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

“Well, yeah. It’s just …”

She crept forward, gazing into the abyss that was Mrs. Fairborn’s large house—or what looked like a mudroom—keeping a watchful eye as though something was going to jump out at her. Now that it was really happening, she was having all kinds of second thoughts.

Panic took hold. Backing away, she looked between her two friends, and asked, “Who wants coffee?” right before she turned and hightailed it over the fence despite a wide-open back gate.

Zee started the video from where Keith Seabright entered the store. Since the Quick-Mart sat right across the street from the sheriff’s station, the station was in the background of one of the four grainy panes. Unfortunately, all four surveillance angles formed four blocks on the single screen, and there was no way to get only one angle per screen as that was how it was recorded. It made deciphering the details even harder.

“Did Mr. Walden give you any trouble?”

Mr. Walden, the owner of the Quick-Mart, could be cantankerous when he wanted to be.

“No,” Zee said with a shrug. “But he did ask me out.”

“He’s eighty!”

“If a day.”

“Does he know you’re a sniper?”

“He does now,” she said with a smirk. “There.” She pointed to the screen as a lean, fit brunette walked in wearing a T-shirt, a pair of army fatigues, and a few days’ worth of scruff. He paid cash for his gas, looked over his shoulder, then left.

As he exited the store, another man, stockier and wearing a baseball cap, bumped into him. Seabright looked like he was going to ignore it, but he suddenly turned on him, the movement so fast it was impossible to make out, and shoved.

The man went flying against an outdoor ice cooler.

Seabright went after him. He dragged him to his feet by his collar, but the man raised his palms in surrender.

Seabright didn’t let it go. He looked down at his shirt, or maybe his arm, then got in the man’s face.

“He wasn’t carrying anything, was he?” she asked Zee.

Quincy rolled his chair over to watch. “I’ve studied this tape a dozen times. Neither was carrying anything.”

“I thought maybe the guy had spilled something on him.”

“Exactly,” Zee said. “Why would he get so upset?”

Quincy scooted closer. “From what Mr. Walden said, Seabright was the most easygoing guy he’s ever met. Nothing fazed him.”

“But look,” Zee said, pointing again. “There’s a stain on his shirt.” She turned to Sun. “This may be crazy, boss, but I think he tried to stab Seabright and failed.”

“Could be, sis,” Quincy said. “Seabright is former Special Forces. He could’ve seen the knife from the corner of his eye and thwarted the attempt.”

“And he clearly has lightning-quick reflexes,” Sun said.

“Maybe the guy didn’t know what he was getting himself into,” Zee added. “Which was why, for their second attempt, they drugged him.”

“Makes sense.” Sun leaned closer. “Damn, I wish we had a better angle.”

There were a few people in the store, and every one of them turned to see what was going on. When Seabright shoved the man one last time and headed for his truck, a dark-colored Dodge, several people went to the window to investigate.

The assailant went the opposite direction.

“There,” Zee said, pointing to the taillight of a light-colored, late-model pickup. “He’s getting into a Toyota Tundra.”

Quincy looked at Sun. “Just like the one used to run your boyfriend down.”

“No plates?” she asked.

“They stayed far enough out of camera range, like they’d cased the store beforehand.”

“Maybe we need to check the footage over a few days.”

“I can do that tonight, boss,” Zee said. “If you’ll buy me some hot wings.”

“Oh, and beer,” Quincy said, suddenly excited to help.

But Sun had spotted an oddity in the video. Sometimes it wasn’t what people were doing, but what they weren’t doing that caught one’s attention.

“Run it back,” she said, squinting at the lower left pane. The high angle showed the rear of the store and the cash registers in the background.

Zee rewound—metaphorically speaking—to when Seabright entered. He paid and headed out of the store, but while everyone inside looked toward the commotion up front, one kid did the exact opposite. He turned toward the rear of the store instead. Toward the camera.

He looked directly at it and raked a hand through his hair, as though purposely showing his face. As though signaling anyone who might be watching.

“What the hell?” Zee said. She leaned closer. “I didn’t even catch that. How did I not catch that?”

“It’s okay, Zee. It took me a moment, too. But watch Seabright.” Sun pointed. “He looks right at the kid before he leaves. Can we zoom in?”

“Not with this program, boss. I can run it through an editor, but the quality is horrible. I doubt we’ll get an ID.”

“We may not need one.” She leaned closer and studied him. A feeling of recognition that started in the back of Sun’s mind hurtled forward. She hit the space bar just as he pulled back his hair. He was thin with dark locks in bad need of a trim, but it was the shape of his face. The bone structure. The nose. The eyes.