Sun studied the young woman as she spoke, fighting a grin. She didn’t want to give away the fact that she found her adorable. And she was the only person in the room shorter than the sheriff.
“The last time Ruby sent muffins,” she continued, “Mrs. Papadeaux tried to cut Doug’s penis off when he flashed her in the park.”
Sun leaned into Quincy. “It amazes me how that man is still the town flasher.”
“In an attempt to get away from her, Doug darted out into traffic.” Anita was very into the story by that point, acting out Doug, the town flasher, darting into traffic.
“Isn’t he, like, a hundred and twelve?” Sun asked him.
“And we had a bona fide pileup.”
Deputy Salazar whispered beside her, “He only looks a hundred and twelve.”
“He’s led a rough life,” Quincy said in explanation. “He’s only in his early sixties.”
“Sixties?” Sun asked, horrified. “Remind me to use sunscreen.”
“A pileup!” Anita said, waving her arms in the air.
Sun thought back. “I read about that. It was two cars and a tractor.”
Anita nodded. “Which, in Del Sol, is a bona fide pileup. And then, she sent muffins in December, and that very day, Mrs. Cisneros stabbed her husband in the knee.”
“Ouch.”
“Oh, there’s more. So much more. And today, she sent an entire basket of them.” Anita pointed to the basket in case someone got confused. “Muffins.”
“Okay,” Sun said, grasping the problem at last, “so as long as we don’t eat the muffins, nothing will happen?”
The deputies shifted their weight and cast sideways glances at one another.
She rolled her eyes as realization dawned. “Are you kidding me? It doesn’t matter if we eat them or not? All hell is breaking loose either way?”
A couple of Del Sol’s finest shrugged and nodded.
“Well, then.” Sun dove in for a muffin and unwrapped it as she walked to the front of the building. She’d seen a suspected thief walk by and decided to do a little recon while enjoying her cursed breakfast.
The others gave in and grabbed one as well. Including Quincy, who walked up behind her, munching on his own blueberry-filled disaster waiting to happen.
They watched Mr. Madrid walk past. The former railroad worker, who was in his early sixties, had a bandage wrapped around his neck and scratches covering both hands.
“You know, Mrs. Sorenson came in again yesterday,” Quincy said between bites.
“About?”
He scoffed. “You know what about.”
And she did. She’d read all the case files over the break, even cold cases decades old, but she’d known Mr. Madrid, the suspected thief, since she was two.
“That prize chicken of hers,” Quince said, filling her in, anyway.
“Rooster.”
“She’s wondering when you’re going to arrest Mr. Madrid for chicken-napping.”
“Rooster-napping.”
Everyone in town knew about the never-ending feud between Mrs. Sorenson and Mr. Madrid. Every few months, the two neighbors came up with some new argument. Some new reason to bicker and squabble and caterwaul until the sheriff’s office had no choice but to threaten them both with jail time.
The Hatfields and McCoys had nothing on the Sorenson and Madrid.
This go-around, Mrs. Sorenson’s prize rooster had gone missing. Since Mr. Madrid had been complaining about the bird’s early-morning cacophony for months, he was pretty much their prime—and only—suspect.
But Sun wanted the man to get comfortable. To let down his guard. To come to regret his decision to abduct the most decorated show rooster the town had ever seen.
Who knew a rooster could even be decorated? Where does one even pin a medal onto a rooster?
“You planning on looking into that?” Quincy asked.
Sun lifted a shoulder half-heartedly. “I suppose.”
“Before he kills him?”
“I’m pretty sure Puff Daddy can hold his own against the likes of Mr. Madrid.”
“That’s what I mean.” He pointed a finger from behind his muffin. “That chicken is going to kill that poor guy.”
“Rooster.”
“And then we’ll never hear the end of it. It’ll go national. All because we let a chicken kill one of our citizens.”
“Rooster.”
“We’ll be the laughingstock of the nation.”
“You’re that certain we’re not already?”
