A Bad Day for Sunshine--A Novel Page 9

  Sun took the woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you. This is Chief Deputy Quincy Cooper.”

  She shook both their hands. “Nice to meet you. I’m Deputy Marshal Isabella Batista. This is my partner, Deputy Marshal Vincent Deleon. Hopefully, we’ll be out of your hair in no time.” When Sun looked in her office, more specifically at the box sitting on her desk, Marshal Batista laughed softly. “Don’t worry. We aren’t moving in. Do you mind?”

  She gestured toward Sun’s office, the one she hadn’t even unpacked yet, and started toward it.

  “I’m sure you’re aware that the pen recently lost a few prisoners,” she said when Quincy closed the door behind him.

  Deleon took the box off her desk and sat it on a shelf while they spoke.

  Sun nodded, taking her chair. “I am. Five inmates took over a transport van and put the guards in the hospital. Four of the fugitives have been recovered.”

  “Exactly.” She handed a file to Sun and sat in one of the visitor chairs someone had supplied since that morning. The label on it read Rojas, Ramses followed by his inmate number. “We received a call from one of your residents.” She scanned her notes. “A Douglas Pettyfer.”

  Quincy, who’d leaned against a wall by the window, coughed softly into a closed fist.

  “Yeah,” Sun said, suddenly very uncomfortable. “Doug isn’t exactly the best witness in these types of situations.”

  “We figured that out over the phone,” Deleon said, offering Sun a humorous smile. “But his description was spot-on.”

  “Really?” she asked, surprised. “And you’re certain he didn’t just see Rojas on television?”

  Batista handed her a photo. “This is the picture we have streaming.”

  The police photograph showed a kid in his early twenties. Shaved head. Slightly crooked nose, probably broken at some point. And every available inch of skin on his arms and hands covered in tats.

  “Okay,” she said, waiting for the rest.

  “That was taken when he was first arrested.” She handed her a second photo. “This is his latest photo, compliments of the state pen.”

  Same face, though thinner. Harder. His hair was a little longer, and he sported a scar that sliced perpendicular through his right eyebrow as well as a couple more tats, a feat she wouldn’t have thought possible mere seconds ago.

  “And Doug knew about the scar?”

  The marshal nodded. “He described it perfectly. Said he saw him out by the lake.”

  Her lake? That was disturbing AF.

  “We just can’t figure out why he’s here,” Deleon said.

  Batista confirmed with a nod. “There is a Rojas family in the area, but they don’t seem to be any relation. If someone is helping him, it’s not a blood relative. Not that we know of, anyway.”

  “Any known associates in the area?” Quincy asked.

  “None that we can find.”

  “Can I keep these?” Sun asked, handing the photos to Quincy.

  Batista nodded. “Of course. We just wanted to check in, see if you’d received any reports of sightings or anything unusual.”

  “Not that I know of, but I’ve only been on the job for a little over three hours.”

  “You’ve had a busy morning,” Deleon said.

  “Yes, I have.”

  “The missing girl,” Batista said. “Any chance our guy took her? Is maybe holding her hostage?”

  Sun had considered that the minute they’d shown up at her station. If Sybil were taken from her room, Rojas would’ve had to case the house. He would’ve known about Sybil and how to get past the St. Aubins’ extensive security system. Since his file said he’d been in prison for three years of a seven-year sentence, she doubted he’d know how to disable a latest-and-greatest, top-of-the-line security system.

  If he’d been hanging out by the lake, however, he could have formed a connection with Sybil. Become friends. Lured her out of her home and convinced her to meet him somewhere.

  “However unlikely, it certainly can’t be ruled out,” she said. “This says he was in prison for armed robbery. No assaults of any kind?”

  Both marshals shook their heads, but Deleon made a good point. “Desperate men tend to do desperate things.”

  “That they do.” Sunshine would be a fool to ignore this turn of events.

  The marshals stood to leave. Sun walked them out the side entrance.

