A Good Day for Chardonnay

by Darynda Jones

  “She’s still looking,” Cruz said, his voice suspiciously full of humor. “You’d better stay down there for a while.”

  Auri frowned. How long could it take to drive past a coffee shop?

  Cruz shook as though laughing.

  She raised up. “Cruz De los Santos.”

  A pair of dimples appeared on the sides of his full mouth and her ire—fake as it was—evaporated.

  “Are you sure Mrs. Fairborn is at the station?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “I have it on good authority.”

  He cast her a suspicious glance. “What kind of authority?”

  “I have an inside man.” Auri did everything but blow on her nails and polish them on her shirt.

  “Can I ask who it is?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, Charlie. I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you. Then where would we be?” She looked down at Sybil, who sat hunkered on the floorboard still. “Sweetheart, you can get up now.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She scrambled back onto the seat and pushed her glasses up with an index finger.

  They pulled onto Mrs. Fairborn’s street, but parked at the end of the block. After a nonchalant walk down a narrow alleyway, they hauled themselves over a wooden fence.

  Well, Auri and Sybil did. Cruz walked through the gate and eyed them both like they were crazy. It happened. He also stopped to give Sybil’s outfit a once-over as though just noticing her cat-burglar attire.

  Much like Auri had, he suppressed a grin, turned, and strolled to Mrs. Fairborn’s back door like he belonged there.

  “See that?” Auri said to Sybil. “We need to act natural. Like we’re supposed to be here.”

  “Right.” Sybil, who seemed on the verge of hyperventilating, took a deep breath and nodded. “Act natural. I can do that. I can act natural.”

  Auri wanted to laugh, but she was right there with her.

  “We’re in,” Cruz said. He’d been kneeling at the back door. He stood and opened it.

  “Wow.” Auri stopped, stunned. “You really did it.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?” he asked, his eyes crinkling with humor.

  “Well, yeah. It’s just…”

  She crept forward, gazing into the abyss that was Mrs. Fairborn’s large house—or what looked like a mudroom—keeping a watchful eye as though something was going to jump out at her. Now that it was really happening, she was having all kinds of second thoughts.

  Panic took hold. Backing away, she looked between her two friends, and asked, “Who wants coffee?” right before she turned and hightailed it over the fence despite a wide-open back gate.

  * * *

  Zee started the video from where Keith Seabright entered the store. Since the Quick-Mart sat right across the street from the sheriff’s station, the station was in the background of one of the four grainy panes. Unfortunately, all four surveillance angles formed four blocks on the single screen, and there was no way to get only one angle per screen as that was how it was recorded. It made deciphering the details even harder.

  “Did Mr. Walden give you any trouble?”

  Mr. Walden, the owner of the Quick-Mart, could be cantankerous when he wanted to be.

  “No,” Zee said with a shrug. “But he did ask me out.”

  “He’s eighty!”

  “If a day.”

  “Does he know you’re a sniper?”

  “He does now,” she said with a smirk. “There.” She pointed to the screen as a lean, fit brunette walked in wearing a T-shirt, a pair of army fatigues, and a few days’ worth of scruff. He paid cash for his gas, looked over his shoulder, then left.

  As he exited the store, another man, stockier and wearing a baseball cap, bumped into him. Seabright looked like he was going to ignore it, but he suddenly turned on him, the movement so fast it was impossible to make out, and shoved.

  The man went flying against an outdoor ice cooler.

  Seabright went after him. He dragged him to his feet by his collar, but the man raised his palms in surrender.

  Seabright didn’t let it go. He looked down at his shirt, or maybe his arm, then got in the man’s face.

  “He wasn’t carrying anything, was he?” she asked Zee.

  Quincy rolled his chair over to watch. “I’ve studied this tape a dozen times. Neither was carrying anything.”

  “I thought maybe the guy had spilled something on him.”

  “Exactly,” Zee said. “Why would he get so upset?”

  Quincy scooted closer. “From what Mr. Walden said, Seabright was the most easygoing guy he’s ever met. Nothing fazed him.”

