Chapter 3

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.

He'd barely been holding it together and she'd misinterpreted his intensity.

Best fix that right now.

"Miss Winslow," Phin said quietly. "I apologize. I didn't mean to scare you earlier."

She turned to meet his gaze. "Then why did you?"

Phin swallowed. Her eyes were the color of brandy, intelligent and piercing. "I have PTSD. I'd just been released from the police interrogation room and I wasn't doing very well at that moment."

Cora's gaze softened. "Accepted. I'm sorry I snapped at you. Thank you for keeping me from falling into the street. It seems like we both had shitty mornings. Why were you in an interrogation room?"

"Because he found Joy first," Burke answered. "And some of us jumped to a very wrong conclusion. I'm so sorry, Phin."

Cora flashed Burke a shocked glance. "You thought he did it?"

"No," Burke said quickly, then winced. "Maybe for a second. I wasn't sure what was happening."

"I'd never hurt Joy," Phin said. "Never."

"Me either." Cora's gaze focused behind them. "The others are here. Should we get this over with?"

"I like that idea." Burke got out and went to close the gate behind Antoine's car, leaving the two of them alone.

"What's her name?" Cora asked, looking at his dog.

"SodaPop. I tried to shorten it to Pop, because that's the truly correct word for a carbonated beverage, but she only answers to SodaPop."

She chuckled, a rich sound that he wanted to hear again. "You sound like you're from the Midwest."

"Cincinnati. So are my friends, Delores and Stone. Delores trained SodaPop for me. She's my service dog."

"I saw her vest. I'm sorry that I talked to her when she was working."

Phin's respect for her grew. "No worries. She got away from me to run to you. She hasn't done that before. I've only had her for six weeks, but usually she sticks to me like glue."

Cora smiled at his dog and Phin barely managed to keep from sucking in a breath. She was a very pretty woman, but her smile made her light up like the sun.

"She might have smelled my dog. Either way, I'm glad she ran to me," she said, then sobered. "I wanted to talk to Mr. Broussard, so this worked out. Should we go talk to him now?"

"We should." Phin got out of the car and opened Cora's door. "Burke's gone around to unlock the side door for us," he explained, offering his hand.

She took it, sliding out of the SUV, wincing when her feet hit the pavement.

"Are you all right?" Phin asked.

"Feet are sore, that's all. I ran quite a ways this morning."

"Which is part of the story that I hope you'll share," Antoine said, coming up behind them.

"Yes," Cora said simply.

Phin realized that he was still holding her hand. He dropped it, feeling his cheeks heat. He needed to get his head on straight. He needed to stop staring at Cora Winslow.

Burke met them inside the door and led them to his living room, a mishmash of styles from high Victorian to a 1990s duct-taped BarcaLounger to the modern, fully equipped kitchen. The kitchen was Phin's handiwork and he was proud of how it gleamed.

"I'll make some coffee," Burke said. "And then we can talk." He offered Cora a chair—without duct tape—and she sank into it, the lines of pain around her mouth easing as she rested her feet.

Phin sat on a prim settee from the 1880s that was surprisingly comfortable. SodaPop lay at his feet as Phin went back to staring at Cora Winslow.

She was younger than he was. Maybe thirty to his nearly thirty-seven. Her dark red hair reflected the overhead lights and surrounded her shoulders like a curly cloud. She wore a straight, dark gray skirt and a light pink sweater set. A strand of pearls hugged her throat and a pair of glasses dangled from a chain around her neck.

She looked like a professor. Or a librarian.

A sharp knock at the front door startled him out of his study.

"Cora!" a woman shouted from outside. "If I don't see my friend in ten seconds, I'm calling 911."

Burke laughed quietly as he went to the front door. "She's a pistol, isn't she?"

Cora's smile was strained. "She's worried about me."

"Sounds like she has a right to be," Delores said, in her gentle way. "We've worried about both Phin and Joy all morning."

Cora's gaze flew to Phin. "Did the police book you?"

"No. The cameras confirmed my story. And the gunshot residue test on my clothes came back negative." There'd been too much blood to test his hands.