  Batista shook her hand again. “We’ll talk to Douglas first, then we have an appointment with the parks and rec officer. We’re hoping he’s seen Rojas in the area. We’ll keep you apprised either way.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Any good places to eat?” Deleon asked before leaving.

  Sun named off a few. That was a perk of living in a tourist town. Good food.

  He handed her his card. “Call if you get hungry and want to join us.”

  “Thank you,” she said, more than a little flattered.

  He took her hand and held it a microsecond longer than necessary. Sun let him, then ended up cursing herself after they’d gone. She hadn’t dated in over two years. Bad breakup. Apparently, she has commitment issues. Either way, now was certainly not the time to try to resuscitate her love life.

  “So,” Quincy said from behind her, catching her ogling the deputy marshal, “he seems nice.”

  “Shut up.”

  Just as Sun sat at her desk, the same desk she had yet to organize, Anita walked in, her lids wide and her face pale. In her gloved hands was an envelope. A pink one.

  “Anita?” Sun said, standing.

  The look on her face convinced Quincy to rush to her, but he stopped when he looked at the envelope. “It’s addressed to you.”

  “It’s from her,” Anita said, moving her fingers so Sun and Quincy could see the return address. “It’s from Sybil St. Aubin.”

  * * *

  The deputies in residence gathered around her desk as Sun carefully pried open the envelope with gloved hands and a letter opener. According to the postmark, it had been mailed the day before. The handwritten address, with its neat script and rounded letters, suggested it was indeed from a girl. A young girl.

  She slid the opener under the flap, cut along the top, and lifted the parchment out.

  Quincy slipped the envelope into an evidence bag and sealed it for processing.

  Sun unfolded the letter and scanned it. Then she scanned it again before reading it aloud. But only after a quick, confused glance at Quince.

  “It’s dated two days ago. Postmarked yesterday,” she said.

  Quincy angled for a better view. “So, she wrote it Sunday but couldn’t mail it until Monday?”

  “Possibly. It’s addressed to me in care of the station, and it just happens to arrive on my first day?”

  “She met your daughter,” Zee said. “She probably knows who you are.”

  “True, but it gets stranger,” Sun promised, and began reading. “Dear Sheriff Vicram, by the time you get this letter, I will be gone, but I’m not dead. Not yet.”

  She spared a quick glance at Quincy. His face was tightly drawn in thought.

  “You have three days to find me,” she continued. “If you don’t, it will be too late.”

  “What the hell?” Quince said, his voice whisper soft.

  Price straightened and stepped back as though not sure what to think. As though not wanting to be a party to such events. “Is this a joke?” he asked, just as confused as Sun.

  “If it is,” Zee said, “it’s not a very funny one.”

  “I agree.” Sun kept reading, trying to analyze the strokes of the writing at the same time. As the letter continued, the signs of stress increased. The writing became heavier, like the writer was pressing down harder and harder. And the points became sharper. “I know this is going to sound crazy. Not even my parents believe me, but when I was six years old, I had a premonition, for lack of a better word. It’s the only one I’ve ever had, but it was very vivid, and I knew the minute I
had it, it was real.

  “It began as a voice. I was standing in our backyard in Illinois, and a presence told me I would be abducted three days before my fifteenth birthday, held in a dark place, and then killed on the day I turned fifteen.”

  “What does that mean?” Price asked. “What kind of presence?”

  “That night,” Sun continued without answering him, “I dreamed about the abduction, and I’ve had the same dream several times a year since. In my dream, I am taken by a man I don’t know. I try to fight him, but I can’t. For some reason, my arms and legs feel like they’re made of sand. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make them work right.”

  Sun paused to catch her breath as a wave of anxiety washed over her.

  “We’ve all had dreams like this,” Anita said.

  “More like nightmares.” Salazar, clearly buying into every word, shivered.

  Fighting to keep her distress to herself, Sun continued, “My birthday is important to him. I don’t know why, but he wants me to die on the day I was born.

