A Bad Day for Sunshine

by Jones, Darynda

  Anita giggled. “Should I let her back?”

  “Yeah, put her in the interview room.”

  “Oh, and there’s a Mr. Madrid, too.”

  “Wonderful. Put him in the other interview room.”

  “We only have the one.”

  “Okay, the supply closet, then.”

  “You got it.”

  But much to Sun’s surprise, they insisted on seeing her together.

  Mrs. Sorenson, a sixtysomething with neon-red hair, held on to Puff Daddy like she’d been reunited with the love of her life. Which she very well could have been.

  “He was just lost,” she said, laughing nervously.

  Mr. Madrid chimed in. “Yeah, and Ida . . .” He glanced past the giant rooster in her arms. “May I call you Ida?”

  She almost blushed. “Of course.”

  Sun fought the muscles in her eyes, whose knee-jerk reaction was to roll like a heroin addict mid-high.

  “Ida thought I took him, but I would never.”

  Honestly, she could hardly look at the man. He was covered in more cuts and bruises than an MMA fighter. It took everything in her not to crack up.

  Quincy was not suffering from the same malady. Even though he was in the observation room, she could hear him laughing through the two-way.

  She turned around to glare at him, then turned back to what could be a potential problem for a long time to come. They lived across the street from one another and were always arguing. That was not a problem. It was when they filed formal complaints and pressed charges and then suddenly dropped the whole thing a few days, or weeks, later.

  And it was getting ridiculous.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sorenson, but once the complaint is filed, it has to be taken to court.”

  They both gaped at her.

  “It’s never worked that way before,” she said.

  “I know. It’s a new law. If a complaint is filed, the suspect must be arrested, and it must go to trial. You’ll, of course, be called in to testify, and you can tell them it was all a mistake when you do. But by then, wow, I can’t imagine the legal bills you’re going to rack up, Mr. Madrid. I wish there was some way—”

  “Well, there has to be,” Ida said. “I don’t want Ike—may I call you Ike?”

  He nodded and ducked with a grin.

  Seriously? They’d been squabbling all these years and they were just now getting to know each other on a first-name basis?

  “I don’t want Ike to have to go through that.”

  Sun took out her handcuffs and stood. “Can you please stand and put your hands behind your back, Mr. Madrid?”

  “What?” Ida jumped to her feet, upsetting Puff Daddy. His massive wings flapped several times, and feathers of all shapes and sizes went airborne.

  That was when Sun could hear both Quincy’s and Zee’s laughter through the two-way. And that was when she gave in to her eye muscles and let them roll.

  “I’ll refuse to testify against him!” Ida said.

  “Well, there’s only one way you can do that, but—”

  Their gazes shot to her face in unison. “How?”

  Sun shook her head and sat back down. “It’s impossible.”

  “No, it’s not.” She calmed the rooster with several aggressive strokes.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you, but you aren’t going to like it.”

  “Sure we will,” Ike said. He had such a kind face, she hated to do this to him, but someone had to give them that little shove.

  “The only way the ADA can’t force you to testify is . . . is if you’re married.”

  Both members of the upcoming wedding party stood motionless, neither willing to address the situation first.

  “And even then, it’s only if you’re married before I have to get this paperwork to the courthouse. Today. At 4:00 p.m.,” she prodded. “And I just can’t see that happ—”

  “No, it can happen.” Ida looked at Ike and nodded.

  He nodded back at her. “Today by four.”

  Sun shrugged. “Okay, then. I guess, without an eyewitness, I’ll have no choice but to drop the case. If I get a copy of your marriage certificate by the end of the day.”

  “You’ll have it.”

  They started for the door, but Ike turned back and whispered to her, “Can you thank that nice deputy for me? If not for him, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

  “Which one?”

  “That Price fellow. Puff escaped, and he spent half the night helping me find him. I mean, I only had him because I saw him out by Route 63 and I was going to give him back, but then he got out and that nice deputy—”

  “Cory,” she said, her heart sinking for what had to be done. “His name was Cory.”

