A Bad Day for Sunshine--A Novel

by Darynda Jones

  “Hi,” she said softly, holding out her hand even though his were full. “I’m Auri.”

  He put the beer down, took her hand and smiled, then turned to Cruz.

  Cruz signed what she said, finger-spelling her name. She recognized that much. And humiliation washed over her. Cruz was fluent in ASL, and the lamp flickered when they rang the doorbell. It didn’t take a genius to figure out someone in his family was probably deaf.

  When she realized her cheeks had warmed substantially, they warmed even more and she worried they’d catch her hair on fire. Hair engulfed in flames was not a good look for anyone.

  “Hi,” Cruz said, interpreting for his dad. “I’m Chris. You’re new, right?”

  She smiled. “Yes. We just moved back.”

  “Your mom is the new sheriff. I was so glad she won,” Chris said as Cruz interpreted, making the most charming face. “I voted for her.”

  Auri beamed at him. “Thank you.”

  “We have a school project to work on. Is that okay?”

  The man narrowed his eyes on his son, then agreed. He signed something really fast, and Cruz said, “Okay, fine.”

  They walked past him and to Cruz’s room.

  “What did your dad say?”

  Cruz was busy picking up clothes and tossing them into a hamper. He moved a pile of books so she could sit at his desk. “He told me I’m still grounded until the stars burn out.”

  “Oh. Wow. That sucks. What happened?”

  “Nothing. A fight. Not even a fight. An almost fight. It’s all good.”

  “An almost fight? Who’d you almost fight?” Then she remembered the kid in the hall. “Oh yeah. That kid from this morning. You weren’t suspended.”

  “The kid told Jacobs we weren’t fighting.”

  “Were you?”

  He shrugged and sat on the edge of his bed. He’d been watching TV in his room with the captions on.

  “Do you always watch TV with the captions on?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I got used to it. Dad thinks it helped me learn to read at such an early age.”

  “Really? How old were you?”

  “Is that part of the interview?” He seemed almost as uncomfortable as she was.

  Embarrassed, she took out her notebook. “It’s a great hook. Especially with how incredible your poetry is.”

  “You a writer or something?”

  “I want to be. Or a detective like my mom. Or a brain surgeon.”

  He didn’t smile when she said it.

  “I’m just kidding. The last thing I want to do is play with people’s brains.”

  “So, no zombie apocalypse for you.”

  She giggled as the tension in the room eased. “I’m sorry I didn’t call first. I mean, I tried.”

  “Yeah, still grounded.”

  “Oh.” She shook her head. “I thought—”

  “That I was ghosting you?”

  “Something like that.” Of course, one had to be dating or in some kind of relationship prior to being ghosted to actually be ghosted, but she didn’t point that out.

  He got up and walked out of the room, only to come back with a bottle of baby oil.

  She gaped at him. “Um, I don’t know what you think is going to happen here, but—”

  “You have pizza sauce.”

  Once again, her cheeks heated to the red-hot level of habanero salsa.

  He took a tissue and poured some baby oil on it, then leaned in, his face barely inches from hers, and wiped at the corners of her mouth.

  She closed her eyes, both humiliated and intrigued, and let him. While his touch on her face was gentle, soothing, it was his other touch, his left hand on her knee, that sent tendrils of electricity lacing through her body.

  He pulled the tissue back and showed her the red streaks. “All gone.”

  “Um, thanks, but why baby oil?”

  He shrugged. “Pizza sauce is very acidic. And your lips are already chapped.”

  Embarrassed yet again, she covered her mouth with a hand, but he didn’t notice. He got a clean tissue, poured another couple of drops, then lifted it to her face again. When she didn’t lower her hand, he tugged it off her face and ran the tissue over her lips, the act feather soft.

  His coffee-colored eyes studied her as he did it, and a warmth she hadn’t expected flooded every cell in her body. Then she noticed a scar on his arm.

  She took his hand to maneuver his arm for a better look.

  He pulled it back, and said softly, “Stop.”

  She leaned away from him. “I’m sorry.” She stood and grabbed her backpack. “I’m … I should go.”

  He stood, too, and put a hand on her arm. “Please, don’t.”

  “Look, if you’re mad at me, just say so.”

  “Mad? Why would I be mad at you?”

  She really had no answer. “Be … cause.”

  He stared at her a long moment, spending an inordinate amount of time on her mouth, before saying, “Great reason.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Look,” he said, sitting on the bed again, “I don’t always have the best social skills. I was raised in the deaf world. Their cultural norms are a little different from the hearing world’s.”

  She sat at the desk again. “That is the coolest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  Smothering his confused expression, he asked, “Their cultural norms are a little different?”

  “No, that you were raised in the deaf world. That’s just so cool.”

  He cast her a soft scowl of doubt.

  “Of course, that’s easy for me to say. As an outsider looking in. It must be challenging.”

  “In some ways, it is.”

  “Is your mom deaf, too?”

  He stood and grabbed his backpack off the floor beside her. “No, she was hearing.”

  “Was?”

  “Yeah, she died a few years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry, Cruz. I didn’t know.”