  “But look,” Zee said, pointing again. “There’s a stain on his shirt.” She turned to Sun. “This may be crazy, boss, but I think he tried to stab Seabright and failed.”

  “Could be, sis,” Quincy said. “Seabright is former Special Forces. He could’ve seen the knife from the corner of his eye and thwarted the attempt.”

  “And he clearly has lightning-quick reflexes,” Sun said.

  “Maybe the guy didn’t know what he was getting himself into,” Zee added. “Which was why, for their second attempt, they drugged him.”

  “Makes sense.” Sun leaned closer. “Damn, I wish we had a better angle.”

  There were a few people in the store, and every one of them turned to see what was going on. When Seabright shoved the man one last time and headed for his truck, a dark-colored Dodge, several people went to the window to investigate.

  The assailant went the opposite direction.

  “There,” Zee said, pointing to the taillight of a light-colored, late-model pickup. “He’s getting into a Toyota Tundra.”

  Quincy looked at Sun. “Just like the one used to run your boyfriend down.”

  “No plates?” she asked.

  “They stayed far enough out of camera range, like they’d cased the store beforehand.”

  “Maybe we need to check the footage over a few days.”

  “I can do that tonight, boss,” Zee said. “If you’ll buy me some hot wings.”

  “Oh, and beer,” Quincy said, suddenly excited to help.

  But Sun had spotted an oddity in the video. Sometimes it wasn’t what people were doing, but what they weren’t doing that caught one’s attention.

  “Run it back,” she said, squinting at the lower left pane. The high angle showed the rear of the store and the cash registers in the background.

  Zee rewound—metaphorically speaking—to when Seabright entered. He paid and headed out of the store, but while everyone inside looked toward the commotion up front, one kid did the exact opposite. He turned toward the rear of the store instead. Toward the camera.

  He looked directly at it and raked a hand through his hair, as though purposely showing his face. As though signaling anyone who might be watching.

  “What the hell?” Zee said. She leaned closer. “I didn’t even catch that. How did I not catch that?”

  “It’s okay, Zee. It took me a moment, too. But watch Seabright.” Sun pointed. “He looks right at the kid before he leaves. Can we zoom in?”

  “Not with this program, boss. I can run it through an editor, but the quality is horrible. I doubt we’ll get an ID.”

  “We may not need one.” She leaned closer and studied him. A feeling of recognition that started in the back of Sun’s mind hurtled forward. She hit the space bar just as he pulled back his hair. He was thin with dark locks in bad need of a trim, but it was the shape of his face. The bone structure. The nose. The eyes.

  “You know this kid?” Quincy asked.

  “Yes.” The word came out airy as astonishment thundered through her. Wetness stung the backs of her eyes as she tried to fill her lungs. She would know that kid anywhere. She still carried his picture to this day along with one that showed his age progression. She’d spent months memorizing every line of his face.

  “Sun?” Quincy put a hand on her back.

  “Unless I’m mistaken, his name is El
liot. Elliot Kent.”

  “Okay,” he said, his tone wary. “And that’s of vital interest because?”

  She lowered her hands. “Because he’s been dead for seven years.”

  13

  At that awkward stage between birth and death?

  We can help you through it!

  —SIGN AT DEL SOL BROKERAGE AND PSYCHIC READINGS

  Quincy handed Sun a fresh cup of coffee as she watched the video yet again.

  “Sun, we can’t know that the boy in that video is Elliot Kent.”

  “It’s him. I’d know him anywhere.” His face had been emblazoned into her mind’s eye. She’d looked at a hundred pictures. Watched tons of videos. Spoken to dozens of people. She knew Elliot Kent almost as well as she knew her own daughter. “He was my very first case when I made detective and my very first failure. Among many, unfortunately.”

  “Your first case?” Quincy asked, thinking back. “That was what? About seven years ago? He couldn’t have been more than—”

  “Five.”

  Quincy studied the kid, not sure what to think, but Zee didn’t question it.

