed.

“Cora Jane Winslow!” Tandy bellowed. “Where the ever-lovin’ fuck have you been?” Then she whispered, “Sorry, Nala. Sorry, LouLou.”

“Put her on speaker,” Nala commanded in the background.

Cora winced as she pressed the phone back to her ear. Joy’s daughters were the last people she wanted confronting her right now. If Cora hadn’t gone to Broussard’s, Joy would be okay. “Hi, Nala. Hi, Louisa.”

Cora and Tandy had been best friends since the third grade. Nala had joined their group a few years later, when she’d transferred to their school. Louisa was a few years younger and had followed them around until they’d grown older, the age gap becoming less important. They were her rocks and Cora loved them dearly.

Except now, she was going to get some tough love. Which I deserve.

“ ‘Hi,’ she says,” Nala drawled, her fury evident. “Scares the fucking shit out of us and all she has to say is ‘hi.’ Where have you been?”

Cora exhaled. “Can I tell you when I come to the hospital?”

“No, you may not,” Tandy snapped. “You will tell us now. You said you were coming to the hospital and that was hours ago. We’ve been worried sick.”

“Especially after what happened to Mama,” Louisa said quietly. “You should have called us, Cora.”

---