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.
Still, she settled a warning glare on him.
He cleared his throat and made a correction. “Vicram. Sorry, love. Still can’t get used to that.”
“I’ve been a Vicram for over fifteen years.”
“I’m set in my ways.”
“Well, I can’t get used to the He-Man you’ve become.” She squeezed his biceps. “How much do you eat?”
“Don’t you worry, gorgeous. It’s all muscle.” He flexed the guns for her appraisal.
Sun snorted. Flirting was a part of their shtick. They’d done it since they were kids, before they’d realized what it meant. But now they were in a professional relationship. Their playful banter would have to stop . . . eventually.
He gestured toward the building. “You ready for this?”
She studied the letters again, her stomach doing somersaults. “I don’t know, Quince. How’d they do it?”
“I can’t be sure, but I’d bet my last nickel they used a stencil.”
“You’re funny.”
“I like to think I am.”
“Spill,” she said, infusing her voice with a warning edge.
Quincy laughed and decided to study the snow. “Let’s just say your parents are very talented.”
Talented they may be, but Sun was genuinely worried about her mom and dad. “They got me elected, Quince. Without my knowledge.”
He winced and patted the air, urging her to keep it down.
She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper, which probably carried farther than her voice would have. “How is that even possible? There was a debate, for God’s sake!”
“You did great, by the way. I especially liked your ideas on how to eliminate drunk driving.”
Sun pinched the bridge of her nose, wondering how she managed to debate the previous sheriff when she’d had no clue she was even in the running. “Someday you’re going to have to tell me how they did it.”
The grin he wielded like a rapier served two purposes: to disarm and to charm.
And here Sun thought herself immune to the charisma of Quincy Cooper. Well, okay, she was immune, but she could see the appeal. The allure of the chick magnet—his words—he’d become.
In high school, Quincy had been popular enough. Very well liked. But he’d never been what one would call a ladies’ man. Now, the chunky—his description—former sugar addict looked less like a huggable marshmallow and more like a boulder. His waist had narrowed and his shoulders had widened and his smile had grown into something girls of all ages longed to gaze upon every chance they got.
What did the women at her mother’s book club call him? Ah yes. Stupid hot.
She’d certainly give him that. But deep down, she still saw that sweet kid who fought back tears after skinning his knees on the playground.
And now, after almost fifteen years, the Dynamic Duo—a.k.a. Quincy and Sunshine—was finally back together. Sun could hardly believe the roller coaster of events that had led her here.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay with my being your boss?”
Her chief deputy snorted. “Like anything has changed. When haven’t you bossed me around?”
“Good point.” She hadn’t planned on bringing it up so soon, but she needed to know what awaited her. “All right, Q. Cards on the table. Is the mayor going to let this rest?”
Mayor Donna Lomas seemed to be the only one questioning the legitimacy of Sunshine’s win over Del Sol’s former sheriff. Well, besides said former sheriff. And Sunshine herself.
Quincy turned away from her, but she saw the muscles in his jaw flex as he worked it, a sure sign that not everything was popping up daisies in the Land of Enchantment.
“I don’t know, Sunny. She’s pretty worked up about the whole thing.”
“And she should be.” Sun collapsed against her cruiser. “I mean, isn’t there someone more qualified? You know, someone sheriffier?”
“Okay,” he said, joining her at the cruiser with arms folded across his chest, “let’s think about this. You have a master’s degree in law enforcement. You single-handedly solved one of the highest-profile cases the state has ever seen. And you were the youngest officer to make detective in New Mexico history.” He tilted his head. “I’m thinking no.”
Sun straightened, faced him, and adjusted his tie before replying, “First off, I have a master’s degree in criminal justice, not law en
forcement.”
“Same dif.”
“Second, I was the third-youngest officer to make detective in New Mexico history. I was only the youngest in Santa Fe history.”
“Well, then, I take back everything I said.”
“And third, no case is ever solved single-handedly.” She patted his cheek. “You should know that by now, Chief Deputy Cooper.”
He let a calculating smile widen across his face. “Keep telling yourself that, peaches. I read the file.”