  “Why did you think he died?” she asked.

  “We found bloody clothes near the house. We just—we didn’t hold out much hope of finding him alive after that. And there was never a ransom demand, even though we initially thought the abduction was related to his father’s illegal activities.”

  “What illegal activities?” Quince asked.

  “Ponzi scheme of sorts. He cleaned out entire families. Left them devastated, even though he insisted he wasn’t behind it. Said he was the fall guy. The government felt otherwise. He was on trial when all of this was happening.”

  “One of his victims?”

  “We looked into that. Thought it could have been blackmail, but there was never a demand. We thought about revenge, but ruled that out when Elliot just vanished. The abductor would’ve wanted Mr. Kent to know what he’d done. And why.”

  “What about a ploy for leniency?”

  “We considered that, too. Mr. Kent broke down repeatedly in court, especially after they found Elliot’s clothes. Which,” she said, looking over at him, “were found the same day the defense rested.”

  “Did that have any sway on the jurors?” Zee asked.

  “I don’t care how strong a case a prosecutor has, nothing beats the tears of a father, crocodile or not. You bet it did. He got acquitted on four of the five charges, but there was no denying that last charge of investment fraud.” She took a sip. “Got fifteen years.”

  “And you really think this kid is his son?”

  “Yes. Nothing added up, even then. There were just too many times I caught his mother with such a look of utter devastation. Utter hopelessness.”

  “As any parent would be.”

  “Not at all.” She sat up straighter. “Parents are devastated, yes, but they always have hope, even when the last shred of evidence points in the opposite direction. They always justify it, at least in those first few weeks. Nothing will convince them their child is gone until we find a body. But Mrs. Kent, she was different. Her devastation was more … absolute.”

  Zee took a sip of her own coffee. “Like a parent who had something to do with a coverup?”

  Sun pulled her lower lip between her teeth in thought, then said, “Yes and no. Parents who commit filicide, those parents who are abusive to begin with, go about their business afterward as though nothing happened. They get on with their lives. It’s honestly the strangest thing. And it throws jurors off. It’s so hard for a normal person to fathom their indifference, and sometimes they mistake their behavior for innocence. But Mrs. Kent was genuinely devastated.”

  “Maybe they accidentally killed him.”

  “I considered that, too, until about ten minutes ago.” She looked back at the screen. “I’m telling you, guys. That’s Elliot.”

  They watched as Elliot exited the store and climbed into the passenger’s side of Seabright’s truck.

  Quincy was finally beginning to believe her. “Does anyone else find it odd that he got into a man’s truck who ended up with multiple stab wounds a few hours later?”

  Zee concurred. “It can’t be a coincidence, boss.”

  “I agree. So what? Seabright kidnapped Elliot? It just doesn’t seem like his MO.”

  “And your gut is telling you this?” Quince asked. “Because you’ve known him for so long?”

  She scowled at him. “No, Levi’s gut told me. The man I’m going to kill the minute I find.”

  “Might not want to lead with that.”

  “But Elliot signaled to us,” Zee said. “Why now? He’s been missing for over seven years. Is this the first opportunity he’s had?”

  “There’s something else we need to seriously consider.” Tired of fighting it, Sun gave the dread gnawing at her gut free rein. “This was taken a few hours before Seabright showed up to the bar alone. If Elliot is being held against his will, Seabright had plenty of time to take him back to wherever he is being held and lock him up again. And with his abductor in the hospital—”

  “He could die,” Quince finished for her.

  She turned to Zee. “I need you to talk to Mr. Walden again. Try to find out if he’s ever seen the boy with Seabright before. If he’s been with him this whole time.”

  “I’m on it, boss.”

  “Quincy, I need an address on this guy. Anything in his name or even his parents’ name. Get Anita on that. Then how about you and I go talk to Mrs. Kent?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  Sun’s phone dinged just as Anita came into the bullpen. “Hey, boss. Mrs. Fairborn is here to confess to stabbing Keith Seabright Saturday night.”