Quincy took a breath to voice his next argument, but he had nothing. He shook his head and took another bite.
“Sometimes these things need to unfold organically.” She swallowed and peeled the wrapping lower. “And we can’t say those wounds are all from Puff Daddy. Mr. Madrid could’ve cut himself shaving.”
Quince snorted. “Shaving what? A honey badger?”
Sun looked back at her deputies and smiled.
“You glad to be back?” he asked.
“I am. But I thought the gang was all here. Where is my other deputy?”
“Price just got back.”
“Yeah, but we’re missing Bo.”
“Who?” Quincy asked, still studying Mr. Madrid as he limped across Main through a soft layer of snow that was already melting. Freaking New Mexico sun.
“Bo.” When he only shrugged, she continued, “Bo Britton? Your lieutenant? The only one to skip out on my one-on-ones last week?”
“Oh, Bo!” He nodded in recognition, then glanced around the station. “Yeah, he must be out on patrol.”
“Okay. Can you call him in?”
“Who?”
Seriously? “Lieutenant Bobby Britton? Also goes by Bo?”
“Right. He does.”
“He does what?”
“Goes by Bo.”
“Okay, great. Now that we’ve established his identity, I’d like to address the troops. Can you call him in?”
“Who?”
Sun slammed her lids shut and drew in a deep breath. “Lieutenant Britton.”
“Oh, right. We usually just call him Bo. Or L-T.”
She welded her teeth together and spoke through them. “Can you get him on the radio? I have yet to meet him.”
“Who?”
She went completely still. Del Sol was a peculiar place. Sun knew that. She’d known it when she’d accepted the position. She’d known she would have to deal with its own special kind of crazy, but not from Quincy. Not from one of her own.
Realizing there was more to this particular picture than met the eye, she unclamped her jaw and turned to walk away, but Zee came to stand by Quincy, enjoying the last remnants of her own muffin.
Zee was a tall, willowy black woman and the only deputy Sun had wined and dined herself. For good reason.
She had been a sniper for the Bernalillo County Sheriff’s Office, and it took a lot of schmoozing, much of it not strictly ethical, to get her to agree to come to the small town of Del Sol.
One could argue that a small town like Del Sol didn’t need a sniper.
One would be wrong.
Also, the girl could shoot the wings off a fruit fly at a thousand yards. Metaphorically speaking.
“Have you told her yet?” she asked.
“Crap, I forgot,” Quince said. “Zee and I found out we’re actually twins separated at birth.”
Sun turned back, her interest piqued.
“Weird, right?” Zee asked, nodding in confirmation.
And Zee was the sane one.
“Very,” Sun agreed. “Especially since he’s half-Latino with blond hair, blue eyes, and a below-average level of common sense and you’re a stunning black woman with ebony hair, hazel eyes, and an above-average level of common sense. Way, way above.”
“Exactly,” Quince said, taking another bite.
“Like, atmospheric.”
He nodded. “Weird.”
When Sun started back to her office, she heard Zee say p
roudly, “Did you hear that? She called me stunning.”
“Yeah, well, since we’re twins, it was a compliment to both of us.”
“No way. That was my compliment. I get to keep all of it.”
“You were always selfish, even when we were kids.”
“Insult me again and I’ll eat the last cursed muffin.”
Sun laughed and continued toward her office with a new vigor. So far, she’d racked up three mysteries that needed solving fairly quickly. First, who were the Dangerous Daughters, and why did the mayor care so much? Second, how was she going to convince Mrs. Sorenson and Mr. Madrid to stop fighting and just date already? And third, what was up with Lieutenant Bo Britton? Because, as subtle as Quincy’s evasive tactics were—Note to self: never send that man in undercover—something did not add up.
And it was barely nine o’clock. She could only hope she’d survive the post until noon.
“Hey!” Quincy shouted. “I thought you were going to address the troops.”
Sun whirled on her toes and looked at Del Sol’s finest.
