A Good Day for Chardonnay (Sunshine Vicram #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,63

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 Elliot. 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