A Bad Day for Sunshine

by Jones, Darynda

  She sent Zee and Salazar to grab lunch so they could get back to guard the perimeter.

  “What are you thinking?” Sun asked Quincy as they followed the K-9 unit, searching the grounds for anything out of the ordinary.

  When he spoke, his breath fogged in the air. “That I’m cold. And hungry. And that I’m in the wrong business. I need to join the K-9 unit.”

  “Right? I’d be horrible, though. I’d call my partner Princess and let her sleep with me.”

  “Sheriff?” the officer called out.

  They hurried through the snow to where Officer Bones was sniffing the ground excitedly. “Did you find something?”

  “Not sure.” He called the dog back and let Sun poke around.

  “Here,” Quincy said, brushing snow away with a gloved hand. He lifted a pink button off the ground. It had a tiny blue flower painted on it with brown flecks.

  “Is this what he detected?” Sun asked the officer, but he needn’t have answered. The dog barked when Quincy held it out.

  “There might be blood on it,” he explained. “Bones is a cadaver dog.”

  Quincy dropped the button into an evidence bag, and they combed the entire area more thoroughly, but Officer Bones found nothing else of interest. To him, anyway. Sun found a receipt under a tree a few yards from the house. Thanks to the cover of trees, the ground beneath it was wet but snowless, and the receipt sat under a clump of leaves.

  But it was recent enough that the ink hadn’t faded completely despite the weather conditions. It was a receipt from the Quick-Mart convenience store for an energy drink, paid for with cash, and while the date had faded, the receipt number hadn’t. She hoped the store could look up the transaction based on that number and give her an exact date and time.

  Sun sealed it in a bag and went inside to speak with Mari before they left.

  The woman had lain down on her sofa, and the doctor was checking her vitals.

  “Is she okay, Doc?” Sun asked.

  He glanced at her in surprise. “Sunshine Freyr.”

  She smiled. “It’s Vicram now.”

  “Oh yes, that’s right. You’re our new sheriff.” He finished checking Mari’s blood pressure and put the stethoscope away. “Congratulations.”

  Raj Finely had been her doctor since she was a kid. She’d loved him ever since she’d caught a raging fever and he’d stayed up with her all night, soaking her in cool washrags. His frailty did nothing to diminish her crush.

  “Thank you.” She knelt down and placed a hand on Mari’s shoulder. “How is she?”

  “She’s fine,” Mari said from behind a wet towel over her face.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Can you look at something for me?”

  She lowered the towel as the doctor busied himself by putting away his things.

  Sun lifted the evidence bag with the button. “Is this Sybil’s?”

  She squinted, then nodded and sat up straight, hope evident in her expression. “Yes. Where did you find that?”

  “What’s it from?”

  “Oh,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I think it was on a backpack she used to carry. It had buttons. You know, decorative. But she hasn’t carried that backpack in, oh gosh, probably a year or more. Do you think she has it with her?”

  “I don’t know, hon. We found this under a window outside, but on the opposite side of the house from her bedroom.” She pointed down a long corridor. “What’s at the end of this hall?”

  Mari was having trouble concentrating. Whatever the doc had given her seemed to be working. “It’s, um, the laundry room. That’s the only room on that wall with a window. The other door leads to the garage.”

  Sun looked at Quincy, but he was already headed that way. She jumped up and followed him.

  “Do you think we’ve been processing the wrong room?” he asked when she caught up.

  They opened the door to what looked like the aftermath of a tornado.

  “Holy shit,” he said. He got on his radio and called in a team to process the room as Sun looked around.

  “I don’t see any blood,” she said, her voice soft with relief.

  “It’s no wonder Mrs. St. Aubin didn’t hear anything. She was on the opposite side of the house.”

  Sun walked carefully to the window, stepping over strewn clothes and towels. “If nothing else, this gives us a strong indication that Sybil was taken.”

  “I agree,” Quincy said. “I find it creepy as hell, and it has me questioning everything I’ve ever known, but I agree.”