"So did mine," Cora said dryly, "but I think I'm still on Detective Clancy's suspect list."

"Me too."

"Cora!" Tandy rushed into the room, throwing her arms around Cora and hugging her tightly. "I was so worried. Don't do that to me again, okay?"

"Okay," Cora whispered. "Too tight, Tandy. Can't breathe."

Tandy loosened her hold immediately. Blond and curvy, Tandy was like a hurricane. Her energy almost crackled. "Sorry." She glanced at Burke when he brought over another chair. "Thank you. I'm Tandy Napier. Joy's daughters said we'll be safe here." She narrowed her eyes at Phin's boss. "I'm trusting you."

"You will be safe," Burke said, taking his chair—the duct-taped BarcaLounger, of course. "Now, let's get to the story. Joy's shooter is still out there and will be harder to track down with every minute that passes. Cora, can you start with why you came to my office this morning?"

Tandy frowned. "Yes, Cora. Do tell. This is about your father?"

"Yes. Mostly." Cora squared her shoulders and folded her hands on her lap. "My last name is Winslow, but my birth name is Elliot. My father was Jack Elliot."

Antoine frowned. "I've heard that name recently." His eyes closed briefly before flying open. "Elliot? The guy whose body was found in that building down in Houma when they demolished it?"

Cora nodded wearily. "Yes."

"Oh," Burke said, surprised. "That's not what I was expecting you to say." He looked at Stone, Delores, and Phin. "Do you know what she's talking about?" The three of them shook their heads. "It happened right after you left, Phin," he said. "The Damper Building down in Houma was damaged beyond repair by the last hurricane. Houma's an hour and a half southwest of here," he explained to Stone and Delores. "The last few storms hit the city hard. The Damper was demolished the first of November."

"And a body was found?" Stone asked.

"Yes." Cora cleared her throat. "The…um, victim was buried in the foundation. Not in the concrete, but in a crevice underneath. It was in the news for a week or so, and everyone forgot about it. The man had no ID." She looked down at her hands. "He was just a skeleton."

Phin made sure his voice was gentle because she seemed to have become suddenly fragile. "But they ID'd him as your father?"

She nodded. "Two weeks ago. It took them a month to test the DNA in his hair follicles, matching it with the genetic databases."

"How did they match him to you?" Antoine asked. "Did you submit DNA to one of the databases?"

"Yes. Two years ago. I was actually looking for him—or anyone else related to him." She looked up, her expression shattered. "Two detectives came to where I work. They were there to notify me. He had two bullet holes in his skull. He'd been murdered."

"Oh my," Delores murmured. "I'm so sorry, Cora."

Cora mustered a small smile. "Thank you."

Tandy leaned over to grasp Cora's hand. "But the police are investigating, right?"

"In Terrebonne Parish, yes, but they aren't offering a lot of hope. He'd been there for twenty-three years. Since the foundation was poured. That's not why I decided to contact a PI, though."

Tandy stiffened. "What happened, Cora?"

"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd worry. Someone broke into my house two days ago. I think they broke in more than once, but I'm certain they broke in two days ago."

" Cora Jane! " Tandy whispered.

Cora gave her friend a guilty look. "I went to the police, but they didn't take me very seriously. Nothing had been stolen, so they said there wasn't much they could do."

Phin could feel his face scowling and tried to smooth it, but it was no use. "Did they know that your father's body had just been found?"

"Yes. NOPD said it might be connected, and shared info with the Terrebonne Parish sheriff's department. But there wasn't anything that the NOPD could do about the break-in. They took prints, but whoever broke in wore gloves."

"What was disturbed?" Phin asked.

"Not much, really. If they did a search, they were neat. I kind of wish they'd ransacked the place because then the cops would have taken me more seriously."

"How were you sure they broke in two days ago?" Burke asked.

Cora rolled her eyes. "I put Scotch tape over the doors. One of the pieces of tape was broken when I got home. I ordered a security system after the first break-in, but it didn't arrive until last night. I installed it right away."

"And you called us," Antoine said.

