A Good Day for Chardonnay (Sunshine Vicram #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,138

drink after all. After another cough, she breathed cool air into her burning lungs, and said, “I remember. Only bits and pieces, but I remember.” She tapped the bar again. The bartender, a woman with rich brown hair and the most incredible gold irises Sun had ever seen, poured her another, but not before raising a quizzical brow.

Sun nodded and the woman poured, albeit reluctantly.

“You do realize that shit is a hundred proof,” Quincy said.

Again, just like its creator.

When she ignored him, he looked at the bartender. “What do you think?” he asked her.

She grinned, forming the most charming dimples at the corners of her mouth, and said, “In my limited experience, it always boils down to one, unmitigated fact. People lie.”

Quincy nodded. “And there you go.”

The bartender winked at him, then went to take another order at the end of the bar. It was a good thing, because next time Sun spoke, she did so with a slight slur. “I agree. People lie. Tests don’t.”

“Sun, you and I both know those tests aren’t foolproof and human error is a real thing, even in the world of forensics.”

“Especially in the world of forensics. It was odd, though,” she said, thinking back. “I’d sent those samples in months ago. True, I held on to them for too long, but it still took longer to get the results than I’d expected.”

“You didn’t get the results.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No. You never got them. You had to call the DPS for the results. And they just happened to be ready on the day you called?”

Sun took a sip of the warm liquid, her thoughts tumbling around in her brain like dice on a craps table. “On the day after we visited Wynn Ravinder in Arizona?”

“What’s the common denominator?”

“Nancy is a good friend of mine,” she said.

“Okay, who’s Nancy and what does she have to do with this case?”

“Nancy works at DPS. She ran the labs for this case.”

He leaned back in his chair. “As my mentor would say, when you’ve eliminated all the impossible crap, whatever crap remains, however improbable that crap may be, must be the true crap.” He turned to her. “I’m paraphrasing.”

She breathed through a head rush as though she were in labor and practicing Lamaze. Then she frowned at him. “I thought Allan Pinkerton was your mentor.”

“He’s my hero. Sherlock is my mentor.”

“I want a fictional character as a mentor.”

“I think Minnie Mouse is still available.”

“Okay,” she said, hopping off the stool, “I’m tired and I’m angry and I have a lot to process.”

“Clues?”

“No, carbs. I have a lot of carbs to process. I had a weak moment on the way over.”

“I hope you don’t think you’re driving.”

“Nope.” She tossed him her keys. “You are. We need to get to Santa Fe.”

He pouted. “I drank, too.”

“You took, like, three sips.”

“I’m being punished for not being a lush?”

“How is catching bad guys punishment?”

A sheepish grin slid across his handsome face. “Good point.”

29

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An hour later, Quincy dropped Sun off at an old friend’s house and she found herself in the woman’s living room, drinking a glass of chardonnay and reminiscing about the good old days. Not that Nancy was home yet, but Sun could wait. And she did.

When she heard the keys jingle in the lock at the door, she put the glass aside and watched as the woman stepped inside her dark house. She flipped on the light to the living room, turned, and saw Sun.

“Oh, my God!” she said, throwing a hand over her heart. “Sunshine? What the hell? You scared the shit out of me.”

“Hey, Nance. Long time.”

The woman, a tall strawberry blond with a wide smile and huge brown eyes, put down her bag and grew wary. Glancing around like she half expected a team of law enforcement officers to emerge from the darkness and arrest her, she asked warily, “How’d you get in here?”

Sun lifted the key. “You still keep it in the same place. And you still keep late hours, I see.”

Nancy slipped off her heels, looked at the open bottle of wine, and took a glass out of the cabinet. She walked over and poured herself a couple of ounces, her hand shaking, clinking the bottle against the rim on the delicate glass.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she

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