  “Well, thank him for me, will you?”

  “I will. Congratulations.” Sun blew out a deep breath, trying to come to terms with how things can go so horribly wrong one minute and so wonderfully right the next.

  Quincy walked up to her. “You realize she’s going to do a lot worse to him than what the chicken did.”

  “Funny thing about that,” Sun said. “I have a feeling he’s going to enjoy it.”

  He made a face. “Ew.”

  He started to walk off when she said one word to him. “Bo.”

  Turning toward her, he put his fingers on his chin in thought. “Who?”

  She stepped closer. “I don’t like being in the dark, Quincy.”

  “Who does? That shit’s scary.”

  “I’m afraid of ghosts,” Zee said, not helping.

  “Lieutenant Bo Britton,” Sun continued. “The only deputy on the payroll who gets paid to do absolutely nothing.”

  Quincy grinned. “Well, he’s been a little preoccupied.”

  “Where is he?” He started to talk, but she interrupted. “And if you say ‘who,’ I will throw darts at your spleen. While it’s still in your body.”

  “Ouch. Aggressive much? I was going to ask what day it is.”

  Sunshine tried to pry her teeth apart, but he held up his hands in surrender.

  “No, really. I have to know what day it is before I can tell you.”

  “Fine. It’s the ninth.”

  “Oh, right. Sybil’s birthday. Well, we can go see him now.”

  “Who?”

  “Really?” he asked, his expression flatlining.

  They drove to the Del Sol Mortuary and, after a heated discussion with the mortician, Quincy led Sun back to the embalming room.

  “Quincy, what’s going on?”

  “A wife and two kids,” he said as the mortician opened a cold chamber and pulled out a tray with a handsome older gentleman.

  “Sunshine Vicram, meet Lieutenant Bobby Britton.”

  “Quincy,” she said, having had enough death for the time being.

  “Bo passed this morning.”

  “He’s frozen solid,” she said.

  “Yeah. He . . . froze to death.”

  “Quincy, damn it.”

  He lowered his head. “Bo passed away two weeks ago while hunting. He had a heart attack, but he was two weeks away from retiring with full benefits instead of that bullshit they offer you if you retire early. Two weeks, Sun.”

  She said nothing, so he continued, “He married late. Has two small kids. A wife who loved him more than air. They’re devastated.” He moved closer to her, begging her to hear. “They deserve this.”

  The mortician stood back, clearly nervous about the whole thing now that the sheriff had arrived.

  “Did Redding know about this?” She would have been very surprised if the former sheriff had agreed to it. He cared about no one but himself.

  “Hell no. Just a handful of us lackeys.”

  After offering Bo a silent prayer, she turned to the mortician. “He died in the line of duty last night during a manhunt.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Sheriff. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  If ever there were a town that could pull this off, it was Del Sol. After all,
they’d pulled off a fake husband for her.

  “We’ll be taking care of all the funeral expenses, if you could arrange that.”

  “Of course.”

  “Quincy,” she said, walking him out, “you have a lot of paperwork to illegally alter and hope it doesn’t come back to bite us on the ass.”

  “I hate paperwork, but for once, I’m not complaining.” He stopped and faced her. “Thank you, Sunny. And if you really need to be bitten on the ass . . .”

  She slammed a hand over his mouth to stop him. “I’m good.”

  He chuckled from behind her hand and asked, “Where are you off to?”

  “I need to ask Darlene Tapia why she was harboring a fugitive.”

  As she walked off, he called after her, “You already know, don’t you?”

  “I have my suspicions.”

  Sun stepped outside with a tray of fruity drinks in her hand. No one needed to know it was just 7 Up with food coloring and orange slices.

  “I love Sundays,” Auri said, angling her face toward the round ball of fire in the sky. “They’re so relaxing.”

  “Don’t get too relaxed,” Sun said.

  Auri opened her eyes and took a drink off the tray. “Can you believe two days ago we were in our winter coats and today we’re tanning?”