  “When my parents told me we were moving to New Mexico, I was so happy. I hoped that by moving to Del Sol, the threat would go away. Instead, the dreams have been getting stronger.

  “I started keeping a diary, hoping to get new clues, but I really only see the same thing over and over again. Snow and trees and rocks. I wake up once when he’s carrying me and that’s what I see, so I think he’s keeping me in the mountains.

  “I wish I could see his face more clearly. I’m blindfolded most of the time, and I can’t focus when I’m not. All I can tell you is that he is thin but strong, and he has dark hair but light skin. And I think I scratched him, so if you find my body, be sure to check under my nails for DNA.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be crude, but you need to know this isn’t sexual. He never touches me. Not like that. But he calls me Syb. Like my dad. Like he has a right to call me by my nickname.

  “I can hear water underneath me. He keeps me in a small room like a shed, and it’s cold, and I think I’m going to die from the cold, but I don’t. I don’t die until he strangles me on my birthday. I fight and kick and claw, but he always wins because nothing works right and everything moves in slow motion.”

  Sun’s vision blurred while reading the next line.

  “It takes me a long time to die.”

  She stopped when she realized she was shaking visibly. Quincy knelt beside her, but she pulled away from him, fighting the sting at the backs of her eyes like a cage fighter in a championship match. Her demons were not something her deputies need ever see.

  After clearing her throat, she read the last paragraph.

  “Please don’t be sad if you don’t find me. According to my dream, you don’t. Nobody does. And I doubt anything will change that, no matter what you do. But I’d be stupid not to try, I guess.

  “Sincerely, Sybil St. Aubin

  “P.S. Please thank Auri for being my friend for a whole week. I’ve never known anyone like her. We were hoping we would have at least one class together, like first period, but just in case we didn’t, we came up with a way to pass notes to each other like spies sending secret messages. Maybe we can still do that someday. I hope she liked me as much as I liked her.”

  Sun forgot how to breathe after she finished the letter. It took her a few minutes to remember how again. She kept reading it over and over as her deputies stood or paced or stared at the floor, waiting for her to take the lead. Waiting for orders. Some way to put a stop to this.

  “Are we taking this seriously?” Price asked, breaking first. “I mean, doesn’t this prove that it’s a stunt? No one can predict something like this. Sybil St. Aubin is probably at her boyfriend’s house eating pizza and bingeing on Netflix.”

  Quincy pinned him with a scowl. “We have no choice but to take it seriously, Price. Stunt or not, it’s evidence.”

  “I find it odd that Marianna said something similar,” Sun said at last. “She kept saying we were running out of time. We had to hurry. Maybe she does believe her daughter, after all.”

  “Where do we stand on it?” Quince asked her, his voice tender with understanding.

  She filled her lungs in thought. “Too early to tell. Can you make a few copies of this? And bring one with us.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to talk to Sybil’s mom. I have a few more questions.”

  Since Quincy was the only other person wearing gloves, she handed the letter to him and then made her way to the restroom before she vomited in front of her posse.

  8

  How to Twerk:

  Step 1: Don’t

  —SIGN AT DEL SOL MIXED MARTIAL ARTS AND DANCE STUDIO

  The rest of the morning was like a blur to Auri. Though some of the students did seem to be warming up to her, she couldn’t stop worrying about Sybil. She may have gotten her looks from her father, but she definitely got the analytical side of her brain, the curious and driven side, from her mother. A fact that made her tingle with pride.

  She thought back to that night at the New Year’s Eve party. Sybil had walked up to her and introduced herself, a feat Auri admired. The girl seemed painfully shy.

  “You’re Auri,” she’d said to her right before she’d handed her a bottle of water.

  “I am.”

  Both freckled and bespectacled, the girl held out her hand. “I’m Sybil.”

