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

Thankfully, Auri’s mom was on the case. As well as the best tracker in the state, Levi Ravinder. They found Sybil but lost her again when the kidnapper tried a second time. If not for Zee and her remarkable sharpshooting abilities, both Sybil and Auri’s mom would be dead.

The thought crushed Auri. Her mom was one thing. She didn’t know if she would survive losing her. But the thought of losing Sybil was almost as bad. She glanced up at her friend and marveled once again at their similarities. Red hair and, well, red hair. That was pretty much their only similarity other than their interests and hobbies and general outlook on life. And boys. Mostly boys.

Sybil’s hair was a light auburn while Auri’s was an embarrassingly bright copper. People stopped her in the street and asked if they could touch it. Not creepy at all. And Sybil had a light sprinkling of freckles that Auri envied. They were so cute. Auri had a darker complexion and no freckles to speak of. Also, no round-rimmed glasses like the ones that made Sybil look book-nerd adorable.

When she’d met Sybil at the lake on New Year’s Eve, Auri’s first thought was that she looked like an American Girl doll she’d had when she was little. The one her grandparents bought her because it had red hair, and who looked more like a schoolmarm than a little girl.

Her opinion had yet to change.

They sat cross-legged on the attic floor.

“They may have caught the killer, after all,” Sybil said, referencing the police report, “but it never went to trial, so they never knew for certain.”

Auri took the report but held it so Sybil could read with her. A musty police blotter with faded ink on yellowed paper described an incident at the county jail that happened on August 12, 1965. “Oh, my God,” Auri said. “They killed him.”

“Yes.” Sybil flipped to the second page. “A drifter named Hercules Holmes. He escaped and disappeared, but they found his body a couple of weeks later. Someone killed him before he could go to trial.”

“That’s awful,” Auri said.

Her grandmother weaved toward them through boxes and furniture. “The Holmes case?”

They looked up and nodded.

“What do you know about it, Grandma?”

She sat in a dusty rocking chair and put her elbows on her knees. “Just what’s in that box, I’m afraid.”

Auri looked at the piles of clippings around her. “Why do you have this stuff anyway?”

“History,” her grandfather said, panting from the climb up. He’d brought strawberry sparkling water and handed them each an ice-cold can.

“Thanks, Grandpa.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sybil said.

“Sybil, if you don’t start calling me Cyrus, I’m kicking you out. For good this time.”

She grinned and popped the top on her can. “Okay.”

They had a fan going, but it was getting hot fast. Auri’s grandfather fanned himself and took in all the work they had yet to do. “We’re going to have to pick this up when it cools down in the evening.”

“Oh,” Auri said, jumping up. “Well, I’m okay. Do you mind if I keep looking?” She didn’t miss the knowing glances they exchanged.

“Of course not, peanut.”

“You saved all of this, all of these cases, for history?” Auri asked.

“Sure.” He sat on an old trunk next to his wife. “We’re actually working on opening a Del Sol history museum, and those old newspapers are gold.”

“But these are just clippings from old, unsolved cases. Except maybe the missing persons cases. They apparently caught that guy.”

“Do you believe they did?” her grandmother asked.

Auri and Sybil exchanged glances, too, testing each other’s reaction. “I guess,” Auri ventured. “I mean, it says that they caught this drifter named Hercules Holmes with one of the missing persons’ wallets.”

“So that makes him guilty?” her grandmother asked. “That makes him unworthy of a fair trial?”

“No,” she said adamantly. “Never.” She knew enough about the law from watching her mother scour over cases for years to know things were rarely that simple. She put the report down and looked at them. “You think he was innocent.”

Auri’s grandmother held up her palms. “I’m just asking what you think.”

She pressed her mouth together and thought about it. “The way I see it, he was either guilty and so he escaped or innocent and someone helped him escape.”

Cyrus narrowed his lashes at her, and if Auri didn’t know better, she’d say there was a sparkle of pride in his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked, coaxing her to go deeper. He did that a lot.

“Well, he magically escapes a heavily guarded jail cell and then ends up dead two weeks later? According to the report”—she bent and read aloud—“he died from a single gunshot wound to the head shortly after escaping.” She looked back at him. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t somehow manage to get himself killed, but right after his magical escape? It seems more than a little suspect to me.”

Both he and her grandmother nodded in agreement.

“And he was a drifter passing through town,” she added. “These cases went back years. Where was he then?”

“Go on,” her grandmother encouraged.