  He was right. The letter—the premonition—was hard to explain.

  When her deputies got back, Sun sent Zee to question the neighbors. If this guy was staking out the place, one of them may have seen him. Then she set Salazar to watch the St. Aubin home.

  “You know who could really help with this investigation?” she asked Quincy as they headed back into the house.

  “Who’s that? We’ve called in everyone.”

  “Not everyone. I still haven’t seen hide nor hair of Bo.”

  “Who?” he asked, beginning the game anew.

  She rolled her eyes so far back into her head she almost seized. “This again?”

  He cleared the three steps to the front door in one giant step. Sun thought about doing the same, but she didn’t feel like falling on her ass just then.

  “What again?”

  “Quincy,” she said, her tone brooking no argument.

  He turned to her, the picture of innocence. “Sunshine.”

  “Where is Lieutenant Bobby Britton?”

  “Oh, LT? Why didn’t you just ask? He’s probably still out on a call.” He started inside, but she grabbed his arm.

  “There haven’t been any calls besides the one we are on.”

  “Oh, right.” He chuckled and started inside again.

  “I swear to God, Cooper, if you don’t tell me where Bo is—”

  “Who?” he asked as he headed for the living room.

  Sun welded her teeth together and drew in a deep, calming breath. She would get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing she did as sheriff of Del Sol County. Which, if the mayor had her way, could be pretty soon.

  After checking with Mari about the energy drink, a beverage no one in the house drank, Sun and Quincy headed back to town to grab a bite and check in. The closer they got to town, the louder Quince’s stomach growled.

  “Sorry,” he said as they pulled into the Shed, an amazing breakfast-and-lunch place that served the best breakfast burritos this side of the Pecos. And they served them all day. Ish. They were only open until 3:00 p.m.

  “I know what I’m having,” she said, suddenly ravenous despite the upset state of her stomach.

  “I know what you’re having, too. You really need to switch it up every so often. Be more adventurous. Like me.”

  She pursed her lips. “You order the same thing every time we come here. You have since high school.”

  “You’ve been gone a long time, sweet cheeks.”

  “Oh yeah, Mr. Chicken Burrito Smothered in Green?”

  “Yeah, Miss Green Chile Breakfast Burrito with Extra Salsa on the Side.”

  “Okay, fine, what else do you order?”

  A smile stretched across his handsome face. “A chicken burrito smothered in red.”

  Sun snorted.

  “Oh, it gets better.”

  “No,” she said, waiting with bated breath, the anticipation killing her.

  “Yep. Sometimes I go crazy. Sometimes I order a chicken burrito Christmas-style.”

  Sun gasped playfully, the conversation proving to be the salve they needed after such a strenuous morning. “You know what you are?” she asked, keeping up the game.

  “A chile connoisseur?”

  “I was going to say a chile slut.”

  That time, he gasped. “Who told? Was it Wanda Stephanopoulos from the Book Babes? I knew I shouldn’t have let that woman hump my leg.”

  They burst out laughin
g as Sun let the levity of the moment overtake her. It felt good. Just like the image of that tiny lady wrapping herself around the massive deputy. The Book Babes were nothing if not entertaining.

  They stepped inside the Shed, a miniscule place that always had more customers than chairs. Thankfully, Sun and Quincy were ordering to go. The crowded room went silent when they walked in, and all eyes landed on the law enforcement officers. Quincy, they were used to. Sun, not so much.

  The pair stepped to the counter to give their order when an older man walked up, took her hand, and slapped her on the shoulder. “Congratulations on the win, Sheriff.”

  “Thank you,” she said, more than a little surprised.

  And the floodgates opened. Each patron stood and took a turn to offer her a hardy congrats before sitting down to their food again. Everyone seemed pleased and hopeful with her win. Everyone except the former sheriff, who sat seething in a corner booth.

  Baldwin Redding had a thick body and thin hair, and both of those adjectives could describe his mental state.