"I called Joy," Cora corrected. "I knew she worked for a PI. She said she'd get me in for a consult."

"I knew I had an appointment this morning," Burke said, "but I didn't know who with. What happened when you arrived?"

Cora visibly braced herself. "I didn't want anyone to know that I was going to see a PI, especially if whoever broke into my home was connected to whatever happened to my father. I mean, it could have simply been someone looking for information for a news story. That's what the cops said. Or a lookie-loo wanting a souvenir. People are weird that way. Joy was the only one who knew I was coming. I wore a wig and my cloak with the hood, hoping to hide my face. Stupid, huh?"

"No," Phin said forcefully. "Smart, actually. I thought we were looking for a brunette. But they must have been watching your house and followed you."

"Yes." Her eyes were suddenly wet. "I never meant for Joy to be hurt. She was my mother's friend. She's been in my life since I was a little girl. Please believe that."

"I believe you," Burke murmured. "What happened when you arrived at my office?"

Cora dashed at her tears with the back of her hand. "I was a few minutes early. Joy was just getting her coffee. She told me to go into the powder room and take off my ridiculous wig." She smiled weakly. "So I obeyed. I do everything Joy tells me to do."

"We all do," Antoine said soothingly. "So you went into the bathroom?"

She nodded. "I was getting ready to take off the wig when I heard voices outside the door. It was Joy and she was mad. She said that she was calling the cops. I peeked out and saw a man. He was wearing all black. Ski mask and gloves. Boots. All black. I called 911, told them that there was an intruder."

"So you called the cops," Antoine said. "We knew someone had called, but it was an untraceable number."

Cora winced. "I got a burner phone. It seemed prudent."

Burke's smile was gentle. "It probably was. Then what happened?"

"He went through the door behind Joy's desk. Your office door, I think," she told Burke. "I came out of the bathroom and started shoving Joy's chair to the elevator. The motor wasn't working. He'd broken it. She told me that she'd slow us down, that he'd hear the elevator."

"I need to have that old thing replaced. It's slow and loud. Dammit." Burke shook his head. "And then?"

"She told me to run, that he was after me, and that she could take care of herself." New tears filled her brandy-colored eyes and streaked down her cheeks. "I shouldn't have run, but…Joy told me to. I'm so sorry. This is my fault." Her voice broke on a sob. "Joy's hurt because I was a coward and I ran."

"No," Phin said. "If you hadn't run, he might have killed you. Or abducted you."

Tandy flashed him a grateful look. "He's right, honey. Joy would have tried to protect you. That's her way."

Cora just shook her head, covering her face with her hands as her shoulders shook.

Delores went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. She pressed it into Cora's hand. "Drink this and try to breathe. This isn't your fault. It's the fault of the man who shot Joy. You running didn't change the outcome."

"You can't know that," Cora sobbed.

"I can," Burke said firmly. "Joy's gun was missing from its holster. Our camera footage showed the intruder fighting her for her gun after she shot him. But either she missed or he was wearing a vest because it didn't slow him down. He took her gun and shot her with it. What happened when you ran?"

"I ducked into the kitchen of a diner and thought I'd lost him, but when I came out, he was across the street, so I kept running until I got to Tandy's art gallery. I didn't know she'd been shot. I think the pots and pans covered the sound. If I'd heard the shots, I would have gone back, but he was following me, so I thought Joy was okay. Will Joy be all right?"

"Yes," Phin, Burke, and Antoine said together.

"She's tough," Burke added. "And she'd want us to use our time trying to piece together who shot her, not crying over her. She'd be real mad about that, Miss Winslow."

Cora's laugh was soft and watery. "She would. And you can call me Cora."

"Burke," Burke said. "Antoine, Phin, Stone, and Delores," he continued, pointing at each of them in turn. "You were a little scared when we introduced ourselves there on the street."

Cora's smile was tentative. "Thank you."

"Where did you go after we talked this morning?" Tandy asked, giving Cora a packet of tissues from her handbag.