  And they sat talking by the campfire the rest of the night. Or, well, until the cops came. Every so often, Auri’s gaze would wander to the quiet kid whom she now knew was Cruz De los Santos, but other than that, Sybil had her complete and undivided attention.

  She was easy to talk to. Auri especially loved the way her eyes lit up when they discussed astronomy or books or boys. Mostly boys. And she liked how her glasses made her eyes look a little bigger than they actually were. She looked like an American Girl doll.

  “You just started this year?” she’d asked her.

  “Yep. In August. We moved here this summer to start the vineyards. My dad has a couple in Illinois, but my mom wanted to open a winery in New Mexico, too.”

  “Why here?” Auri asked, baffled.

  “She told me she came to the Balloon Fiesta when she was a kid, and she’d dreamed of living here ever since.”

  “Weird.”

  Sybil laughed. They clinked their water bottles and toasted to new beginnings and red hair and boys. Mostly boys.

  Sybil St. Aubin was the first girl in Del Sol she’d felt that bond with. That deep connection that told her they’d be more than just friends. They’d be best friends.

  And now this. Auri needed to help. She had skill. She’d been investigating certain events of her life since she was seven. Unbeknownst to her mom, Auri had mastered the art of surveillance when she was eight from watching her. From listening.

  She’d learned how to investigate. What to take note of and what to discard. She’d deciphered her mom’s universal password when she was nine, which wasn’t difficult once she realized the woman had had a mad crush on Levi Ravinder since she was, like, two and his birthday was in her calendar. In bold letters. With a tiny heart dotting the i.

  All that aside, she could be helping with the investigation instead of sitting in class, listening to a lecture on eye color and dominant traits, a concept she’d learned years earlier when she realized none of her coloring had been passed down from either of her parents.

  Not only that, who knew teenage girls better than other teenage girls? Who better qualified to search for her friend?

  She almost cheered aloud when the bell rang for lunch.

  She hurried out the door and texted her mom for an update. But before she could hit Send, someone making a mad dash for the lunchroom crashed into her from behind.

  She lunged forward, dropping her backpack and her phone, and plowed into some poor soul in jeans and an army jacket.

  Thankfully, that someone had long arms and catlike reflexes. He caught her a
microsecond before she face-planted on the tile floor. Then he lifted her effortlessly to her feet.

  She regained her balance, her fists curling into the guy’s jacket as though her life depended upon it, and raised her gaze until it collided with the scowl voted Most Likely to Turn Innocent People into Stone.

  “Cruz,” she squeaked, shoving away from him and dusting herself off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—” But when she looked up at him, he had refocused his scowl on the boy in a Seattle Seahawks hoodie running down the hall. “Yeah, he must be really hungry.”

  He turned back to her, and she noticed the muscles in his jaw flex as though he were grinding his teeth to dust. She also noticed how his jaw looked when it flexed. Like a movie star’s, all strong and masculine and—

  “Are you okay?”

  She hesitated before answering with a surprised, “Yes. Thank you.”

  After giving her one last inspection, he turned and strode off. Like she meant nothing to him. Probably because she didn’t.

  She bent down to gather her effects when another thought hit her. She bolted upright and turned full circle to take in the last of the students headed to lunch.

  While she’d only met Sybil recently, surely she had some friends who’d known her longer. Maybe even a best friend. One who would know if someone had been following her or sending her messages or, worse, threatening her.

  Auri needed to interview Sybil’s friends. And she could do something silly and unproductive like ask around willy-nilly, hoping to stumble into one of them, or she could narrow down her search tenfold.

  She looked toward the guidance counselor’s office, where a student aide readied himself for his turn at the helm, and she formed a plan. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she contemplated her fate should she fail. Should her mom find out.

  What would happen if her mom discovered she broke into a guidance counselor’s office to steal another student’s file? She could check Sybil’s schedule. Go to her classes. Find out who her friends were. Surely, she’d made friends in her classes. And who knows? A concerned teacher could’ve made notes about Sybil. Who she hung out with. Who she ate lunch with.