  Sun chose to ignore him and turned back to the waiting server. But when he stood as well, the room fell silent again. The server stepped back as though afraid. After everything Sun had heard, she couldn’t blame her.

  “Sheriff,” he said when he stepped within earshot. He gave her a once-over, his face distorting as though on the verge of laughter.

  “Former Sheriff,” Sun said in return.

  The reminder wiped the smirk off the man’s face. “I’d hate for your election win to be called into question.”

  “Not as much as I’d hate for your terms served to be called into question, but we all have our burdens to bear.”

  He bit down, then let the smirk reemerge as he said, “I hear you’re having a really bad first day.”

  “On the contrary. I’m glad I can actually be of use in these types of situations. I’m not sure what you could have done.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “Okay,” she said, adding a healthy dose of pep.

  He gave her one more leisurely appraisal, as though that would unnerve her. Clearly, he’d never been a woman walking past a construction site. After he’d finished, he tipped his hat and then sauntered, actually sauntered, out the door.

  “Tootles,” she called after him.

  Quincy leaned into her. “Honestly, who names their son Baldwin? It’s like they set him up for failure from the get-go.”

  Sun nodded. “Or, at the very least, male-pattern baldness.”

  Quince snorted, then rubbed his own head, suddenly worried.

  “Speaking of which, thanks for the backup.”

  He laughed softly. “Yeah, like you need my help with the likes of that pile of shit.”

  He had a point.

  They got to the station just in time to eat one-tenth of their food before a call came in. A very interesting one.

  Dispatcher Anita Escobar, the pretty blonde with masses of unruly hair pulled back into a thick ponytail, rushed into her office as they ate, almost bursting at the seams with the news. And yet she said nothing. She waited for Sun to address her, which took a moment because she’d just taken a huge bite.

  “Yes?” she asked after swallowing.

  “I don’t want to bother you.”

  Sun chuckled. “Yes, you do. Spill.”

  “We got a call from Mr. Parks. You might remember him? He owns the feedstore just off 63? Anyway, it seems a red-haired girl fitting Sybil’s description has been seen hanging out with that Ravinder boy. The young one with autism. Jimmy.”

  Sun stilled. Jimmy Ravinder was Levi’s nephew. Though a few years older than Auri, he was born with a disability. From what Sun’s mother had told her about him, he was fairly high-functioning but would probably need at least a little assistance for the rest of his life.

  She looked at Quincy, who knew how high the stakes had rocketed without her saying a word. Because there were few things members of the Ravinder clan liked less than a law enforcement officer questioning them about one of their own. Unless it was two law enforcement officers. No way was she going out to the Ravinder compound without backup.

  10

  Soup of the Day: Whiskey

  —SIGN AT THE ROADHOUSE BAR AND GRILL

  Auri had lost count as to how many times she’d entered a classroom late that day, so when she stepped inside her sixth-period classroom, late yet again, the students turned and watched her walk to the teacher’s desk with schedule in hand.

  American Sign Language. She’d finally arrived. She’d been looking forward to this class for weeks, and it was all Jimmy Ravinder’s fault.

  When they were younger, Jimmy had had a difficult time talking, so his mother and his uncle Levi learned some ASL to help him communicate. And Jimmy taught her. She didn’t know much, but whenever Jimmy got flustered, he’d use sign to talk. And she’d been fascinated ever since.

  But the school year was half over. To get into the second semester of ASL I, she first had to catch up on the first. She’d spent her entire break learning the signs, classifiers, and grammar—which, in ASL, was mostly on the face—so they’d let her into the class.

  Mrs. Johnson, a pear-shaped woman with short red hair and purple wire-framed glasses, signed her schedule and handed it back to her along with a book and workbook. Then, without a word, she gestured toward a desk in the middle of the room.

  Auri ignored the eerie silence and slid into her seat as quietly as possible, only to find Mrs. Johnson finger-spelling in the air while reading from her computer screen.