“Hmmm.” Refusing to argue the point, she returned her attention to the building.
“I’ll give you a minute,” he said, starting for the door. “Let you gather yourself. Make a grand entrance.”
“Great, thanks,” she said, neither grateful nor thankful.
After he disappeared, she drew in a deep breath and watched it fog in the air when she exhaled before grabbing a box of her personal effects and copies of all the open cases out of her back seat. Then she locked up the cruiser and went inside the pueblo building via a side door.
A hallway separated the station from a small jail that sat in back. From that point, her entrance involved two electronically coded doors in which her master key came in very handy. Once inside, she stopped to take in her surroundings.
The station was nice. More up to date than she’d imagined it would be. Drywall with a light beige paint made up the bulk of the surroundings, but the renovators had kept much of the older wood accents. Remnants of an earlier version of the establishment.
Desks took up most of the main room, and a glass wall separated the public entrance and the administration area up front.
Quincy, who was pretending to be hard at work, spotted her first. He turned in his chair, and the sound of typing and papers shuffling ceased immediately from the other deputies present.
“Hey, boss,” Quincy said, leaning back into a giant stretch. “Oh, I meant to ask, how’s the bean sprout?”
She nodded to the two other deputies present and the office manager, who doubled as dispatch. Anita Escobar—no relation—was a pretty woman in her early thirties with a wide smile and thick, blond-streaked hair she always wore in a ponytail. According to Sun’s ever-studious mother, Anita’d had her eyebrows tattooed on. So, there was that.
Turning back to Quince, Sun balanced her box on two stacks of files that took up half his desk and picked up a pen with a gold deputy’s badge on it. After clicking it open and shut several times, trying to decide if she should steal it or if blatant theft would set a bad example for the other law enforcement officers in the room, she said, “Everyone at school thinks she’s a narc.”
“Sweet. Less trouble she can get into.”
She returned the pen and narrowed her gaze on him. “It’s bizarre how much we think alike. The accusations stem from a certain raid on a certain New Year’s Eve party at the lake.”
“Oh, snap. They think she called us?”
“They do.”
He snorted. “Like anybody needed to call. Don’t they know the secret annual New Year’s Eve party at the lake is the least secret event in this town?”
“Kind of like Mrs. Sorenson’s breast augmentation.”
He laughed out loud, then sobered, his expression wilting a little. “Those aren’t real?”
Sun consoled him with a pat on his head. She knew he’d take it hard.
“Poor kid,” he said, switching back to Auri. “She’s so great. Are you sure she’s really yours?”
“I hope so. She borrows my clothes.”
She thought back longingly to an amazing burgundy sweater that had never been the same after Auri wore it on a field trip to the zoo in Albuquerque. Something about a boy named Fred and a monkey named Tidbit.
She snapped out of it when she realized all work had come to a complete standstill and her staff was gathering around the coffeepot. She leaned closer to Quince. “Should I address the troops?”
“Price is still out on a call. And besides, you have a visitor.” He gestured toward what she assumed was her office.
“Already? I just got here.”
“Yeah, well.” He cringed, his face lined with sympathy. “Proceed with caution. She’s been waiting for twenty minutes.”
“And you kept me standing outside chatting for ten of them?” When he offered her a noncommittal shrug, she dropped her head, dread leaching into her pores. “Christ on a cracker.”
“Good luck,” he said like a manic cheerleader after one too many energy drinks. Then he abandoned her in her time of need to join the other cowards hovering around the coffeepot.
With a withering moan, she lifted her box and headed toward her office to meet her fate.
3
Faculty parking only.
Violators will be given a pop quiz.
—SIGN AT DEL SOL HIGH SCHOOL
“Aurora?”
Auri had just taken a hit off her inhaler. She put it away and smiled at the administrative assistant behind the counter. “That’s me.” She didn’t bother giving the woman her nickname. She doubted they’d talk often.
“Ah yes.” Corrine Amaia, if her nameplate was to be believed, gathered a few papers and handed them to her one at a time. “Okay, the top one is your locker number and combination. Put that somewhere safe.”
