A Bad Day for Sunshine--A Novel

by Darynda Jones

  Maybe it was all in her imagination, but Auri hadn’t seemed the same since she’d let her go to the supersecret New Year’s Eve gathering at the lake. The annual party parents and cops weren’t supposed to know about. The same parents and cops who began the tradition decades ago.

  She’d only let Auri stay for a couple of hours. Could something have happened there? Auri hadn’t been the same since that night, and Sun knew what could happen when teens gathered. The atmosphere could change from crazy-fun to multiple-stab-wounds in a heartbeat.

  “You know, you can stay home a few more days. Your asthma has been kicking up, hon. And your voice is a little raspy. And—”

  “It’s okay. I don’t want to get behind,” she said.

  “Do you have your inhaler?”

  Auri reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the L-shaped contraption. “Yep.”

  A woman called out to them then. A feisty woman with graying blond hair and an inhuman capacity for resilience. “Tallyho!”

  They turned as Elaine Freyr lumbered through the snow toward them, followed by her very own partner in crime, a.k.a. her roughish husband of thirty-five years, Cyrus Freyr.

  Sun leaned closer to Auri. “Did your grandmother just call me a ho?”

  “Hey, Grandma. Hey, Grandpa,” Auri said, ignoring her.

  It happened.

  The girl angling for the Granddaughter of the Year award hurried toward the couple for a hug. “Mom’s worried you guys are going to prison.”

  Elaine laughed and pulled the stool pigeon into her arms.

  “Snitches get stitches!” Sun called out to her.

  “Your mother’s been saying that for years,” Elaine said over Auri’s shoulder, “and we haven’t been to the big house yet.” She let her go so Auri could give her grandfather the same treatment.

  “Hi, Grandpa.”

  Cyrus took his turn and folded his granddaughter into his arms. “Hey, peanut. What are we going to prison for this time?”

  Auri pulled back. “Election tampering.”

  “Ah. Should’ve known.” Cyrus indicated the apartment with a nod. “What do you think of her?”

  “She’s beautiful, Grandpa.”

  His face glowed with appreciation as he looked at Sun. “And it’s better than paying fifteen hundred a month for a renovated garage, eh?”

  He had a point. Santa Fe was nothing if not pricey. “You got me there, Dad.” She gave them both a quick hug, then headed toward her cruiser, the black one with the word SHERIFF written in gold letters across the side.

  “Sunny, wait,” her mother said, fumbling in her coat pocket. “We have to take a picture. It’s Auri’s first day of school.”

  Sun groaned out loud for her mother’s benefit, hiding the fact that she found the woman all kinds of adorable. She was still angry with them. Or trying to be. They’d entered her into the election for sheriff without her consent. And she’d won. It boggled the mind.

  “We’re going to be late, Mom.”

  “Nonsense.” She took out her phone and looked for the camera app. For, like, twenty minutes.

  “Here.” Sun snatched the phone away, fighting a grin. It would only encourage her. She swiped to the home screen, clicked on the app, and held the phone up for a selfie. “Come in, everyone.”

  “Oh!” Elaine said, ecstatic. She wrapped an arm into her husband’s. “Get closer, hon.”

  The cold air had brightened all their faces. Sun snapped several shots of the pink-cheeked foursome, then herded her daughter toward the cruiser, her father quick on her heels.

  When Auri went around to the passenger’s side, Sun turned to face him.

  He offered her a knowing smile and asked, “You okay? With all of this?”

  She put a hand on his arm. “I’m okay, Dad. It’s all good.” She hoped. “But don’t think for a second you’re off the hook.”

  “I rarely am. It’s just, I know how much you enjoyed putting this place in your rearview.”

  “I was seventeen. And one shade of nail polish away from becoming goth.” She thought back. “Nobody needed to see that.” After sliding him a cheeky grin, she stomped through the snow to the driver’s side.

  He cleared his throat and followed again, apparently not finished with the conversation. “Well, good. Good,” he hedged before asking, “And how are you sleeping? Any, you know, nightmares?”