  “And I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Thanks,” she said, genuinely appreciating his thoughtfulness.

  Cruz tossed a notebook on the bed beside him along with a couple of textbooks and an unopened box of pens.

  But it was the notebook she was most interested in. “So, any poetry in there?”

  Without even looking at her, he took the notebook and put it on a shelf behind him. “Nope.”

  “Can I read some?”

  He stopped unpacking his things but still kept his gaze averted. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Why? You’re incredible.”

  “I’m a hack. Just like everyone else at Del Sol.”

  She held out her hand. “Can I be the judge of that?”

  He chewed on his lower lip, then said, “No, but if I ever get to that point, you’ll be the first I tell.”

  Disappointment washed over her, but she understood. It took courage to open yourself up to criticism. “Deal.” Then, to lighten the mood, she brought out the homework assignment. “Okay, do you or have you ever stolen a candy bar from a grocery store?”

  “No,” he said. “It was gummy bears, and it was at a gas station.”

  She laughed, and thus the interviews began.

  13

  Several callers complained about thongs

  hanging from an eighty-five-year-old female’s apple tree.

  When questioned, she explained,

  “It was either the apple tree or the azalea bush.”

  —DEL SOL POLICE BLOTTER

  While Price was out collecting the information from the Quick-Mart, Zee brought Sun her macchiato, then went to her desk to study every inch of the footage they had thus far.

  Sun studied the letter. Again. Like she didn’t have it memorized. Then she opened the diary and started on page one.

  Sybil was so innocent. Too young to prophesy her own death. No wonder she was so shy. So withdrawn. She didn’t know who to trust.

  There were
entries other than her premonition, as well. She liked a boy named Chase in the fifth grade. She loved The Big Bang Theory and wondered why people couldn’t mention Star Wars and Star Trek in the same sentence without infuriating a certain percentage of the population. And she loved—

  Sun looked closer. She loved a girl named Auri like a sister for making her feel seen. In a sea of invisibility, Auri made Sybil feel special.

  Sun’s chest swelled.

  She went back to Sybil’s accounts of the dream. “Come on, Sybil. Give me something new. Anything.” But the girl had been right. It was just more of the same. The dream never changed. She never saw the guy. Never knew why he took her. She only knew how she would die. And when.

  Sun made notes about any changes in the girl’s story, no matter how subtle. But they were mainly expansions in her vocabulary. She began calling it an abduction instead of a kidnapping. And using the word male instead of man. Caucasian instead of white.

  A male voice drifted to her from her office door. “Nobody told me you talk to yourself.”

  She looked up at U.S. Marshal Vincent Deleon. “Nobody told me you eavesdropped, but here we are.”

  He chuckled and stepped inside. “That the diary?”

  “You’ve heard about it?”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “Great,” she said, wielding sarcasm like she was born to. “It’ll probably be on the news tomorrow.”

  “Not necessarily. Your deputies are pros.”

  “True. How was your day?”

  He gestured toward one of the chairs across from her. “May I?”

  “Of course.”

  He sat and stretched before answering, “Two possible sightings. One was from a cat lady who swore he was living in her attic.”

  “Oh no. Mrs. Fairborn?”

  “The one and only. We got excited for all of five minutes until we realized she didn’t have an attic. Her Pueblo-style house had a sparkling new pitched roof, but not enough of a pitch for an attic.”

  “And it took you five minutes to realize that?”

  “What?” he asked, defensive. “We were desperate.”

  “Don’t feel bad. She’s the town sympathizer. Tries to help out where she can. She confesses to everything from shoplifting to murder, because she’s worried the sheriff’s office won’t be able to solve the crimes and she doesn’t want us to look bad.”

  “How do you know? You just started.”

  “She’s been doing it since I was a kid. I caught on when she claimed to be the hijacker of a Piper pilot’s plane who took off and never came back.”

  “What happened with the case?”

  “His wife finally hunted him down. He was in Fiji with his girlfriend. But Mrs. Fairborn was bound and determined to take credit for that one. Said she’d gotten into the drug-running business and she forced poor old Larry, the owner of the plane, into the thug life.” Sun burst out laughing. “Her words. I swear.”

  He put a hand over his eyes while he laughed, then sobered and said, “Makes a mean cup of tea, though.”

  “That she does. And the second?”

  “We thought we had a legitimate sighting from some kids who’d been playing at the lake.”

  “With their parents, I hope.”

  “Yeah, I guess they were ice-skating.”

  “That lake doesn’t get a thick enough ice cap to skate on. Those parents should know that.”

  “Well, we knocked on their door, but the mother said she’d never seen him. And that her kids tended to embellish.”

  She took a moment to admire his strong jaw and warm eyes. He let her. “Most kids do. So, nothing solid?”

  “Other than the guy who called it in, no.” He stood and closed the door, and Sun grew a little wary. Zee was the only other deputy in the station at the moment. Price was still at the Quick-Mart. “It’s strange,” the marshal said.

  “Your face? It’s not that bad.” She said it before realizing what she’d done. Had she flirted? Actually flirted? She never flirted with other law enforcement officials. It was the one rule she’d never broken in all her years as a patrol officer and then a detective.