"To the police station. I knew I had to tell them what happened. I talked to Detective Clancy. He said he'd check into it. He swabbed my hands for gunshot residue and took my fingerprints."

Antoine's eyes widened. "You allowed him to do that?"

"I did. My lawyer told me not to, but I wanted them looking for Joy's shooter, not wasting time investigating me. My lawyer asked them to give me protection, and Detective Clancy straight-up said that wasn't happening."

At least she'd called her lawyer, Phin thought. Cooperating with the cops was usually a good thing, but Phin had seen it go the other way. Lawyers added a layer of safety.

"Who did you call?" Tandy asked.

"Harry."

"Harry Fulton?" Tandy squeaked, disbelieving. "Cora Jane, he deals with wills. Not arrests. What were you thinking?"

Cora sighed. "I was…rattled. Don't yell at me, Tandy Sue."

Tandy winced. "Don't call me that."

"Then don't call me Cora Jane," Cora snapped.

"Fine," Tandy grumbled. "You should have let me know you were all right. I was rattled, too."

"I know," Cora said, softening. "I'm sorry."

Phin was turning Cora's disclosures over in his head, and a number of things didn't fit. He tackled the biggest one first. "Cora, you said your father had been dead for twenty-three years. But detectives only just told you he was dead two weeks ago. Where did you think he was?"

Cora's gaze sharpened, a mixture of respect and appreciation. She threw her arms wide. "Thank you!" she said with heat. "The cops wouldn't pay attention to that fact." She drew a breath. "I didn't think he was dead. In fact, I was positive that he was alive."

"It would be hard to admit your father was dead," Delores said. "You must have only been a child when he disappeared."

"It was a month before my fifth birthday. He left one night to meet with a client and he never came home. But he sent letters nearly every single year on my birthday and other holidays. I received the last letter on my birthday a month ago, two weeks after his body was discovered but before he was ID'd."

The room went silent.

"Well, shit," Burke muttered. "Not what I was expecting at all."

The Warehouse District, New Orleans, Louisiana

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

Sage slammed his car door once he'd pulled into the parking garage of his condo. He was still seething and his ribs fucking hurt.

Sanctimonious old bastard.

Hadn't even offered to get him a doctor.

Not that Sage needed one. Luckily Joy Thomas's gun had been a small caliber.

He still couldn't believe the woman had shot him.

Then gotten herself shot, too. He hadn't wanted to shoot her. If she'd just let the damn gun go, he would have simply taken it and run.

Maybe she won't die.

He wanted to pray that Joy Thomas survived, but he didn't pray anymore. Prayer was for foolish old men who'd built televangelism empires they were terrified to lose.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Sage made his way to the elevator. He needed a drink.

At least his grandfather was upset. That didn't happen often. Sage had never seen him quite like this.

Who was Cora Winslow? Why was she important?

Sage had done his research, of course. He'd been in the woman's house five times over the past two weeks. Three times he'd broken in when she was at work and twice when she was asleep. He'd gone through her personal papers and spied on her conversations. He knew that she was a librarian who spent all her time—and money—on that fancy house. He knew that she had a dog named Blue and that her best friend's name was Tandy.

He also knew that she was incredibly lonely. He'd heard it in her voice when she talked to her dog. He'd heard it when she cried in the night when she thought no one was listening.

Her father had died recently. Or at least his body had been found recently.

Her brother had died a year ago, her grandmother two years ago. Cora Winslow had seen some tragedy.

His grandfather interacted daily with people who'd seen tragedy. Some legitimately needed some help. Some were con artists whose only goal was to take from Sage's family. Sage's job was to deal with those people. He'd find out what their game was and how to thwart them.

Sage was very good at his job.

He believed that Cora Winslow's grief was legit, but his grandfather wasn't interested in comforting her.

Alan was afraid of her and that, in and of itself, was unusual. The man was obsessed with getting his hands on the letters that Cora had been receiving from her supposedly dead father. Sage wanted to read the letters, too. He wanted to know what had Alan so damn scared.

