A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1) - Darynda Jones Page 0,78
with GPS.
“Who is this?”
Mari pressed her hands over her mouth to squelch a sob.
“Mr. St. Aubin,” Fields said softly, the lines on his face hardening. “It’s coming from your house.”
Without even a hint of hesitation, Fields took the phone, and the two officers scrambled out of the conference room.
“Quincy—Deputy Cooper,” she corrected, “follow us with the St. Aubins.”
“You got it, boss.” He grabbed his jacket as she and Fields ran for her cruiser.
Sun skidded to a halt in the St. Aubins’ drive, careful not to disturb any fresh tire tracks. Snowy footprints on the walkway led to the front door, but the St. Aubins entered and exited through their garage. The tracks were definitely not theirs, though there were any number of law enforcement agents they could have belonged to.
With gun drawn, she walked through the yard alongside the pathway while Fields flanked her, and Quincy went around the back of the house.
She gestured toward the front door with a nod. “There’s something on the porch.”
Fields nudged her arm, wanting to take the lead. He was more old-school than she’d imagined. But she had this. It didn’t look like an explosive device from the size of it. Too small. And pink. Very pink.
They took up positions beside the front steps and waited for Quincy to come around the other side of the house.
He jogged up behind her. “Back door is locked. Doesn’t look like anyone has tampered with it.”
“Is that a phone?” Fields asked.
“It is.” Sun took the steps, checking the windows as she went. A burner phone sat on a small child’s jewelry box in the snow. The kind that played music when opened.
Quincy checked the front door while Sun put on a pair of gloves.
She pried open the box. A little ballerina starting spinning to a chimed version of “Greensleeves.”
The St. Aubins walked up then, following Sun’s footprints to avoid contaminating the scene.
“Is this Sybil’s?” she asked Mari.
The woman’s face morphed into astonishment. “Forest bought that for her on the day she was born.”
“We lost that years ago in a move,” he said, his voice cracking. “She was what . . . nine?”
“Ten,” Mari said. “When we moved into the house on Stanford.”
“Right. What’s inside?”
Sun pulled out a long lock of red hair, and Mari broke down.
“We’ll process this,” Fields said. “You get back out to the search.”
“Thank you. Call me if you find anything.”
“Of course.”
After dropping off Quincy’s patrol car at the station, Sun and Quincy headed back to the search-and-rescue efforts that were already under way. They did the better part of the journey in complete silence. Quincy broke first.
“Someone is fucking with us,” he said.
“I know.”
“It could be her.”
“I know.”
“We can’t rule it out.”
“I know.”
Even Sun, with that gut of hers that was never wrong, the one she had to ignore and follow the evidence no matter how it conflicted with her instincts, had to admit the bizarre set of coincidences surrounding Sybil’s disappearance were hard to dismiss.
Two items from Sybil’s past showing up now? This guy had to have stalked her for years. Stalked the family for years. That kind of patience took incredible dedication and discipline. Talk about holding a grudge.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Quincy asked.
“No.”
“Brainstorm?”
“No.”
“Spitball?”
“No. And ew.” When he didn’t ask again, she gave in. “Okay, fine. Let’s say Sybil stashed all this stuff from her past, made up a story about a premonition when she was six years old, and then planned this elaborate scheme to make it look like she was abducted? For what? Why would she go to such lengths for years?”
“Attention. What else? Her father travels all over the world. Her mother reads romance novels all day. She feels abandoned.”
“If that were true, if she were really just in it for the attention, why stick to her premonition story when nobody believed her? Her story never wavered. Not once in nine years.”
“Kid’s smart,” he said. “Smart kids can do anything. You of all people should know that.”
She ignored the compliment. “And if it were her, the abduction would’ve been more obvious. More staged. There would have been signs of a struggle in her room. Not the laundry room. And then she what? She planted that receipt to frame poor Mr. Hughes for buying an energy drink?”
Quincy held up his hands. “I’m not arguing with you. It’s just all very convenient.”
“Yeah, well, so are handkerchiefs, but you don’t see me carrying one around.”
They parked on the side of the road to the search site, and Sun