  Ah. That’s what this was about. Sun turned back and offered him her most reassuring smile. “No nightmares, Dad.”

  He nodded and opened the door as Elaine called out, “You and Auri have a good day. And don’t forget about the meeting!”

  Sun looked over the hood of her SUV. “What meeting?”

  Elaine sucked in a sharp breath. “Sunshine Blaze Vicram.”

  She hopped inside the cruiser before her mother could get any further with that sentiment. Nothing good ever came after the words Sunshine Blaze Vicram.

  She gave her eagle-eyed father one last smile of reassurance as he closed the door, then backed out of the snow-covered drive, confident she’d done the right thing. Telling him the truth would only exacerbate the guilt she could see gnawing at him every time he looked at her. There was no need for both of them to lose sleep over something that happened in Del Sol so very long ago.

  2

  There is simply no way everybody was kung fu fighting.

  —SIGN AT DEL SOL MIXED MARTIAL ARTS AND DANCE STUDIO

  Five minutes later—small-town perks—Sun pulled into the Del Sol High School parking lot. She put the cruiser in park and turned to her auburn-haired offspring. “It’s time.”

  Auri gaped at her. “Oh, god. Mom, not again.”

  “This is just a refresher.”

  “It’s not really the first day of school. We already had this conversation in August.”

  “Yes, but that was for the academy. This one is for Del Sol High School. Your new stomping ground.”

  Auri propped an elbow onto the armrest and dropped her face into a hand.

  “Okay, as we’ve previously discussed, boys are usually born with this little thing I like to call a penis.”

  Auri groaned.

  “And girls are often born with this little thing I like to call a vagina.”

  “I’m moving in with Grandma and Grandpa.”

  “But these two components, the penis and the vagina, need never meet.” Sun waved an index finger back and forth. “Not ever. In fact, being a lesbian is very avant-garde. So, you know, you could always go that direction.”

  “Mom, being gay is not a choice.”

  “Not if you don’t give it a chance.”

  “Fine.” Auri looked around at the growing number of gawkers. “I’ll give it a try. Can you just turn off the emergency lights?”

  Sun looked around at the faces reflecting the red lights from her cruiser. “They’re just jealous. How many kids your age get a police escort on her first day of school?”

  “I’m going to have to change my name.”

  “Now, normally, tab A fits rather nicely into slot B—”

  “Mom!”

  “—but not in your case.” Sun paused for dramatic effect, then looked at her daughter from behind sad eyes. “Honey, I didn’t want to tell you this until you were older.” She placed a gentle hand on Auri’s arm, infusing her expression with concern and something akin to heartbreak. “But I have no choice. Auri, you were born with a horrible, ghastly disfigurement.”

  “Okay, this is new.”

  “You know. Down there. In your nether parts.”

  Auri gazed out the window. “Does our insurance cover therapy?”

  “Trust me when I say it’s something you never, ever want a boy to see.”

  “Too late. Scarred for life.”

  “Especially a boy with a penis.”

  “People say that, the whole scarred-for-life thing, but I don’t think they really mean it.”

  “You just don’t want to open yourself up to that kind of ridicu
le.”

  “I, on the other hand—”

  “That kind of ostracism.”

  She turned to her mother in a huff. “This conversation is making me very uncomfortable.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop, but if anything happens, just ask yourself, WWLSD?”

  “Mom—”

  “No, I mean it. Anytime you get into a hairy situation, ask yourself: What would Lisbeth Salander do?” She gave her daughter a minute, then prompted her. “Well?”

  After a heavy sigh, Auri replied. “She’d cut a bitch.”

  “Exactly. And if that doesn’t work?”

  Another sigh. “She’d set a bitch on fire.”

  “Precisely. And if that doesn’t work?”

  “Mom,” Auri whined, shifting in her seat.

  “If that doesn’t work?”

  “Fine. She’d eviscerate a bitch’s online presence and get him or her sent to prison for kiddie porn.”

  Sun placed her hands over her heart. “I’m just … I’m so proud of you.”

  “Can I go now?”

  “Absolutely.” When Auri opened the door, Sun added, “Just as soon as you tell me what’s really bothering you.”