Sage had even searched his grandfather's home study thoroughly for clues to Alan's obsession with Cora Winslow. He'd searched Alan's desk, the filing cabinets, and even Alan's computer. Sage had known the password since he'd been a teenager bent on trying his hand at hacking.

He'd even checked the big reference books for secret hiding places cut into their pages.

But he'd found nothing.

The elevator opened into Sage's penthouse apartment. He dropped his backpack on the sofa and walked to the wall of windows, gazing out at the unparalleled view of the river.

That he'd found nothing in his grandfather's study had bothered him, because not only had he not found anything on Cora Winslow, he hadn't found other files that he knew his grandfather had kept. Damning data that Sage had been sent to gather on anyone who had crossed his grandfather or who might become a hindrance in the future.

The old bastard wouldn't keep any of the truly important papers at work. There were too many prying eyes at the central offices, the risk of discovery way too high.

So the good stuff on Cora Winslow had to be hidden at his grandfather's home. Somewhere. Otherwise the directive for Sage to break into Broussard's office didn't make sense.

There hadn't been any files on Cora Winslow on the PI's desk, and his filing cabinet drawer had held only a box of Ritz crackers and a jar of peanut butter. Broussard's group must have been keeping everything digitized.

Thus Sage stealing the laptops.

He hoped whatever was on those laptops was worth the receptionist's life.

He really hoped that he hadn't killed Joy Thomas, but if he had, he was not going down for it. He hadn't left any evidence behind. Of that he was certain. And his grandfather wouldn't implicate him because he'd have to explain too many things that the old man clearly wanted kept secret.

Sage could keep his grandfather's secrets—for a price.

The old man paid him well, but his salary was a drop in the bucket compared to his grandfather's wealth. Once Sage figured out who Cora Winslow was to the old man, he could use it to get Alan's wealth for himself. His grandfather had the information somewhere . Sage just needed to find it.

Discovering the secret to Cora Winslow was now his full-time job.

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 13, 12:15 P.M.

Relief swamped Cora. Burke and his people believed her. Finally someone does.

"So let me get this straight," Burke said after a moment of silence. "Your father—who's been dead for twenty-three years—has been sending you letters every year?"

She took in each of their faces, seeing genuine concern. But on Phin's face she saw anger, and that helped her to relax because she knew that the anger wasn't directed at her, but for her. She kept her gaze fixed on his.

He might have had his own issues with PTSD, but right now he was the strength she needed and she'd take it. Just a little. Just for now.

"Well," she said, trying to sound logical, "clearly they weren't written by him. Not unless I believe in ghosts. Which I most likely don't."

Tandy huffed a laugh that sounded hysterical. "I thought he'd stopped writing the letters years ago."

"He did," Cora murmured, not taking her eyes off Phin Bishop. "But he started back up again a few years ago. I just didn't want to talk about them by then."

Phin's anger softened, mixing with compassion. "Why didn't you want to talk about them?"

Cora swallowed hard. "Because I was angry. He'd abandoned us, and my mother had to carry the load of everything on her shoulders. And there was a lot to carry. My brother was ill and needed care. Mama and my grandmother handled everything. They were my parents. He didn't deserve acknowledgment."

Except he'd been dead this whole time. She knew she shouldn't feel guilty for her anger, but she did.

"Understandable," Phin murmured. "But you kept the letters, didn't you?"

She nodded, her throat tight. "Every single one."

Tandy gripped her hand. "Oh, honey. Why didn't you tell me all this was going on?"

Cora glanced at her best friend. As she'd expected, Tandy's expression was as miserable as Cora figured her own to be. "Because someone killed my father, T. Someone else has sent me letters for twenty-three years pretending to be Jack Elliot. I was scared. I needed to know who wrote those letters and why . And I needed to know what they planned to do next."

Tandy looked devastated. "I always thought your mama wrote those letters. To make you feel better."

Cora shook her head. "I kept getting them, even after she died, all through college. That made me even madder at my father."

Burke shoved at the lever on his battered recliner, putting his feet up. His hands linked over his belly, and he closed his eyes. "So your father's been dead for twenty-three years. His body was discovered six weeks ago and ID'd two weeks ago, which was when you were notified by the Terrebonne Parish detectives. Did you tell them about the letters?"

