Page 178 of Buried Too Deep

He shut the PI’s car door with a slam, trapping the unconscious, tied-up man in the back seat. He got in his old junker, ready to head back to New Orleans. He had a ton of things to do before he made his escape to Spain or Australia or wherever he ended up.

He shook his head, even though his mother couldn’t see him. “Best you don’t know what I’ve done, Mother.”

He wasn’t telling her anything, for her own good. And for mine. “Can you send me your friends’ contact information? I need to lie low for a while.” A long while. Maybe forever.

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll get us both tickets on the first flight to Madrid.”

He blinked. “You’re going with me?”

“I am. Pack a bag, darlin’. We’re going to Spain.”

His throat closed and he had to blink again, this time because his eyes were burning. “Thanks, Mother.”

“Just get here safely, Sage. I’ll take care of the rest.”

She ended the call, leaving Sage reeling. She was going with him. He hadn’t even considered asking her to do so. He needed to tell her what he’d done. She might choose not to help him.

He couldn’t make himself do that, though.

He gave himself a shake, focusing on traffic as he merged onto the interstate. “Fall apart later.”

He had another call to make.

“Siri, call Lexy Beauchamp, mobile.” He waited several rings this time before his stepgrandmother answered.

“Yes?” she said warily. “Sage? Is that you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I have some information that you might find interesting.”

Merrydale, Louisiana

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1:45 P.M.

Merrydale Welcomes You.

Phin watched the sign go by, hoping they’d find what they were looking for at the Caulfields’ house. They needed answers.

Burke and Molly had tried to convince Cora to stay behind, but Cora Jane Winslow was having none of that. Phin and Val had supported her. She had a right to know.

Val was driving their SUV with Stone and Delores tailing them closely, giving Phin some semblance of safety. Burke was on his way, coming up from Houma, probably twenty minutes behind them. Molly had gone home to sleep and Antoine had stayed behind in New Orleans to work the other cases on Burke’s docket.

They’d seen no trouble on the road, but Phin was anxious. SodaPop wasn’t whining, though, so it couldn’t be too bad.

It was progress and he’d take it.

“There isn’t anything on the Caulfields online,” Cora complained. She’d been on her phone the entire drive from New Orleans. “No social media, no articles, no nothing. Just a single mention of them in the white pages and in the property records. But nothing else. How can someone have no social media presence in this day and age?”

“You don’t,” Val said smugly from the driver’s seat of the SUV.

“I do,” Cora said. “Through the library’s website.”

“One photo.” Val held up her forefinger. “One measly photo in the ‘About Us’ section. You don’t have Facebook or Insta or Twitter. So you’re not one to talk.”

“Tandy does all the—” Cora halted abruptly, pain tightening her expression. “She’s the social media butterfly. I just floated in her wake. Besides, there are plenty of mentions of me now. ‘Jack Elliot’s daughter.’ ‘Jack Elliot survived by daughter Cora Winslow.’ You can find me online.”

“But nothing about you,” Phin said. “Nobody would know that you wear pearls to bed or that you smell like strawberries.”

Cora turned to him, a smile on her lips and a blush on her cheeks. “You sweet-talker, you.”

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