A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1) - Darynda Jones Page 0,24
things were going to get much worse before they got better.
Her phone vibrated. She took it out of her jacket pocket and replied to her mom’s text with a thumbs-up. At least her day was probably going better than Auri’s.
“She’s not in school today,” Zee said when Sun and Quincy walked into the station. She had to speak up, as men were boarding up the gaping hole in the front of the building. “And no one called in to excuse her.”
“What do we know about them?” she asked her deputies before taking a file Price handed her.
“They’re new to the area,” he said. “Originally from Chicago. Been here about eight months. The husband is from money. The wife, your typical trophy, was a waitress.”
“They only have the one kid?” Sun asked, scanning the contents of what little they had on the family.
Zee chimed in, “As far as we know, but these rich people always have skeletons in their closets.”
“True.” Sun wondered how much she should pressure Mari St. Aubin. If she knew more than she was letting on, now was certainly the time to come squeaky clean.
Quincy leaned on the desk beside her. “Either Marianna St. Aubin is genuinely distraught, or she is one hell of an actress.”
Sun scanned the deputies surrounding her. “I think it’s time I hit the streets.”
“You mean—?” he asked, surprised she’d go there.
She nodded. “I mean.” If anyone had dirt on the St. Aubins, it would be the Book Babes, her mother’s book club, a.k.a. a front for drinking wine and gossiping. “They’re expecting me, anyway. I promised to talk to them about law enforcement today.”
“On your first day of work?”
“Don’t start.” The things her mother could talk her into. “They’re about to get a crash course. In the meantime, you guys keep digging.”
Salazar raised her hand. Unnecessary, but effective. “What about an Amber Alert?” She gauged the reaction of her colleagues. “Is it too soon?”
“An Amber Alert is never too soon.” If anything, they were usually too late. “Why don’t you get that going?”
She brightened. “You got it, boss.”
“Price,” she said, getting the young deputy’s attention. “I don’t suppose you have any connections in Chicago PD?”
Price wasn’t from Chicago, but Detroit was only a few hours away. He could have friends on the force there. She could get all the official reports on the St. Aubins there were and still know very little about the dynamics of the family. She wanted the gossip. The calls that weren’t reported because of their wealth and power.
Was there any history of domestic violence? Alcoholism? Prescription drug addiction?
He tossed her a knowing grin. “I’m on it.”
“Good man,” she said, hurrying out the door.
“You want backup?” Quincy called out to her.
She snorted, then changed her mind and turned back to him. Interrogating a group of women was one thing. Interrogating a group of women while a man they’d repeatedly referred to as stupid hot was another.
“Come to think of it.”
Quincy jumped up and followed her a little too enthusiastically. He’d always had a thing for her mom. An affinity thing. A disturbing thing.
“Just keep your hands to yourself,” she warned him.
He chuckled. “It’s not my hands you need to worry about.”
Excellent point.
“So,” Quincy said on the way over, “you’re going to talk to the nosiest people in town about law enforcement.”
“I know,” Sun said, deflating. “Just don’t let Wanda corner you. That woman’s a menace.” Wanda Stephanopoulos was a firecracker with the damage potential of a grenade, only less stable. Like a Molotov cocktail.
“I think she likes me.”
“They all like you. That’s why you’re here. You’re my distraction. They’ll be so enamored with you, they’ll answer all my questions without too much fuss.”
“Have you even met your mother?”
Sun conceded with a shrug. “It’s worth a shot.”
“I feel so used.” When she raised a brow at him, he added, “Just how I like it.”
They pulled into the crowded driveway of Darlene Tapia, one of Sun’s mother’s oldest friends. It was apparently her week to host the book club. Besides Darlene’s small crossover, several cars lined the street in front of the house, including Elaine Freyr’s Buick Encore. All sensible vehicles for fairly sensible women.
Wanda Stephanopoulos, on the other hand, drove a shiny red Dodge Hellcat. God help the town. The woman was barely tall enough to see over the steering wheel. It took up most of the driveway. Probably because she couldn’t park to save her life.
Elaine ran out to meet them before they could get out of her cruiser.