A Good Day for Chardonnay (Sunshine Vicram #2) by Darynda Jones

“He escaped?” He asked the question as though it were a personal affront to him. As though the raccoon had rejected his offer to live a life of petty crime with him.

“I told you to lock it.”

“I clicked it closed.”

“You clicked it?” When he nodded, she said, “They have opposable thumbs.”

He leaned against the doorframe, no longer able to hold the weight of his own disappointment. “Wait,” he said, suddenly wary. He straightened and looked around. “Does that mean he’s loose somewhere in the station?”

“It does indeed.” She scooped her bag off his desk and headed for the exit sign. “And guess who gets to hunt him down when we get back.”

“Why me?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Apparently.”

Two minutes later, after they had settled into her cruiser, Sun said, “Auri had a boy in her room.”

“What?” His belief that Auri was the very angel who hung the moon in the heavens just received a hairline fracture. “You kicked him out, right?”

“No.”

The look of astonishment he shot her was almost comical.

“I sicced the grandparents on him.” She headed toward the interstate. “They’ll keep an eye on the situation.”

“Oh. Okay. So, um—”

“Mom is still great. Just like she was three hours ago when you last saw her. Thanks for asking.”

“What? I can’t check to see how your parents are doing?”

“Of course you can, but you never check to see how my parents are doing. You check to see how my mother is doing. There’s a difference.”

He turned to look out a window. “She’s always been really cool to me, that’s all.”

She turned onto the interstate and set her cruiser to seventy-five. It was going to be a long night. “I know what this is.”

“You do?”

“Yep.”

“And?”

“You’re seeing someone and you don’t want me to know about it.”

After he stared at her a solid ninety seconds like she’d grown another head, he said, “Excuse me?”

“You keep asking about my mother because you’re seeing someone and you don’t want me to know who, so you’re distracting me with your longtime crush.”

He stared again, only not as long this time. “Came up with that one all on your own, did you?”

“And I’m fairly certain it didn’t take you an hour to shower and grab your toothbrush. You went to see her.”

He snorted. “Honey, if I went to see my girl on the side, I would’ve been gone a lot longer than an hour.”

“Touché, but how do you explain Friday afternoon when you said you were out patrolling?”

“I was out patrolling.”

“That’s a federal offense, you know. Getting nooky on the government’s dime.”

“Did you really just use the word nooky?”

“At the very least, you could be fired.”

“No one says nooky anymore.”

She turned to him. “You’re really not going to own up to this when I’ve caught you red-handed?”

“Sunny, the only thing you’ve caught red-handed is your own paranoia.”

“Then why won’t you tell me where you were Friday afternoon? Because you were with her. She wants you to leave, doesn’t she? She wants you to take her away from all this and start a new life in Californ-eye-ay.”

“Wow, you’ve really thought this through.”

Sun’s insecurities were getting the better of her. She truly felt Quincy had been pulling away. Or, at the very least, keeping secrets. Not that she had any room to talk. Maybe he was tired of the small-town life. Maybe he wanted more and didn’t know how to tell her.

She grew serious. “You know you can tell me anything.” It would be her luck that the moment she ended up back in Del Sol, albeit kicking and screaming, her best friend on the planet would leave. Again, not that she could blame him. She’d done the same thing to him fifteen years ago.

She banged her forehead against the steering wheel. But only once. And not, like, hard. “I did something and you don’t know how to tell me, so you’re avoiding me and we will eventually grow apart, and you’ll want to see other people and”—she turned a surprised expression on him—”you have a new bestie, don’t you?”

“Did you sample the confiscated LSD while I was gone?”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

“Acid trips are a bitch.”

“You aren’t even going to talk about it?”

“Says the person who refused to talk about the abduction for fifteen years.”

Classic defense mechanism. “I didn’t talk about it because I didn’t remember anything.”

He nodded.

“Okay,” she said, making a decision. “I’m dropping this for now.”

“About time.”

“But I’m giving you two days to tell me what’s going on, or I’m finding a new best friend.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Watch me.”

“No, I mean you literally can’t do that. No one wants to be friends with you.”