  “That’s New Mexico for you.” The temp had risen to a downright balmy seventy-five degrees, but there was still snow on the mountains. The sun sparkled off the white peaks, reminding the sheriff it was still midwinter in the Land of Enchantment.

  Auri, Cruz, and Jimmy Ravinder were sitting on lounge chairs in her front yard. Which was basically her parents’ backyard.

  “How can it be so sunny and warm today, when it was all drizzly and cold yesterday? This state is weird.”

  “Your face is weird,” Sun said, reverting to her favorite joke.

  “Did you talk to Sybil’s mom?” Cruz asked.

  “I did. Sybil is fantastic and, well, glad to be alive. She’s coming home today.”

  Auri bolted upright. “Can we go see her? Please? We’ve been texting, but it’s just not the same, and she’s been in the hospital forever.”

  “She’s been in there two days.”

  “And?”

  Sun felt the corners of her eyes crinkle. “If it’s okay with Marianna. But first, I have a favor to ask.” She looked at Cruz. “Both of you.”

  “And me?” Jimmy asked, his dark blond hair ruffling in the light breeze.

  “And you, but I’ll need you to hang back with me. Help me with operations.”

  “I can do that.” The excitement in his eyes was contagious, and her daughter leaned over and hugged him.

  Sun loved that he was like a brother to Auri. Had been since that day on the cliff over seven years ago. If Sun had known, things would have been a lot different the last few years.

  Water under the bridge now, but she’d missed so much. She’d just have to make up for it.

  “Ask away,” Cruz said. He wore his army jacket and goggles for the tanning session. No clue why.

  “Okay,” she said, but Auri interrupted her before she could get two words in.

  “I know that look.”

  “Not this one. I just bought it.”

  “Nope.” She pointed at her suspiciously. “You’ve had that one in the back of your closet, waiting for the opportunity to wear it again. It’s that ‘I’m about to do something dangerous’ look.”

  “Okay, you caught me. But before I tell you the plan, I have to know, do either of you have any experience buying drugs?”

  One hour later, with the help of one Darlene Tapia, Sun sat a few yards away from an orange Chevy long bed, faded with large patches of rust on the roof, that should have been retired from duty in the ’80s. Her daughter and her daughter’s potential boyfriend strolled up to the window of said orange Chevy long bed.

  If her hunch was correct, the man sitting in the driver’s seat was a pretty great guy. This would be the ultimate test to prove her theory either right or wrong.

  “Zee? Quincy? You got eyes?”

  “Twenty-twenty,” Quincy said.

  Zee came on the headset, her voice, her tone, smooth and relaxed, reflecting that razor-sharp focus the makers of Adderall would kill to bottle. “I got ’im.”

  “Great, well, don’t shoot him yet.”

  She chuckled softly. “Copy that.”

  “Jimmy?” she said to the kid looking through the binoculars beside her. “You good?”

  He gave her a thumbs-up.

  Cruz’s dad let her use his son without question, and she realized they had an incredible bond, much like she and Auri had. That trust shone through. Hailey was a little harder to convince. Sun had had to swear to her that Jimmy would be nowhere near the action.

  If Sun had this guy figured out, and she liked to think she did, there wouldn’t be any action.

  The guy in the truck, a tattooed Latino with a buzz cut and an attitude a mile long, sat facing the icy water at the lake, his mind a million miles away if the fact that the kids walked up to his window and he still hadn’t noticed them was any indication.

  “You okay, baby?”

  “I’m okay,” Auri said into her mic. “I have the best backup team ever.”

  “Damn straight you do,” Quincy said.

  “Damn straight you do,” Jimmy echoed.

  Auri knocked on the window, and Sun realized the guy had been aware of the two kids stalking him, after all. He rolled the glass down without turning his head, but he’d been watching them in his side mirror.

  He finally gave them a once-over then asked, “Yeah?”

  “Um, we were told you had illegal drugs for sale.”

  Sun almost lost it. Holy cow, her daughter would never make it as an undercover cop. Not necessarily a bad thing.

  Cruz stepped up to the plate. “We want to try mescaline. The good shit, not the knockoff. You got any?”

