A Good Day for Chardonnay

by Darynda Jones

  “And later the Sordid Sons,” Cyrus said.

  Sun looked up at her dad. So proud of him.

  “Also, for the record, the fact that Sheriff Campbell Scott went missing himself a few months later had nothing to do with me.”

  Sun and Quincy exchanged glances and decided to let it go. For now.

  “Wait,” Sun said, thinking back to her research. “I thought the Dangerous Daughters was formed in the thirties after the mines shut down and a bunch of women were left undefended when the men went off to find work elsewhere.”

  Even the mayor was surprised by her question. “You really did your homework.”

  “Told you,” Mrs. Fairborn said. She held out her hand and the mayor slapped a five into it. The older woman cackled again and stuffed it into her bra before turning back to them. “I suppose I should have said I brought the Dangerous Daughters back to life. My mother first started them when a group of men came in and tried to take over the town. And the women running it. There were about a dozen men. An outlaw gang called the Oxford Boys.”

  “Why?” the mayor asked.

  “I think it had something to do with their shoes. All spit shined and fancy.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “And what’s an outlaw gang to do when it finds a town full of women all alone and defenseless?” When Sun only smiled, she said, “And that, my dear, is the true beginning of the Double Ds.”

  “Wow.” Quincy sat back in thought.

  “What happens now?” Sun asked. “We’re just part of the gang?”

  “You need to learn our mission statement and rules and swear to uphold them, but yeah. For the most part.”

  “Rules like?”

  “Our main mission is to shift the balance from those susceptible to corruption, those with too much power, and even it out,” her mother said.

  Royce expanded on that. “And we cannot ever use our position to gain power or favor for ourselves, to sway a vote on the city council for personal gain that does not benefit the whole town, for example.”

  “You’re fighting basic human nature,” Sun said thoughtfully. “Who wouldn’t use their position to get a little extra parking at their business, if possible?”

  “Which is why there are thirteen of us. We keep each other in line.”

  “Boy, do they,” Ruby Moore, the woman with the affinity for baking cursed muffins, said with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t even try to get special permission to hold a mass séance in the cemetery on All-Hallows Eve. You would’ve thought I was asking permission to kill my husband and bury his body in the backyard.”

  The mayor reminded her, “You did ask permission to kill your husband and bury his body in the backyard.”

  “I was joking.” She glanced around. “It was a joke.”

  “Our system is far from perfect, Sunshine,” Mrs. Fairborn said. “But it’s the best we can make it and it’s worked well for the past fifty-plus years.”

  Sun crossed her arms over her chest. “I think it’s amazing, Mrs. Fairborn. What you’ve done.”

  “Does that mean you’re in?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I’m in.” Really, how could she not be?

  “And you, Chief Deputy Cooper?” Cyrus asked Quincy.

  “I was in the minute you gave me this coin.” He admired it again and Sun laughed softly. He was like a chipmunk in fall.

  They served a dinner for Mrs. Fairborn, all of her favorites, but Sun could tell she was getting tired.

  She pulled her aside. “If you’re ready to get some rest, I can take you home.” The woman did just get out of the hospital, after all.

  Was that what all of this was about? Did the sons and daughters choose today because they were worried about her? Or had today been the plan all along and the attack was just bad timing?

  “I guess I am getting a little tired,” Mrs. Fairborn said. She reached into her mammoth bag and handed a small tin to Sun. It was an antique sewing kit, the box rusted and the paint peeling. “This is for you. She who wears the crown…”

  “Mrs. Fairborn, I am beyond honored to have been accepted into this organization, especially considering the limited seating, but the crown? For me to be Dangerous … I mean, the others have been here so much longer. They’ve put in the time and served the town.”

  “Sweetheart.” She patted her arm. “I chose you as my successor over ten years ago.”

  Sun felt her eyes widen. “I don’t understand.”

  “The way you handled … well, everything. I knew you were the one.”

  The abduction. Of course. “I hardly handled anything, Mrs. Fairborn. It happened. I just dealt with it the best way I knew how. If it weren’t for my parents, I would’ve been lost.”

  “That’s all any of us can do, love. But I disagree. I think, with or without your parents, you would’ve handled it all exactly the way you did. Not with anger or resentment, but with dignity and grace and, dare I say, a healthy dose of fuck you.”

  A bubble of laughter erupted from Sun’s chest.

  “You refused to let what happened stop you, to use it as a crutch, and you’ve only ever done right by that baby girl of yours.”

  “She’s easy to do right by,” Sun said, her appreciation boundless.

  Mrs. Fairborn pushed the tin into her hands. “Like I said, she who wears the crown…”

  Sun opened it. It was an assortment of odds and ends one might find at the bottom of a junk drawer. She rifled through it and brought out an old driver’s license.

  “Eugene Cosgrove,” Mrs. Fairborn said. “Thirty-four years old. Steelworker from Pittsburgh. Headed to California for the American dream. Went missing November of ’59.”

  She put it back and brought out a tortoiseshell comb.

  “Virginia Bagwell. Fifty-four years old. Frontierswoman and explorer. Shot two men dead while helping to save a family in south Texas from a racially motivated attack. Went missing August of ’63.”

