Page 19 of Buried Too Deep

Cora lifted a brow at the woman, lowering her phone and putting it on speaker. “Delores? Who are you? And him?” She pointed to the man standing behind Delores like a bodyguard.

“My husband, Stone,” Delores said calmly. “He and I are friends of Phin’s. We need your help to catch whoever shot Joy Thomas.”

“I heard that, Cora,” Nala said. “Why are they asking you about Mama?”

“Because I was there this morning,” Cora admitted. “I’ll explain everything when I see you. Your mom told me to run, that she’d handle the man who broke in. I didn’t know she’d been shot. I’m so sorry.”

Nala sighed heavily. “That sounds like Mama. Are you in trouble, Cora?”

“I don’t know. I’ll talk to these people and let you know.” She looked up at Bishop. “Where are we going to talk?”

Bishop looked at Broussard. “Where?” Bishop asked. “The office is a crime scene.”

“My house,” Broussard said. “Nala and Louisa have been there several times. They know the address.”

“We know where he lives,” Louisa confirmed.

“You’ll be safe with Burke,” Nala said. “Call us as soon as you can.”

“Cora?” Tandy asked, sounding tentative and frightened. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is this about your dad?”

“I think so. The cops don’t.”

“I’m coming to this Broussard’s house,” Tandy said. “Just so you’re not alone.”

Cora’s heart squeezed in gratitude. She briefly considered saying no, that Tandy didn’t have to, that Cora would be okay. But she wasn’t okay. And Joy’s daughters said that Broussard was safe. She needed her best friend. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Tandy asked, clearly surprised. “This has to be bad if you’re allowing me to help you. Tell that man he’d better let me in or I’m calling the cops.”

Good luck with that. The police hadn’t been the biggest help so far.

“I’ll tell him.” She ended the call and faced Bishop and Broussard. “Let’s go.”

3

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 13, 12:10 P.M.

CORA JANE WINSLOW HAD BEEN silent as Burke had driven them to his big house in the Quarter. She’d sat in the front passenger seat, staring out the window, tension pouring off her.

Antoine had followed in his own car, driving Stone and Delores.

SodaPop sat next to Phin in the back seat, nuzzling into his side. Keeping him grounded.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to SodaPop, because the dog had tried to follow him that morning when he and Stone had left his house for Burke’s office. “I should have listened to you.”

He looked up to find Burke studying him in the SUV’s rearview mirror. They’d come to a stop in the courtyard behind Burke’s house. “You okay?” Burke asked.

Phin nodded. “Mostly.” He’d returned to New Orleans hoping for a fresh start, but that hope had been dashed the moment he’d registered Joy’s blood on his hands.

Phin clutched SodaPop’s coat gently. He wasn’t going to fall into that hole again. Not with Cora Jane Winslow around.

She was…something. The black hair he’d seen that morning had been a wig. Her real hair was a vibrant red and curly, springing this way and that every time she turned her head. She was tall and elegant on the outside, but mouthy enough to call him on invading her privacy when he’d tried to grab her phone.

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