A Good Day for Chardonnay (Sunshine Vicram #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,29
get paroled.”
“Mother,” she said again. “I’m going to start recording our conversations so I’ll have something to present to the judge during my emaciation hearing.”
When Quincy tossed her a questioning look, she covered the phone and whispered, “Emancipation.”
“Ah.”
“She’s been threatening it for years, but I figure as long as she can’t pronounce it, no judge in the state will know what she’s asking for.”
He nodded and tapped his temple.
“Stellar idea, honey,” she said into the phone.
“Did you find him?” Auri asked, doing a one-eighty.
Because Auri’s tone held a sadness that hadn’t been there a moment earlier, Sun knew exactly who she was talking about. “Not yet, sweetheart. I don’t think Levi will be found until Levi wants to be found.”
“What if he’s really hurt? He could be lying dead somewhere.”
Sun had worried about that very thing. “We’ll find him, bug. Maybe you should ask Jimmy if they’ve heard anything.” A long shot since she’d just spoken to Jimmy, but Levi could’ve gone home last night.
“Okay. I’ll text him now.”
“Let me know. Are you helping your grandparents with the attic?”
“About to. Grandma made pancakes and Sybil is coming over.”
“Awesome. You guys have fun. And keep me updated.”
“Be careful, Mom. You know—”
“Yes,” she interrupted. “I know what they do to cops in jail. You tell me in minute detail every time I threaten to kill your grandparents. Love your face.”
“Love yours, too. Bye, Quincy!”
“Bye, sprout.” He chuckled softly when Sun hung up. “Emaciation? That’s hilarious.”
“Which is why I never correct her when she mispronounces anything. One, it’s adorable. And, two, my need to be entertained supersedes her need to cinch a full ride to Harvard.”
“I don’t know, Sunbeam. I think the kid has a shot at the Ivies.”
“She does, doesn’t she?”
“If she doesn’t get pregnant first.”
Sun slammed her lids shut. “That child’s virtue had better be right where I left it when I get back.”
“Good luck with that,” he said, his laugh a little too jovial as he turned into the parking lot of the Florence Café.
Breakfast turned out to be a pancake lover’s dream. Unfortunately, Sun had decided to cut back on the carbs, so she had bacon and eggs while living vicariously through her BFF, trying not to drool as he cut into a huge stack of fluffy goodness and refused to answer any of her questions on the subject of whatever he was hiding from her. It didn’t happen often, so the curiosity was eating her alive.
“Oh,” he said, steering the conversation away from the topic at hand again, “Anita wants us to stop by the St. Anthony’s Monastery and pick her up some olive oil.”
“Odd request.” She checked the seven texts Carver, her blind date, had sent her. She had no idea the guy was going to be so obnoxious. She would have to let him down easy, but not over text. She’d meet him for coffee when things calmed down. After firing off a quick text telling him she was out of town, then texting Levi for the 275th time, she asked, “Olive oil? Is that a secret code for something?”
“She swears the monastery has some of the best cold-pressed olive oil in the world.”
“Oh. That settles it then. I’ve always wanted to see St. Anthony’s anyway.”
Florence, Arizona, a pretty town sprinkled with palm trees and saguaro cacti, sat surrounded by miles of desert, a gorgeous vineyard, and a world-famous olive orchard. It boasted a population of over 26,000, but about 17,000 of those were residents of the massive Arizona State Prison Complex.
An hour after arriving in the town, Sun and Quincy drove through the first set of gates the prison had to offer. The guard told them where to go and roughly how to get there, but once inside, his directions seemed convoluted. The place was a maze.
“It’s like a small town in here,” Quincy said, leading Sun this direction and that with an index finger. She decided to rename him the Pathfinder. Mostly because he got them totally lost.
“I think we’re lost,” she said. “We may have to make a run for it.”
“If we do, I’m using you for cover.” He pointed to an armed guard in a watchtower looking down at them, sunglasses in place, rifle at the ready.
“At least we’ll go out in a blaze of glory.”
“Well, a blaze at least. I thought New Mexico was hot. This is like the seventh level of hell.”
New Mexico was hot, they just happened to live in one of the cooler areas. Which, while still hot,