  She placed it gently in the box and brought out a gold band.

  “Martin Gallegos. Thirty-eight years old. Headed to California to look for work. Left behind a wife and six children. Went missing May of ’61. His youngest son went on to head one of the most successful detective agencies in the Southwest.”

  She rubbed her fingertips over the tarnished gold, put it back, and pulled out a silver money clip.

  “Darren Honeywell. He was an asshole.”

  She replaced the clip with a soft laugh and picked up a vial of perfume.

  “Emily Press. Twenty-three years old. Took a necklace worth a couple hundred dollars at the time that was left to her specifically by her grandmother and ran from her abusive uncle. Went missing April of ’65.”

  “You have all of these memorized,” Sun said, astonished and heartbroken at the same time.

  “It’s all in my notes. All the people. All the families. I found Mortimer’s trunk in the carriage house after he died. Took me years of research to figure out who some of them were. Three were drifters I could find nothing on. And two more are still unaccounted for. I thought maybe you could pick up where I left off.” She handed Sun a file folder. The first page was a photo of the old-fashioned leather trunk.

  “How do you know for sure there were twenty-three?”

  She pointed to a strap on the top. “He kept a running tally. Notches in the top of the trunk. I could only find information on twenty-one. But the trunk and everything in it is yours. And Aurora’s, of course. I have a feeling she would love to try to find the last two of my husband’s victims. To be able to contact their families and let them know what happened to their loved ones.”

  “There are twenty-four notches,” Sun said, counting again.

  “Yeah, that last one is for Mortimer. Thought he’d like to see how it felt to have one’s entire life reduced to a notch in a leather strap.”

  Sun studied the frail woman at her side. Marveled at her tenacity. “Have you contacted any of these families yet?”

  “Na
h. I don’t figure they want to hear from the widow of the man who killed their loved ones. You can, though. I’m sure they would like answers, even sixty years later.”

  “You realize Auri is going to take this and run with it.”

  The older woman’s eyes sparkled with warmth. “I’m counting on it.”

  A little while later, Quincy walked up to her as everyone sat around a table, an Arthurian round table made of thick wood and iron hardware, laughing and talking about Mrs. Fairborn and her antics. Her penchant for confessing to every crime ever committed came up often and lent itself to a lot of hearty laughter.

  It was simply one of her quirks. How she coped with the horrors she’d endured, perhaps.

  But the dinner, while very nice and nostalgic and heartfelt, saddened Sun to the depths of her soul. The entire town should be celebrating this woman’s life. Not just the people in this room.

  Quincy leaned closer and had clearly been thinking the same thing. “This isn’t enough,” he said, sad himself. “After everything she’s done.”

  “I agree.” Then a thought hit her. “Hey, remember Gentleman Jack?”

  He leveled a stoic expression on her. “What does the hamster you had when we were five have to do with anything?”

  “You gave him a wonderful celebration of life when he died.”

  He thought back. “Oh, yeah. I did.”

  She decided to forgo reminding him how he cried over GJ for days. “Maybe we could do that for Mrs. Fairborn only while she’s still with us. Like on her next birthday.”

  He brightened. “I could totally do that.”

  “Okay, it’s next week.”

  “Oh, hell.” His mind raced. “I have so much to do. I need to call the caterer. And get napkins ordered. And what about a champagne fountain?”

  Oh, yeah. He clearly missed his calling. He stood to make some calls.

  “You okay, Sunny?”

  She turned to see her dad take a seat beside her. “I am. I’m so honored, Dad.”

  “But?”

  “I’m just not sure I’m the girl for this.”

  “I have to be honest. I don’t think Mrs. Fairborn has been wrong a day in her life.”

  “She married Mortimer.”

  “Touché.”

  She laughed, and then thought about what Rojas had said. “Can I ask you something completely unrelated?”

  He took a swig of root beer as though it were a microbrew, and said, “Always.”

  “There’s no delicate way of putting this, so here goes. Were you ever in prison?”

  He’d been in the middle of downing the rest of his brewski when she’d asked. He spit out the last swallow and proceeded to cough for the next five minutes. His face turned a sickly shade of purple and he gagged—a lot—repeating one sound over and over that reminded Sun of someone trying to start a chainsaw.

  Clearly, she was on to something.

  Her mother rushed over and took the opportunity to beat him senseless, asking if he needed water. Or CPR. Or Vicks VapoRub.

  After another couple of minutes where he had to wave off all the expressions of concern surrounding him, he looked Sun square in the face, and said as calmly as a windless summer day, “No. Why do you ask?”

  She blinked at him.

  Her mother beat him on the back again for good measure.

  He blinked at Sun.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “We’ll circle back to that. For now, I’m going to go see if Levi wants to have sex with me.”

  It was her mother’s turn to cough, only she coughed more delicately, and her gag sounded less like a chainsaw and more like the plumbing had backed up.

  On the bright side, her dad got to beat her mom for a bit. Good times.

  She pulled the tin box close to her chest, proof that this precious thing called life could be taken away with the snap of a finger. It was too short, and Sun had too many things she wanted to accomplish before her journey came to an end.