“Right.” She tossed the wrapper in a trash can and stuffed her hands into her pockets.
The deputies gave her their full attention just as Sun’s gaze darted to the gas pumps across the street where a truck had pulled in.
A truck she’d know anywhere.
His truck.
Her eyes rounded, and Quincy turned to look over his shoulder.
“Um, thank you guys for being here this morning,” Quincy said, coming to Sun’s rescue. “You guys are doing great work, and the sheriff looks forward to getting to know all of you better.”
A couple of the deputies clapped hesitantly as Sun stood glued to the spot, watching the man she’d been in love with since she was old enough to appreciate boys for what they were: boys.
Across the street, Levi Ravinder climbed down from his black Ford Raptor and slammed his door shut. He was agitated, his movements hurried and aggressive as he loaded supplies into the bed.
A man Sun assumed was one of his plethora of cousins filled up the tank. Levi shouted something to him, and the man showed him a palm in surrender. And then, as though he felt her presence, as though he sensed her focus on him, he turned toward the station and locked gazes with her.
Only he couldn’t have. There was no way he could see her, especially where she stood now, in the middle of the deputies’ office.
He scanned the front of the building before turning back to his cousin.
“After all this time?” Quincy asked, coming to stand beside her again.
She shook her head, embarrassed. “No. I’m just—” She exhaled, giving up the game. “I haven’t seen him in so long.”
“Yeah, well, he hasn’t changed much.”
Holy mother of God, was he wrong. Even from a distance, she could see the changes, and none of them were exactly subtle. His hair had gotten darker. His jaw stronger. His shoulders wider.
She stepped toward the lobby for a better look. She’d seen pictures, of course, a.k.a. she’d stalked his social media, but nothing had prepared her for the real thing. Especially where her bones were concerned, because they’d apparently dissolved.
He turned and went back to work, loading bottles of water and what looked like camping equipment into the truck bed, and Sun realized he wasn’t wearing a jacket. His tan T-shirt didn’t hide much. She could see the sculpting of sinew and muscle, his forearms cording with every movement, the shadows hugging his biceps ebbing and flowing with every effort. The effect was hypnotic.
Quincy elbowed her softly. “I could bring him in on suspected . . . anything.”
Sun laughed softly. “Thanks, but I’m okay. It’s better if we don’t talk. Or come face-to-face. Or have contact of any kind whatsoever.”
“Well,” Quincy said, taking a sip of coffee, “good luck with that.” He walked away and left Sun alone with her musings.
Sadly, alone with her musings was a dangerous place to be. Especially when she noticed that even though his coffee-colored hair had darkened, the stubble he’d worn since high school, the stubble that made him look charmingly disheveled, had grown a deeper, richer auburn. And though she couldn’t see his eyes, she’d dreamed about them almost daily. The rich, tawny color like whiskey in the sun. The long, dark lashes she would have given her left kidney for. The scythe-shaped brows that always lent him a look of mischief.
She walked closer to the plate-glass windows for a better view. He wasn’t a model, but he should have been. The world would have been all the richer for it.
Sun forced herself to snap out of it. She was back and Levi had never left, and the two were bound to see each other now and again. The only question was, how would she survive the stretches in between?
After another glance at the station, one that had Sun retreating back from the window, Levi walked toward the store to pay, and Sun realized just how lucky his jeans were to be able to hug such a perfect ass.
He disappeared inside the building and left her with no other choice but to finally take note of his truck. It had a custom wrap with his company’s logo on it, Dark River Shine, and pride swelled inside her.
He’d actually managed to take his family’s illegal business—and recipe—and turn it into an insanely successful career as a distiller. Now one of the country’s most prestigious makers of corn whiskey, a.k.a. moonshine, his products had been featured in newspapers and magazines all over the world, and he’d won numerous awards for the 100-proof spirits.
Awards. Just like Puff Daddy. Who knew such subcultures existed?
