the town had ever seen.
Who knew a rooster could even be decorated? Where does one even pin a medal onto a rooster?
“You planning on looking into that?” Quincy asked.
Sun lifted a shoulder half-heartedly. “I suppose.”
“Before he kills him?”
“I’m pretty sure Puff Daddy can hold his own against the likes of Mr. Madrid.”
“That’s what I mean.” He pointed a finger from behind his muffin. “That chicken is going to kill that poor guy.”
“Rooster.”
“And then we’ll never hear the end of it. It’ll go national. All because we let a chicken kill one of our citizens.”
“Rooster.”
“We’ll be the laughingstock of the nation.”
“You’re that certain we’re not already?”
Quincy took a breath to voice his next argument, but he had nothing. He shook his head and took another bite.
“Sometimes these things need to unfold organically.” She swallowed and peeled the wrapping lower. “And we can’t say those wounds are all from Puff Daddy. Mr. Madrid could’ve cut himself shaving.”
Quince snorted. “Shaving what? A honey badger?”
Sun looked back at her deputies and smiled.
“You glad to be back?” he asked.
“I am. But I thought the gang was all here. Where is my other deputy?”
“Price just got back.”
“Yeah, but we’re missing Bo.”
“Who?” Quincy asked, still studying Mr. Madrid as he limped across Main through a soft layer of snow that was already melting. Freaking New Mexico sun.
“Bo.” When he only shrugged, she continued, “Bo Britton? Your lieutenant? The only one to skip out on my one-on-ones last week?”
“Oh, Bo!” He nodded in recognition, then glanced around the station. “Yeah, he must be out on patrol.”
“Okay. Can you call him in?”
“Who?”
Seriously? “Lieutenant Bobby Britton? Also goes by Bo?”
“Right. He does.”
“He does what?”
“Goes by Bo.”
“Okay, great. Now that we’ve established his identity, I’d like to address the troops. Can you call him in?”
“Who?”
Sun slammed her lids shut and drew in a deep breath. “Lieutenant Britton.”
“Oh, right. We usually just call him Bo. Or L-T.”
She welded her teeth together and spoke through them. “Can you get him on the radio? I have yet to meet him.”
“Who?”
She went completely still. Del Sol was a peculiar place. Sun knew that. She’d known it when she’d accepted the position. She’d known she would have to deal with its own special kind of crazy, but not from Quincy. Not from one of her own.
Realizing there was more to this particular picture than met the eye, she unclamped her jaw and turned to walk away, but Zee came to stand by Quincy, enjoying the last remnants of her own muffin.
Zee was a tall, willowy black woman and the only deputy Sun had wined and dined herself. For good reason.
She had been a sniper for the Bernalillo County Sheriff’s Office, and it took a lot of schmoozing, much of it not strictly ethical, to get her to agree to come to the small town of Del Sol.
One could argue that a small town like Del Sol didn’t need a sniper.
One would be wrong.
Also, the girl could shoot the wings off a fruit fly at a thousand yards. Metaphorically speaking.
“Have you told her yet?” she asked.
“Crap, I forgot,” Quince said. “Zee and I found out we’re actually twins separated at birth.”
Sun turned back, her interest piqued.
“Weird, right?” Zee asked, nodding in confirmation.
And Zee was the sane one.
“Very,” Sun agreed. “Especially since he’s half-Latino with blond hair, blue eyes, and a below-average level of common sense and you’re a stunning black woman with ebony hair, hazel eyes, and an above-average level of common sense. Way, way above.”
“Exactly,” Quince said, taking another bite.
“Like, atmospheric.”
He nodded. “Weird.”
When Sun started back to her office, she heard Zee say proudly, “Did you hear that? She called me stunning.”
“Yeah, well, since we’re twins, it was a compliment to both of us.”
“No way. That was my compliment. I get to keep all of it.”
“You were always selfish, even when we were kids.”
“Insult me again and I’ll eat the last cursed muffin.”
Sun laughed and continued toward her office with a new vigor. So far, she’d racked up three mysteries that needed solving fairly quickly. First, who were the Dangerous Daughters, and why did the mayor care so much? Second, how was she going to convince Mrs. Sorenson and Mr. Madrid to stop fighting and just date already? And third, what was up with Lieutenant Bo Britton? Because, as subtle as Quincy’s evasive tactics were—Note to self: never send that man in undercover—something did not add up.
And it was barely nine o’clock. She could only hope she’d survive the post until noon.
“Hey!” Quincy shouted. “I thought