  Having copious amounts of sex with the man of her dreams had been at the top of her bucket list for decades, and she wasn’t getting any younger. Anything more would be pushing her luck, as they’d never really been on the same page about these things, but she would not go to her grave without having at least tried to have sex—real sex—with the man.

  After her mother recovered, she cleared her throat, and said, “Thank God.” She looked at her husband. “We can cancel that idiot Johnson boy.”

  “What idiot Johnson boy?”

  Her mother opened her bag, took out a sheet of paper, and handed it to her.

  Quincy, apparently having finished organizing Mrs. Fairborn’s celebration of life, sat beside her and read over her shoulder. It was a list of names with the three at the top crossed out. Jay Johnson was next.

  “You have a list?” she asked appalled. “You’re just going down a list?”

  “I like to be organized.”

  Quincy leaned over and pointed to a name.

  “Joshua Ravinder?” she screeched. “You were going to set me up with Levi’s cousin?”

  Her mother pressed her mouth together. “It’s a small town, honey. Our choices are limited.”

  Her dad patted her hand. “We didn’t know how else to make you see the light.”

  “And what light would that be? The red one? Because you guys clearly shop at Pimps-R-Us.”

  Her mother pinched her lips tighter. “Don’t be dramatic, dear. We had to make you realize that nobody else was right for you.”

  “Nobody else? You mean other than a hired assassin?”

  “You’re never going to let us live that down, are you?”

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  Quincy put an arm around her shoulders and rocked her as she went through three of the five stages of grief.

  27

  Caller reported the little boy across the street

  must’ve heard something he shouldn’t have.

  He keeps licking whipped cream off her cat.

  —DEL SOL POLICE BLOTTER

  “You’re going to see Levi?” Auri asked when Sun called to check in on her way home. They had taken Cruz for some tests, and she was all alone in her hospital room. “He’s been here all afternoon, but he left a little bit ago. He should be at his house in about fifteen.”

  “He was with you?”

  “What do you smell like?”

  “Tacos and disappointment.”

  “Mom.”

  “Cheesecake and loneliness.”

  “Mother.”

  “Xanax and the cold dark abyss of utter failure.”

  “Muh-ther. Men have a very strong sense of smell. He’ll like you more if you smell good.”

  “Please. He’s been sniffing moonshine his whole life. How good can his sense of smell be?” Just in case, she lifted her collar and took a whiff. Not bad. Could be worse. “Maybe I should shower first,” she said, doubting herself now. “Even though,” she added, recovering in the nick of time, “I am just going over there to go over what happened in the mine. We’re being deposed in the morning.”

  “You have to get your stories straight?”

  “There’s nothing to get straight, sweetie.”

  “Yeah. Right. Okay. Wear pink.”

  “Auri.”

  “Guys like pink.”

  “I’ll be at the hospital in a couple of hours. Quincy is on his way now. And your grandparents are getting a hotel.”

  “They’re still sneaking around? The whole town knows about them.”

  “Love your face, bug.”

  “Love yours more.”

  * * *

  Hailey Ravinder answered Sun’s soft knock on the front door to the Ravinders’ sprawling ranch house. The Ravinders used to live in squalor, their shacks, little better than tin cans, peppering the landscape. Levi started Dark River Shine and changed all of that. He’d taken them from the backwoods to Hollywood as his corn whiskey was very en vogue, a favorite among celebrities.

&n
bsp; “Quincy Cooper?” Sun asked her, a wicked grin on her face. Yes, she was a twelve-year-old.

  Hailey stepped over the threshold and eased the door closed. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to see your brother.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She seemed to deflate.

  “Are you disappointed?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  Sun couldn’t help but notice Hailey had curled her hair and applied a touch of mascara and blush. She really was a beauty. Though her party years did roughen the edges a bit, she would be called a looker in anyone’s book.

  Still, Hailey and Quincy? Her brain couldn’t quite make the connection.

  Hailey chewed on a nail. “Did he say anything about me?”

  “He didn’t give me a note to pass to you, if that’s what you’re wondering, but I do know he’s going to be at the hospital for a while. All alone. With no one to talk to.”

  She smirked. “He’ll have Auri and Cruz.”

  “Exactly. You know what it’s like talking to teens. He’ll lose what few marbles he has.”

  “Jimmy has been bugging me to go see her.”

  “See?” Look at her, all Cupidlike. “So, he’s apparently been interested in you for a while.”

  “Why? Did he say something?”

  “No. He won’t tell me anything. My question is, how long have you been interested in him?”

  She thought back. “Okay, do you remember when his shoulders got all wide and his biceps got all round and bumpy?”

  Sun giggled.

  “It was somewhere around there.”

  “So, a while ago.”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, every other girl in Del Sol noticed his transformation, too.”

  “I don’t think he’s interested in every other girl.”

  She wiggled her shoulders in delight, then said, “The dark lord just got back,” referring to Levi. “He’s in his room.” She opened the door and gestured to the stairs behind her.

  “And Clay?” Sun asked, worried about having to deal with their toxic uncle.