Cora glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else thought that Burke's relaxed pose was strange. The two friends of Phin's were giving the PI odd looks, but Phin and Antoine didn't seem bothered at all. Antoine had taken out a computer from one of the three bags he carried and was typing something.

I guess that's Burke's thinking chair. She'd seen much stranger behavior in library patrons over the years.

"I did. I gave the originals to the detectives from the Terrebonne Parish sheriff's office." Her heart stuttered. "Should I not have given them to them?"

Burke waved his hand, not opening his eyes. "I'm sure that's fine. Did you keep copies?"

"Of course. I'm very organized. I told the detectives that I had the letters and would follow them back to Houma in my car. That they could make copies of the letters for me while I watched."

Burke's lips twitched. "You are thorough, ma'am."

"She's a librarian," Tandy said, as if that explained everything.

Phin's expression changed, looking…pleased?

She turned to him, irritation rising once more. "Why do you look so smug?"

Now Phin looked embarrassed. "Sorry. I was trying to figure out what you did for a living. I figured professor or librarian."

"She gets that a lot," Tandy put in, unconcerned when Cora turned her glare on her. "Well, you do."

"A librarian in the Garden District," Antoine said thoughtfully, staring at his laptop. "You work a few blocks from where you live. Nice house, Cora. Very nice."

Cora tamped down new irritation. Doing background checks on new clients had to be their standard operating procedure.

And her home was a very nice house. It was also an expensive house to maintain and the source of nearly every one of her headaches. Before her father's body had been found, of course. That new development was front and center. "It's been in my family for six generations."

Phin leaned over to look at Antoine's laptop. "Wow. I bet your handyman is rich."

He didn't know the half of it. "My handyman is mostly me." Still, the costs of maintenance were nearly unmanageable. "But we digress." She folded her hands in her lap and focused on the reclining Burke Broussard. "The detectives from Houma told me that they'd be investigating, but that after so much time, it would be a difficult case to solve."

"Who were the detectives?" Bishop asked.

"Dan Hardy and Liam Goddard."

Phin frowned. "Did you tell them about the break-ins?"

"I did. They said I should call the local police and file a report, which I already had done. They said they'd coordinate with NOPD. I told NOPD about my father's body being found and the letters. They said that if nothing was missing, there wasn't anything they could do."

"You've gotten a real runaround," Delores said sympathetically.

Cora sighed. "Yeah. I've wondered if I was losing my mind. Except then this morning happened."

Burke opened his eyes, focusing on her. "Did you walk or drive this morning?"

"I took a streetcar. I didn't want anyone to be able to follow my car, but they managed to follow me anyway."

"Where did you get on?" Burke asked. "Which stop?"

"St. Charles at Washington."

"Did anyone else get on at that stop?" He'd closed his eyes again, reminding her of a burly, Cajun Sherlock Holmes.

"Two elderly ladies and a middle-school-aged boy. The boy I know from the library. He comes in to read manga every Friday after school."

"The intruder must have followed you somehow. Or…" Burke's eyes flew open again. He abruptly slammed his recliner down and lurched to his feet, earning an alarmed squeak from Tandy.

Cora pressed her hand to her heart, which had taken off like a house on fire. "What?"

Burke shook his head, tapping his lips with his index finger. "Can I examine the contents of your purse, please?"

Cora clutched at her bag, a reflexive motion. "Why?" Then she understood. A tracker. Or a bug. "Fuck," she muttered and handed her purse to the large man.

Antoine got up as well and Broussard dumped the contents of her purse onto his dining room table. Both Phin and Delores's husband, Stone, rose and joined them at the table and the four men searched through the pile of stuff.

"There," Stone said.

"And there," Phin added.

Antoine made an annoyed sound. He went outside and returned a few moments later. "Stored in your garden shed, Burke. We can give them to Detective Clancy later."

Cora turned in her chair to stare at them. "Tracker or bug or both?"