“Gotcha.” Auri took the paper and stuffed it into her binder.
“This is the handbook with the school song and dress codes and such.”
“Thanks.”
“And this one is your schedule.”
Auri brightened, excited to see what her classes were. The usual suspects, of course, but she’d been hoping for a couple of electives her private school hadn’t offered.
Trying not to look overly enthusiastic, she took the paper and perused it. She had the state requirements, as expected—English, history, geometry, physical science, and social studies—along with visual arts and American Sign Language.
“Nice,” she said, more than pleased. She’d requested three electives, but had only really wanted ASL.
Her old school, a private school in Santa Fe, which also happened to be the home of the New Mexico School for the Deaf, didn’t have ASL as an elective, a fact that astounded her. It was only one of several reasons Auri had agreed to transfer here.
Corrine finally stopped long enough to get a good look at the new recruit. “Aren’t you lovely,” she said, her tone part surprise and part matter-of-fact.
“Oh,” Auri said, embarrassed. “Thank you.”
“My daughter, Lynelle, is a freshman, too, if you need someone to show you around. Help you find your classes.”
“I had an offer over break, but thanks so much.”
“Of course. Let me know if you have any questions.”
Auri nodded and headed out for her first day at Del Sol High. She glanced around for the girl she’d met at the party, then walked to the vending machines by the front office. They’d made plans to meet there, but the deputies came and everyone scattered. She hoped the girl, who was a freshman as well, a redhead as well, and new as well—though not quite as new as Auri—didn’t forget. But that scenario was looking likelier and likelier.
She waited until first bell, but the girl was a no-show. She could hardly blame her. Auri was now officially an outcast. A pariah. A persona non grata, if the glares of hostility were any indication. Squelching her disappointment, she decided to get on with her day.
As she searched for her first-period class, she got the occasional curious glance, and even the outright gawk—she blamed her coloring, which was odd even for a redhead—but if she had to put a number to it, she’d guesstimate that more than half the looks directed her way were full of a venomous kind of resentment.
Who knew denying high school kids the ability to get wasted was such a big deal? If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought she’d set fire to the football uniforms. While the players were still wearing them.
Just as she started down the hall, she happened to glance ba
ck through the open doorway and into the principal’s man cave. She saw a girl lift a wooden carving of some kind off his desk and stuff it into her jacket pocket.
The principal was in the hall, joking around with a group of kids, so Auri didn’t understand why the girl was in there. But she recognized her from the party. Dark hair. Huge gray eyes. Supermodel attitude.
So, while the looting was strange enough, the girl turned, looked right at Auri, and winked at her before walking out.
“See you later, Mom,” she said to Corrine.
“Bye, sweetheart. Don’t forget about lunch.”
“I won’t.” The girl, who must have been Lynelle, smirked at Auri as she walked out, and Auri couldn’t help but feel there was a joke hanging in the air and she’d missed the punch line.
Drawing in a deep breath, she turned to the swarm of kids in the hall half a second before the tardy bell rang.
She could do this. She’d done it before when they’d moved from Albuquerque, where her mom had been working and going to college, to Santa Fe, where she’d gotten her first job in law enforcement as a patrol officer for SFPD. That had seemed like so long ago, but she owed it to her mom to do her best. To go with the flow. To never—ever—be a burden.
That was her biggest fear. To be a burden to her mom. Well, any more than she already was.
God, if only her new friend hadn’t deserted her. She’d felt an instant connection to Sybil. Maybe Sybil hadn’t felt the same about her.
After wandering the halls longer than she should have, growing more anxious by the moment, Auri finally found her first-period classroom tucked into a corner of the main building. Unfortunately, the tardy bell had rung about two minutes earlier, so plan A, the plan where she would walk in and take a seat before anyone noticed her, fell by the wayside.
Plan B consisted of two steps. One, pull the fire alarm. Two, reenter the building with everyone else once the firefighters gave the green light. But just as she was about to pull the little red lever, she noticed a security camera pointed in that general direction. Thus, plan B had to be nixed as well. Not that she would have done it, but she would’ve liked the option.
A Bad Day for Sunshine Page 3