  “Damn it,” Sun said under her breath after reading the text. “I need to run an errand before we head out.”

  “I got Mrs. F.,” Quincy said. “You go. I’ll call in Salazar to babysit while Anita and I try to get an address on Seabright.”

  “Thanks, Quince.”

  “To be honest, boss, I’m looking forward to reading how an eighty-year-old woman with blue hair repeatedly stabbed a two-hundred-pound man in a knife fight outside the Ravinder’s bar.” They watched as Anita led her in. “I didn’t know she had it in her.”

  * * *

  “You realize if your mother finds us here, she’s going to catch onto the fact that we’re skipping,” Cruz said once they were ensconced into a corner booth at Caffeine-Wah.

  “She just left here. She won’t be back for a while. It’s all good.”

  Sybil nodded absently, her lids as round as the rims on their cappuccino cups. Poor thing. Auri should’ve never dragged her into this.

  She got a text from her mom and checked the time. Her mom was very careful not to text during class. Sure enough, second period just let out. They were officially skipping two classes.

  Her stomach gurgled from her nerves as she read the text.

  Knock, knock.

  Who’s there?

  Etch.

  She laughed. Mom, that one’s older than the Pecos River.

  Etch.

  Mom.

  This is not Mom. This is Etch.

  OMG! Fine. Etch who?

  Gesundheit. Now have a good day.

  Her mom only used the Etch joke when she was worried about something and couldn’t come up with anything better.

  Is everything okay?

  I just needed to read your voice. I’ll probably be home late.

  Everything was definitely not okay.

  I love you, Mom.

  After a moment in which she was sure her mom covered her heart with a hand and sighed aloud, Auri had to laugh when her mom typed back, It’s hard to blame you, really. All things considered.

  Then she added an entire line of hearts and it was Auri’s turn to sigh.

  “Your mom’s pretty great,” Sybil said.

  “She seems to think so.” She looked at her cohorts. “I’m sorry I chickened out.�
�� She tightened her hands around her cup. “I think I’m ready now.”

  “It’s okay,” Cruz said. “Let’s give it a minute. Mrs. Fairborn will be in the station for hours.”

  She nodded a little too enthusiastically. Cruz’s penetrating gaze didn’t help.

  Seeming to sense her discomfort, he refocused it on Sybil. “So, do you know your new expiration date?” When she turned a confused expression on him, he added, “When you’re going to die.”

  “Cruz!” Auri said.

  Sybil had known her whole life she was going to die on her fifteenth birthday. She’d had a premonition as a kid and had dreamed about it since. Thankfully, Sunshine Vicram had something to say about that and Sybil survived a terror no kid should ever have to endure.

  Cruz shrugged, oblivious, which was not like him. “It’s just that Auri’s mom stopped your premonition from happening, so I wondered if you knew your new expiration date.”

  “Oh,” Sybil said, brightening. “I do, actually.”

  “For real?” Auri asked.

  “Yep.” She slid her glasses up her freckled nose. “As of this moment, I’m going to live until I’m eighty-three and die of congestive heart failure.”

  “Oh.” Auri cringed inwardly. “That’s good … I guess.”

  “Yeah. I’m shooting for ninety-three. I’ve decided to get more exercise and eat healthy.” They all looked down at the pastry in her hand. “Right after this delicious chocolate croissant.”

  The bell dinged and the owners of the coffee shop came in through the front carrying boxes. Auri decided to take advantage of the opportunity given her.

  “Here.” She handed Cruz a butter knife. “Hold this to my throat and go with it.”

  “Okay, but if they stab me, I’m blaming you.”

  “Deal.”

  Auri and her mom had lived in a loft above Richard and Ricky’s garage in Santa Fe for years. They were like family and Auri had been the flower girl at their wedding. But in all the years they’d lived there, the couple held one captivating secret over their tenants’ heads: the eyeliner trick.

  Ricky, a gorgeous Asian, wore the most perfect eyeliner Auri had ever seen. He applied it with surgical precision and Sun and Auri wanted to know how.