  Normally, the mere mention of Auri’s hero, Lisbeth Salander, cheered her up. Sun had closed with her best material and … nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  No way would she let the kid go now. If she had to take off yet another day from work, so be it. The last time her daughter had such a drastic about-face, the last time Auri hid what was really going on beneath her dangerously intelligent surface, she was seven years old, and the outcome almost ended in the worst kind of tragedy imaginable.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Mom.”

  Sun leaned forward and put her fingers on a switch on the dashboard. “Have you heard the siren on this baby?”

  Auri’s hands shot up in surrender. “Oh, my god, okay.”

  Having won, Sun leaned back and gave Auri a minute to compose herself.

  After closing the door so no one would hear, she said softly, “It’s just, I know how you worry.”

  Sun’s chest inched tighter around her heart, but she forced her expression to stay neutral.

  “And my asthma has been bad, and I know that really bothers you.”

  That did it. “Sweetheart, your asthma doesn’t bother me. I mean, I feel horrible for you, but…” She thought back to the morning she’d found Auri passed out in the bathroom not two weeks earlier. “When I found you on the floor—”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “Auri,” Sun said, exasperated. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?” she asked, leaning away as though suddenly self-conscious.

  “Every time you have an attack, every time you get sick, you apologize. Like it’s somehow your fault.”

  Auri crossed her arms, her shoulders concaving. “I know. I just … I don’t want you to be put out.”

  “Oh, honey.” Sun leaned over and draped an arm over her daughter’s wilting shoulders. “Why would you even think such a thing?”

  “I just don’t want to be a problem.”

  Sun closed her eyes and blocked out the vise crushing her chest. Auri had always been this way. She’d always apologized for getting sick. Or spilling milk. Or, hell, even tripping. What kind of kid apologized for tripping?

  And it all started that pivotal period Sun referred to as the Dark Age. Before that summer, she’d had no idea a child, especially one so young, could become clinically depressed. She’d had no idea a child, most especially one so young, could become self-destructive.

  How bad did things have to be to convince a seven-year-old, a seven-year-old, to contemplate taking her own life?

  The reality suffocated Sunshine every time she let her thoughts drift back to that summer. It still haunted her to the very depths of her soul. And while she and Auri were about as close as a mother and daughter could be, there was a part of her child that Sunshine had never seen. A shadow. A darkness behind the light that had become her reason for breathing.

  She swore she’d never let things get that bad again. She had no choice but to get to the bottom of this. And she was hardly above blackmail. Obvs. “What’s bothering you, hon?”

  Auri fidgeted with her nails. “It’s stupid.”

  “Hey, if you can’t be stupid in front of your mother, who can you be stupid in front of?”

  “I guess.”

  “Spill.”

  Auri looked out the window again, ignoring the kids gawking, and said softly, “Ever since the New Year’s Eve party at the lake—”

  She knew it. She should never have let her go.

  “—everyone at school thinks I’m a narc.”

  Her asthma had been getting steadily worse for the last … wait.

  Sun stilled when her daughter’s words sank in. She blinked in surprise, then asked, “I’m sorry, a narc?”

  “Two of your deputies showed up and confiscated the keg.”

  “They had a keg?” Sun asked, her pitch rising an octave.

  “And someone said it had to be me because my mom was going to be the new sheriff and the deputies had never shown up before and—”

  “Where’d they get a keg?”

  “—and so I probably told my mommy on them.” She’d added air quotes to Sun’s title.

  “I swear, if—” Then it all made sense. Her BFF’s New Year’s Eve party. She’d wondered where he’d scored a keg that late at night. “That’s where he got all that beer.”

  “Who?”

  “Quincy.”

  Quincy Cooper had been Sun’s best friend since kindergarten. He’d grown a bit since then, however. He was now a cross between a refrigerator and a bank vault door. And he was one of her deputies. What were the odds?

  She winked at Auri. “You get enough beer in that boy and he’ll strip.”

  “Mom!” She pulled out her inhaler and took a hit.