He stepped out of the Quick-Mart and headed back toward the pumps. Sadly, Sun missed most of his reemergence, because a Mercedes that had been barreling down Main, slipping and sliding on the icy road, jumped the curb and crashed head-on through the plate glass where Sunshine had been standing.
If she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she would have seen it in plenty of time and jumped out of the way. Instead, a barrage of splintered glass sliced across her face and hands. And a split second before the car sideswiped her, she realized her deputies might have been right.
Maybe there really was something to the muffin thing, after all.
Auri stood in the hall, staring at a locker that had the word narc written on it in red spray paint. She looked from the principal to the security guard and back again.
“I didn’t do that,” she said, wondering why in the world they would think she did.
“We know,” the principal said. A man she thought handsome until about five minutes ago, Mr. Jacobs had smooth dark skin and kind eyes, and she’d noticed earlier everyone still called him Coach, a testament to his former position, she supposed.
And his head sat about two feet taller than Auri’s. The security guard’s a few inches taller than that. There was nothing quite as special as being stared down by two men of authority. And here Auri thought she couldn’t feel any more vulnerable than she had earlier.
Mr. Jacobs reached past her and opened the locker with a master key. Inside sat one solitary object: the wooden carving Lynelle had taken off his desk. And Auri suddenly understood.
She took a hit off her inhaler, then asked, “I take it this is my locker?” She had yet to visit it, but it was nice of everyone to make her feel so welcome.
They both nodded.
“Don’t tell me,” the security guard said. “You have no idea how this got there.”
She took a closer look. It was a lion, the Del Sol High mascot. Appropriate since lions were intertwined with the sun through the zodiac sign of Leo, which was also the name the DSHS mascot.
When she shook her head, the security guard lost it. He huffed out a breath and did an about-face, raking a hand through his hair before turning back to her.
“Do you have any idea how many decades Leo has been passed down from principal to principal? He is a symbol of pride for this school, Miss Vicram. Something you clearly know nothing about.”
While Auri backed
away slowly, wondering about the guard’s mental stability—clearly he took his job way too seriously—she noticed the principal fighting a grin behind a closed fist.
“Okay, Gary,” he said, patting the guard on his shoulder, “how about we let her talk?”
Disgusted, the guard turned away from her and jammed his fists onto his hips, the gesture both dramatic and unnecessary. Auri’s opinion of him couldn’t plummet any lower.
The principal scrubbed his face with his hands, again fighting a grin, then settled an understanding stare on her.
“Do you know who put this in your locker?”
She shook her head.
He raised a warning brow. “I’m willing to bet you do.”
“I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Even if I were to call your mother? Still nothing?”
Auri stopped breathing and decided to give her shoes a good once-over when she felt a familiar sting in the backs of her eyes. “It’s my mom’s first day on the job. She doesn’t need me messing up her entire day. Again.”
“I’m well aware. I used to teach that little firecracker you call Mom. And I think you’re right. How about we let this slide?” He leaned closer, his expression soft with understanding. “But if you ever want to talk about all of this”—he gestured toward the locker—“you know where my office is. Especially since I’m fairly certain you saw who took this off my desk.”
His statement startled her.
“You’re just going to let her go?” Gary asked, appalled.
Mr. Jacobs was getting tired of him if his change in attitude were any indication. “Gary, if I weren’t married to your sister—”
“I know. I know.” The man walked off with a dismissive wave.
But Auri was way more interested in why the principal thought she saw the culprit—a.k.a. Lynelle Amaia—steal the carving. Why he seemed to know she did.
The bell rang before the principal could say anything else, and students flooded the hallway.
“May I go to class now?” she asked him, determined not to be late again.
He gave her a thoughtful gaze, then nodded.
She found her second classroom much easier than the first. Or so she’d thought.
She entered and handed the teacher her schedule as the other kids filed in only to have the teacher point to the paper. “You want the next classroom. Room 47. This is 45.”
A Bad Day for Sunshine Page 5