  She would pause and look up at a raised hand, and then repeat the whole thing again and again, and Auri realized she was taking roll. Panic began to rise inside her when she found herself unable to understand a single thing she spelled. It was all so fast, the teacher’s hand a blur of motion, and yet every time she paused, a student would raise his or her hand.

  She’d made a mistake. A huge one. When she felt a trickle of perspiration slip down her back, she followed it, sinking farther down in her chair.

  The teacher stopped and looked up as though confused. She looked at her screen again and then back at the class. Then she stood, put her hands on her hips, and said aloud, “Mr. De los Santos, what are you doing in my classroom?”

  Like the rest of the class, Auri turned to see Cruz hunkered down in the back row.

  He lifted an indifferent shoulder and said, “Have to have two years of a foreign language. ASL counts.”

  “Yes,” she said as though struggling for patience, “but why are you in this class?”

  “I don’t like the French teacher.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No one likes the French teacher.” The entire class erupted in laughter, but she continued, “But that doesn’t explain why you are in my class.”

  Clearly, the teacher had a problem with Cruz, but Auri was getting defensive. If he needed the credit, she couldn’t stop him from getting it, could she?

  “Two years. There are only two classes. ASL I and ASL II. I don’t have a choice.”

  Mrs. Johnson crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against her desk. “You know very well that you could test out of this class and take the next one. You could test out of that one, too, if you really wanted to.”

  Auri straightened her shoulders in surprise.

  “So, once again, why are you in my class?”

  He lifted that same shoulder and let his gaze land on Auri. “I like the company.”

  The class laughed again, and Mrs. Johnson went back around her desk, but before she sat down, she signed something to Cruz, her movements so fast, Auri only caught one word: help.

  Cruz nodded as though agreeing to something, but that wasn’t the interesting part. He’d understood her. Every word. As though he knew ASL as well as he knew English, because another student raised her hand, shook her head, and signed understand. She didn’t understand either and was asking for clarification.

  Mrs. Johnson s
poke aloud again. “I just asked Mr. De los Santos if he would consider helping out in class every so often, and he agreed.”

  The female student flashed him a smile, clearly as impressed as Auri, but he didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he seem to notice the seven other girls vying for his attention. But he did notice Auri. He had yet to take his eyes off her.

  Auri faced the teacher again before she lost control of her own inane smile, but she burned with a million questions for him, not the least of which how he seemed to know ASL so well. Hopefully, she’d find out when she interviewed him for their history assignment.

  When the teacher passed out a worksheet, Auri opted to check out Sybil’s schedule instead. As luck would have it, she shared not one, not two, but three classes with Sybil, and one of those was their seventh-period class, athletics.

  After obsessing over Cruz and the fact that he knew ASL like the back of his hand through the entire class, Auri refocused her energy twenty minutes later on investigating the elusive St. Aubin girl. So far, no one in her seventh period knew that much about her. Nor did they know of any friends she may have had.

  But surely Sybil hung out with someone in PE. There was safety in numbers in such a class.

  As luck would have it, Chastity was in the class, too. The only person in school ridiculously happy to see Auri rushed up to her after they dressed out. Auri was assigned to the bleachers since she had yet to purchase the requisite uniform, which was basically shorts and a tee in the school colors, red and gold.

  Still, bleachers as opposed to slamming her face into someone’s elbow during basketball? New-girl perk.

  “Hi!” Chastity said, sitting beside her on the bleachers while the teacher, a curvy brunette, took roll. “I have an extra pair of shorts and a tee if you want to dress out.”

  “I’m good,” Auri said with a grin.

  Chastity laughed. “Right. Sorry. So, you and Cruz seem to be getting along well.”

  “Um . . . thanks?”

  “Oh, you’re welcome. Remember that summer Miller Thomas almost drowned and Cruz De los Santos jumped in and dragged him out, doing that lifeguard hold while the lifeguard just kind of stood on the pier with his mouth hanging open? That was so crazy. And then he got a medal for bravery and—”