"Both," Broussard said grimly. "They were in the lining. Do you always carry this purse?"

"No. I switched it two weeks ago. Maybe three. It was before the detectives came to the library to tell me my father's body had been found."

Phin's expression was equally grim. "Where do you leave your purse when you're home alone?"

"On my kitchen table." She sighed. "So at least one of the break-ins was to put the devices in my purse."

"Yeah," Burke said, perturbed. "I should have immediately checked."

Cora rubbed her forehead. "Dammit. I didn't even think about that."

"That's why you came to us," Antoine said kindly. "Do you have the copies of the letters with you?"

Cora shook her head. "They're in my safe-deposit box. Joy told me to bring them or email them to you, but I didn't do that. If I've been bugged all this time, whoever shot Joy knew about the letters. I had my purse with me when I took the box of letters to the Houma police, and again when I reported the break-ins to the NOPD. Maybe the letters are what whoever was looking for when they searched my house. And what he wanted from me this morning."

"Maybe," Burke allowed. "He stole two of our laptops, so he might have thought we knew about the letters, too."

Cora stared, horrified. "He stole your laptops? Did he get confidential information on your other clients?"

"No," Antoine said, his smile more than a little proud. "We don't keep confidential files on our hard drives. It's all stored on our network. The laptops are only the conduits to the data. Plus, I have a kill switch installed on all our hardware that I can detonate remotely. He'll get a nasty surprise when he tries to read anything on either laptop. Both have been completely wiped, except for a virus that will infect his system."

Cora knew a little about this. Information was her stock-in-trade, after all. "Leading you to him?"

Antoine nodded. "I hope so."

Phin was frowning. "Why didn't you have copies of the letters with you today if Joy told you to bring them?"

"I didn't plan to hire you all. I don't have that much money. Joy said I could just do a consult with Burke to see what other steps I could take to protect myself and my home from intruders. I could afford one consultation. Now I honestly don't know what I'm going to do. But of course you can have the letters. Anything to help you find Joy's shooter."

Tandy squeezed Cora's hand. "You can't go home. It's not safe. Come home with me. Or stay with Dad. He'll be happy to have someone to take care of again."

Cora shook her head. "I bought a security system." That she hadn't truly been able to afford. It would keep her safe. "Plus, Blue will bark if anyone—" She sucked in a breath. "My dog. He's home alone. Could they—"

No, no, no. Nothing could happen to Blue. He was all she had left of John Robert. She brought out her cell phone, opening the camera app she'd installed the night before. Her pulse settled when she saw Blue curled up on his bed, sound asleep. "He's okay."

"Did the dog alert you when you had the break-ins?" Bishop asked.

"Friday night he was barking at my bedroom door. He doesn't bark often anymore. He's older and tends to sleep a lot. I went downstairs and a drawer was open in the desk in my kitchen. It's where I pay my bills. I thought maybe someone had stolen my checkbook or my wallet from my purse, but nothing was missing. But it felt off, you know? So I ordered the security system that night. The second time was two days later, on Sunday. I was at work."

Antoine frowned. "The library is closed on Sundays, isn't it?"

"Yes, but we had a staff holiday party and I went in to decorate. When I got home, that's when I saw that the tape I'd put over the doorway was broken. I don't know if Blue barked or not."

"Okay," Broussard said. "Next steps. One, we need to get those letters from your safe-deposit box. We'll do that this afternoon. Two, we'll beef up security at your house and install better locks. Unless you've installed new locks? Please say the locks aren't original."

"The house was built in 1878, and the locks are a whole lot newer than that. But they've been on the doors since I've been living there. Which is my whole life."

Burke turned to Phin. "Phin? Can you oversee the security upgrades to Cora's house?"

Phin blinked, looking surprised, but he rallied quickly. "Yes, of course."

Burke nodded his appreciation. "Thank you. Now, let's talk bodyguards."

Bodyguards? These people clearly thought she was much richer than she was. Which was, like, not at all.

Cora held up one hand. "Whoa. Stop. I don't need that. I can't afford your services. Joy said that I should talk to you once and you could recommend ways to keep myself safe."