  “Sorry, hon.” Sun switched back into mama-bear mode. “Who? Who would say such a thing about you?” She leaned toward her. “Just give me a name.”

  “I don’t have one. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Everyone’s saying it now. You can’t arrest everyone.”

  “Arrest them?” Sun snorted. “I’m going to send them a thank-you card. Or a fruit basket. Or a lifetime supply of anti-itch cream. That stuff comes in so handy.”

  Auri’s jaw dropped.

  “This solves all my problems.” She rubbed her hands together, not unlike a villain in a comic book. “Think about it. The rich kids won’t invite you to parties because they think you’re a narc. The druggies won’t invite you to parties because, again, they think you’re a narc. All my worries gone in one fell swoop.”

  “Mother.”

  “This is the best news I’ve had all day. High five?” She raised her palm and gave her daughter a once-over, only to realize the kid wasn’t falling for it.

  Auri crossed her arms over her chest. “I know you.”

  “Good thing, since you call me Mom. It would be awkward if—”

  “I can handle this. It’s my problem.”

  “I know.” Sun feigned offense. “But you know, if you happen to find out who started such a vicious rumor—”

  “I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “I’m appalled,” Sun said, appalled.

  “Unlike my new rep, I am not, nor have I ever been, a narc.”

  Sun knew that for a fact. Boy, did she know. “Fine. Just remember, if you do have to cut a bitch—”

  “I know, I know.” Auri slid the strap of her backpack over her shoulder. “Don’t leave any DNA evidence at the crime scene.”

  “Oh. Right. I was going to say don’t leave any witnesses alive, but that works, too.” She leaned over and gave the fruit-of-her-loom a hug despite their ever-growing audience. Cool thing was, Auri let her.

  God, she loved that kid.

  * * *

  Having taken the scenic route through town, Sun pulled into her parking space at the
station with a nostalgic smile on her face. She’d forgotten how beautiful Del Sol was, especially when blanketed with fresh snow. It was enchanting and mystical and serene.

  Passersby would find the town tranquil. Spiritual, even. And it was. She’d give it that. But it was also quirky and charismatic and unpredictable. Just like the people who inhabited it. For the most part.

  A large black font graced the side of the stucco building that read Del Sol County Sheriff’s Posse.

  Her posse.

  God, she’d always wanted a posse. Of course, she’d envisioned them all on horseback, racing over the rugged countryside in search of a man with a black hat and a handlebar mustache, but this would do.

  For now.

  Sadly, a sharp rap on her window startled her out of her prepubescent fantasy. She hadn’t even gotten to the good part where a Native American named Tarak saved her after the bad guy shot her in the shoulder, and they made sweet, sensuous love by a campfire—apparently, she healed really fast—before resuming the search the next day, capturing said bad guy, and taking him to be sentenced by the Hanging Judge, thus making the Great Plains great again. And bad-guy free.

  C’est la vie.

  She peered through the window, first at a police-issue flashlight angled against the glass, second at a blond-haired, blue-eyed, half-Latino in a starched black uniform and a gun at his hip. The refrigerator-sized intruder wore a grin that could weaken the knees of a sisterhood of nuns.

  Quincy. Of course he’d be there to greet her.

  She opened the door and jumped into the arms of her very best friend on planet Earth. Apart from Auri. And her hamster, Gentleman Jack, but he’d died decades ago. So, Quincy had moved up a notch.

  She’d warned him at the promotion ceremony he had some mighty big shoes to fill. Or he would have if hamsters wore shoes. But Quincy took it all in stride, confident in his ability to run on a spinning wheel and crawl through plastic tunnels.

  They were five. Their aspirations hadn’t been particularly lofty.

  He lifted her off the ground with a chuckle, and she squealed, the sound very unsherifflike.

  “Sunburn Freyr,” he said when he put her down and held her at arm’s length, “as I live and breathe.” He acted like he hadn’t seen her in decades when, in truth, they’d met for one meal or another every chance they’d gotten over the years, which wasn’t nearly as often as Sunshine would have liked. And they’d even brought in the New Year together. With a confiscated keg, apparently. But the enthusiasm was welcome.