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

Sun ignored it, raised an index finger in warning, and said as firmly as possible, “No.” Anita stopped short and blinked in surprise, but Sun rounded Quincy to come face-to-face with Joshua. “Absolutely not.”

“What?” he asked, as confused as Anita.

“I refuse to hear anything you have to say.”

“You don’t have to listen.” He handed her a handwritten note.

She scanned it, then glared at him. “No way.”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff, but I—”

“No way do you have better handwriting than I do.” It was perfect. The slant and loops all equal. The height a veritable straight line. Sun’s chicken scratch barely qualified as a written language, and Joshua Ravinder’s penmanship rivaled John Hancock’s?

“Um,” he said, taken aback.

She made a show of ripping the letter in half, then halved it again before handing it back.

“Hey.” Disappointed, he tried to reconstruct it. “You have to take my confession.”

“No, I don’t.” She turned and headed for her desk again, stopping short with his desperate plea.

“But I did it,” he said, following her.

After he stepped into her office, she closed the door, pointed to the chair across from hers, and said, “Sit,” before sitting herself.

He obeyed instantly.

She gave him a lengthy inspection, then asked, “What is going on? Why is everyone confessing?”

“Everyone?” Either he was a really good actor, or he was genuinely surprised. “Who’s everyone?”

It was her turn to be surprised. “You don’t know?”

“Sheriff, I’m confessing because I did it. I killed my dad.”

Sun hadn’t realized until that moment that Kubrick was Joshua’s dad. She softened under that knowledge, but tried not to show it. “No, you didn’t. So why are you in here trying to convince me that you did?”

He lifted a shoulder and toyed with his cap like a child being scolded in the principal’s office.

She leaned onto her elbows. “I could arrest you for submitting a false confession.”

He lifted a shoulder again, and said meekly, “Not if I really did it.”

Okay, fine. She’d go through the drill. “How was he killed?”

Amusingly, the guy perked up with the question. “Stab wound in the chest.” He said it as though answering a question on a game show.

“What kind of knife was it?”

That tripped him up. He chewed a nail in thought, then said, “A Jimmy Lile split fourteen-tooth model FB Titanium Grey Cerakote with mirrored borders, a steel guard, and a green, nylon-wrapped handle.”

Okay, that was specific. And pretty much the exact knife Rambo used in First Blood. “What was he wearing?”

“Oh!” He thought back. “Probably a denim jacket and a plaid shirt.”

“What were his hands tied with?”

“Rope.”

“We’re done.” She tossed a pen on her desk.

“But you didn’t finish reading my letter. It was self-defense.”

“Joshua, we’re up to fourteen confessions now. I get it. You figure by claiming self-defense, you’ll get off easy. You could even say you were rescuing me.”

“You?” he asked, utterly lost if his expression were any indication. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but what do you have to do with it?”

She leaned back. “I want to know why everyone from Levi’s milkman to his pastor is filing a false confession.”

He twisted the cap in his hands. “Ravinder’s the best thing to happen to this family in a long time, Sheriff.”

Her heart swelled. It always amazed her that Levi, the youngest of the Ravinder men, had become the head of the entire clan and had earned the title of Ravinder. As far as she could tell, the others were all called by their first names.

“The whole town, really,” he continued. He was right. Levi’s distillery employed dozens of Del Sol’s finest.

“So, you’re all protecting him?” She knew the answer, of course, but wanted to hear it from him. She also wanted to know who was behind it. Levi would never put his people up to something like this.

He studied the nail he’d chewed on earlier. “No, ma’am. Like I said, I did it.”

“All right, then. Thank you, Joshua.” She stood and opened her door, inviting him to leave. He started to follow her but turned and put the torn letter on her desk.

“Great!” Quincy yelled out in the bullpen. She looked over at him as she escorted Joshua out. “Just great. Randy ate my almonds.”

When he threw an empty wrapper into his trash can, Sun couldn’t help but notice Rojas, whose desk was next to Quincy’s, cringe in guilt and turn away as he wiped salt off his mouth. Oh, yeah. He was going to fit right in.

She saw their latest blasphemer out, then locked herself in her office to make a call. To make the call.

After being transferred, put on hold, and transferred again, a female came onto the line with a short, to-the-point, “Danforth speaking.”

“Yeah,” Sun said, lowering her voice, “I was wondering if you’re naked.”

A high-pitched squeal nigh burst her eardrum. “Sunshine! Is it really you?”