  And boy, did she get flirted with. She just never returned the favor and had proudly earned the title of Ice Queen. Because women who didn’t succumb to men’s whimsy were obviously cold, heartless bitches.

  He raised his brandy-colored gaze to hers, the one that held both surprise and appreciation. “Well, thank you, but no. A couple of the residents we talked to were lying.”

  It was her turn to be surprised. “How do you know?”

  His expression went flat. “Really?”

  He had a point. “Okay, who was lying?”

  “I got a weird feeling from the mom, and she wouldn’t let me talk to the kids directly, which I found odd.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And then there was another woman who almost fainted when we showed her the picture and asked her if she’d seen Rojas.”

  Concern prickled along her skin.

  “She said her name was Wanda Oxley?”

  Wanda Oxley. The Book Babes had a Wanda Stephanopoulos who was in love with Quincy and a Karen Oxley who was, well, also in love with Quincy, but there was no Wanda Oxley that she knew of.

  “I don’t know a Wanda Oxley. Can you describe her?”

  “Yeah, about yay high.” He held up his hand, but the height he indicated was much taller than Wanda or Karen. “Curvy. Hispanic. Hair done up nice like in a beauty salon.”

  Darlene Tapia. She’d gotten a strange vibe from her that morning, too. That time, alarm shot through her. Could the fugitive be staked out at her house? Was she in trouble?

  But if that were the case, why would he have let her go to the book club meeting?

  “Sorry,” Sun said, chewing on her bottom lip. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about.”

  He sank down in the chair and watched her. “Isn’t there one decent liar in the whole town?”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said, taken aback. “I have played poker with champions. I can lie. Trust me.”

  “Did you win?”

  “So not the point.”

  He chuckled. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”

  She ran her pen over her mouth in thought. “Can I get back to you on that?”

  “Sheriff, I don’t think I need to remind you—”

  “You don’t. I just need to check into something.”

  “Okay, fine. I can let it slide for the moment, but I want the story in return.”

  Sun raised a brow. “The story?”

  “The one about how you single-handedly brought a killer to justice. I want the real story.”

  “Please. It’s like I always say, nothing in law enforcement is single-handed.”

  “Pulling the modest card?”

  “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  He steepled his fingers. “Okay, here’s what I’ve heard. You ignored your captain’s orders and continued to work a murder case you’d been taken off of. Even though her body was found outside of Santa Fe, you believed she was killed in Albuquerque, where she was going to school.”

  “I did believe that, yes.”

  “You had a hunch, so you went back to what you considered the true crime scene, even though the body was found in another city entirely, and questioned the students in the dorms one more time.”

  “That part’s true, too. But in my defense—”

  “And you just happened to ask the right guy the right question on the right night, when he was least expecting it, thus catching him off guard.”

  “The guilty always show their hand eventually. Also, I was dressed like a sorority girl during rush week. He wasn’t expecting to be interrogated.”

  “Was it rush week?”

  “No. But he wasn’t the fraternity type. He had no idea.”

  “And then, what? You could tell by his reaction he’d killed the girl?”

  She let out a long, annoyed si
gh. “Yes. I could tell by his reaction he’d killed the girl.”

  “The next part gets a little murky. You hit him first or he hit you?”

  “Dude, are you with IA?” That was the last thing she needed. A run-in with internal affairs.

  “Please. They wish I was with IA. Who hit first?”

  “He did. He panicked. Apparently, you were right. My poker face sucks. He figured out I knew he’d killed his classmate about a split second after I realized it myself. But what did he do?” She stood up and began pacing. “Did he slam the door and lock it? Did he run? No, he dragged me inside his dorm room to kill me, too.” She gaped at him. “I mean, who does that?”

  Deleon laughed softly, then asked, “So, you got the upper hand—”

  She sat back down. “Only because he’d been chopping vegetables and he’d just cut himself pretty bad, so he was already wounded.”

  “—kicked his ass up one side and down the other—”

  “Only because he just kept coming back for more. I would’ve stopped otherwise.”

  “—and ended up handcuffing him to you and dragging him to the nearest police station.”

  Sun thought back. “Yep. That pretty much covers it.”

  “So, you dragged an unconscious man five blocks instead of taking him to campus PD?”

  “I’d just been in a bar brawl, metaphorically speaking. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  He doubled over laughing. Sun watched him. Still annoyed.

  “What did the desk sergeant say?”

  “I don’t remember exactly, but he put in his report that we were both so bloody, we looked like we’d just stepped out of an ’80s horror film.”

  “I bet,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I gotta ask. You know I have to ask.”

  She raised a brow, waiting with bated breath.

  He leaned closer to the desk and said, “What was the question?”

  She crossed her arms. “I’m not sure you’re worthy.”

  “Oh, I’m more than worthy. Would you like me to prove it? Maybe over drinks?”

  Taken aback for the second time that evening, it was her turn to recline in her chair and give some thought to the situation at hand. But before she got too far, a knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” she said, straightening in her chair.