Burke crouched next to her. He looked utterly serious, and she might have been intimidated had she not just seen him chilling in his duct-taped BarcaLounger. "Cora, I'm going to protect you. That is non-negotiable. You will not have to pay me. I only ask that you cooperate with our investigation, because we need to find out who hurt our Joy."

Cora exhaled. "Okay. I'll accept your protection, but only for Joy's sake. Just in case whoever shot her comes after me again, you can catch them. Who will be my bodyguard?"

"I'm not sure yet. Let me work on that while Phin is fixing your security. Do you feel all right with us going to your bank with you to get those letters?"

"Yes, but I need to eat first. I skipped breakfast and I really should eat."

"She gets hangricidal," Tandy said, patting Cora's arm. "Like hangry on steroids."

Cora glared at her best friend. "I do not."

"She gets real whiny, too," Tandy added. "Like she is right now."

That was fair. "Where can I find a deli or a restaurant nearby?"

"I'll make you a sandwich," Burke offered. "Will that do?"

She smiled at the big man. "Yes, thank you."

When Burke had gone into his kitchen, Cora met Phin's gaze. "Are you okay to work on my house today? You've had a really crummy morning, too."

Phin's nod was resolute. "Keeping my hands occupied is always good. Can SodaPop come with me?"

Cora smiled. "Of course she can. I'll put Blue in one of the upstairs rooms while she's visiting. I know service dogs shouldn't socialize with other dogs if possible."

"I don't think an afternoon of socialization will harm SodaPop's training," Delores said with a smile. "I trained her myself, and she's been around other dogs."

"Then I guess you're fixin' to visit the Garden District," Cora told Phin.

Phin smiled and Cora found herself staring. The man had a broody, dangerous bad-boy vibe, but when he smiled, he seemed young and carefree.

"I love those old houses in the Garden District," he said. "I repair things over there occasionally. Burke's had me doing repairs on this place for a few years now."

Cora returned his smile, feeling a sense of ease for the first time in a long time. She wondered why he'd seemed so surprised when Burke had asked him to do the upgrade, but then she remembered the exchange in the car. For a moment Burke had believed that this man had hurt Joy. A fleeting moment, but a moment nonetheless.

He was big and dark and a scowl seemed to be his resting face. I should be afraid of him.

Her smile must have faltered, because Phin abruptly sobered.

"I scared you earlier, outside the police station," he said quietly. "If you don't want me to come to your house, I understand."

Cora blinked, wondering if her feelings were that transparent.

But she wasn't afraid. There was pain in this man, deep down. PTSD, he'd said. Bad enough that he needed a service dog. But she sensed a gentleness there, too. And Joy's daughters had said he was safe. That would be good enough for the afternoon.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said honestly. "Not like this. But what will happen if you have another episode? Do you get…violent?"

"No," Delores said softly. "He always runs off before it gets bad."

Phin looked away. His feelings were also transparent. He was ashamed and that made Cora want to help him.

"Will you have any warning if you're about to have an episode?" she asked.

Phin reached for his dog. "That's what SodaPop's for. Early detection. And distraction."

"Will you look at me?" She waited until he did, then looked him square in the eye. "Have you ever hurt someone?"

He didn't blink. "Yes. Once. Five years ago."

"Phin was hurt worse," Stone said loyally. "The other guy started it, then shot Phin when he defended himself. Phin ended up in the hospital and the other guy just had a bruised jaw."

Phin was watching her intensely, waiting for her verdict.

She should ask for someone else. She really should. But the man's eyes were clear and honest. And more than a little vulnerable.

She couldn't hurt him. Wouldn't hurt him.

"I'd be grateful for your help, Phin. You're welcome in my home."

Phin's whole body relaxed, including the grip he'd had on his dog. SodaPop turned and licked his hand. He smiled down at his dog before lifting his gaze back to hers. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. We'll go to the bank first and get my father's letters. Hopefully that will give Burke somewhere to begin."

And, if she was lucky, Broussard Investigations would find out who'd killed Jack Elliot.

And why.