  Suddenly, Auri’s choice in potential boyfriends was being brought into question. He was good. A little too good.

  The guy laughed. “Man, you have come to the wrong place. Who told you some shit like that, holmes?”

  “My friend Lucky,” he said.

  “Well, your friend Lucky is a liar.” He leaned closer to them. “Haven’t you heard? Drugs are bad.”

  “Come on,” Cruz said, pushing it. “Do we look like cops? We just want to try it.”

  “You know what you can try?”

  “What?” Auri asked.

  “You can try to get the fuck outta my world, because if I see your skinny asses trying to buy drugs again, I am going to rip you apart. Both of you.”

  Cruz laughed it off and took on the persona of a gangster. “Fuck you, man. What are you gonna do?”

  In a move that happened so fast even Sun was stunned, the guy opened his door and had Cruz by the collar and thrown against the truck.

  While Auri’s hands shot to cover her mouth, Cruz signaled that he was okay, waving his hand by his side in negation, letting them know not to come in just yet.

  The guy leaned in close.

  Cruz stared him down, refusing to break eye contact. The kid was good.

  “You know what they do to pretty boys like you in prison?”

  “Stop!” Auri yelled, and Sun’s adrenaline skyrocketed.

  “That’s it,” Sun said. “This is over.”

  Auri literally turned around to her—or to her position, as it was doubtful the girl could see her mother past the shrubs—and scowled at her, lifting her hands and shrugging, every ounce of her demeanor screaming, “What the hell?”

  She was acting? Seriously? Maybe she did have the chops for undercover police work. Not that she would wish that on her worst enemy.

  Sun canceled her orders and said, “Sorry, bug. Carry on.”

  She shrugged again and shook her head, then went back to her promising career as a soap star. Or a hardened criminal. Either way.

  “Stop it! Let him go!”
She ran up to the man and tried to pull him off her potential boyfriend—her descriptor—and Sun cringed. All he’d have to do was swing his elbow back and she’d have a broken jaw.

  Instead, he confirmed Sun’s suspicions. He let go of Cruz and wrapped an arm around Auri to restrain her, to try to calm her down.

  “Stop, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I won’t hurt him, I promise.”

  “That’s what I needed,” Sun said. “Let’s go.”

  Quincy turned on his siren and lights and stormed the beach, so to speak, as Zee, Sun, and Jimmy emerged from their hiding places.

  The guy threw his hands up in anger and hit his palm against the truck. Not hard enough to do any damage, however. Then he saw the rifle that had been aimed at his head and paled.

  Zee opened the bed of his truck, rested her secured rifle there, then rushed forward to handcuff him.

  He didn’t fight her, but he wasn’t happy. “Man, this is some bullshit. I didn’t even do anything.”

  “You assaulted a teen,” Sun said. “For starters.”

  He laid his head back as Zee got the cuffs around his wrists. “This is such bullshit.”

  “Yeah, you said that.”

  Jimmy’s face was one solid smile. “Yeah, you said that, scum-bag.”

  “That’s it,” she said to him. “No more Miami Vice reruns for you.”

  27

  Caller reported 50 lbs. of green chile stolen from his freezer.

  A national manhunt is under way.

  —DEL SOL POLICE BLOTTER

  Back at the station, Sun sent the kids to Caffeine-Wah for mocha lattes, instructing Richard and Ricky to use decaf in Auri’s.

  “Can we come back?” Auri asked her. “You know, for the thing?”

  Sun nodded, then went in search of a wanted fugitive.

  She stepped into the interview room and sat across from a very perturbed Latino. Opening the file she’d been studying, she said, “You have quite the record, Rojas.”

  He played with the chain that held him cuffed to the table, metal scraping against metal.

  “You did well while you were inside. You got a bachelor’s in criminal justice in under three years. I’m impressed.”

  Nothing. He refused to even look at her.

  “Just one thing—you did it all using your name and inmate number. But to go to school, you have to use your social. And that social doesn’t match your name or your inmate number.”