“There are twenty-four notches,” Sun said, counting again.
“Yeah, that last one is for Mortimer. Thought he’d like to see how it felt to have one’s entire life reduced to a notch in a leather strap.”
Sun studied the frail woman at her side. Marveled at her tenacity. “Have you contacted any of these families yet?”
“Nah. I don’t figure they want to hear from the widow of the man who killed their loved ones. You can, though. I’m sure they would like answers, even sixty years later.”
“You realize Auri is going to take this and run with it.”
The older woman’s eyes sparkled with warmth. “I’m counting on it.”
A little while later, Quincy walked up to her as everyone sat around a table, an Arthurian round table made of thick wood and iron hardware, laughing and talking about Mrs. Fairborn and her antics. Her penchant for confessing to every crime ever committed came up often and lent itself to a lot of hearty laughter.
It was simply one of her quirks. How she coped with the horrors she’d endured, perhaps.
But the dinner, while very nice and nostalgic and heartfelt, saddened Sun to the depths of her soul. The entire town should be celebrating this woman’s life. Not just the people in this room.
Quincy leaned closer and had clearly been thinking the same thing. “This isn’t enough,” he said, sad himself. “After everything she’s done.”
“I agree.” Then a thought hit her. “Hey, remember Gentleman Jack?”
He leveled a stoic expression on her. “What does the hamster you had when we were five have to do with anything?”
“You gave him a wonderful celebration of life when he died.”
He thought back. “Oh, yeah. I did.”
She decided to forgo reminding him how he cried over GJ for days. “Maybe we could do that for Mrs. Fairborn only while she’s still with us. Like on her next birthday.”
He brightened. “I could totally do that.”
“Okay, it’s next week.”
“Oh, hell.” His mind raced. “I have so much to do. I need to call the caterer. And get napkins ordered. And what about a champagne fountain?”
Oh, yeah. He clearly missed his calling. He stood to make some calls.
“You okay, Sunny?”
She turned to see her dad take a seat beside her. “I am. I’m so honored, Dad.”
“But?”
“I’m just not sure I’m the girl for this.”
“I have to be honest. I don’t think Mrs. Fairborn has been wrong a day in her life.”
“She married Mortimer.”
“Touché.”
She laughed, and then thought about what Rojas had said. “Can I ask you something completely unrelated?”
He took a swig of root beer as though it were a microbrew, and said, “Always.”
“There’s no delicate way of putting this, so here goes. Were you ever in prison?”
He’d been in the middle of downing the rest of his brewski when she’d asked. He spit out the last swallow and proceeded to cough for the next five minutes. His face turned a sickly shade of purple and he gagged—a lot—repeating one sound over and over that reminded Sun of someone trying to start a chainsaw.
Clearly, she was on to something.
Her mother rushed over and took the opportunity to beat him senseless, asking if he needed water. Or CPR. Or Vicks VapoRub.
After another couple of minutes where he had to wave off all the expressions of concern surrounding him, he looked Sun square in the face, and said as calmly as a windless summer day, “No. Why do you ask?”
She blinked at him.
Her mother beat him on the back again for good measure.
He blinked at Sun.
“Okay, then,” she said. “We’ll circle back to that. For now, I’m going to go see if Levi wants to have sex with me.”
It was her mother’s turn to cough, only she coughed more delicately, and her gag sounded less like a chainsaw and more like the plumbing had backed up.
On the bright side, her dad got to beat her mom for a bit. Good times.
She pulled the tin box close to her chest, proof that this precious thing called life could be taken away with the snap of a finger. It was too short, and Sun had too many things she wanted to accomplish before her journey came to an end.
Having copious amounts of sex with the man of her dreams had been at the top of her bucket list for decades, and she wasn’t getting any younger. Anything more would be pushing her luck, as they’d never really been on the same page about these things, but she would not go to her grave without having at least tried to have sex—real sex—with the man.
After her mother recovered, she cleared her throat, and said, “Thank God.” She looked at her husband. “We can cancel that idiot Johnson boy.”
“What idiot Johnson boy?”
Her mother opened her bag, took out a sheet of paper, and handed it to her.
Quincy, apparently having finished organizing Mrs. Fairborn’s celebration of life, sat beside her and read over her shoulder. It was a list of names with the three at the top crossed out. Jay Johnson was next.
“You have a list?” she asked appalled. “You’re just going down a list?”
“I like to be organized.”
Quincy leaned over and pointed to a name.
“Joshua Ravinder?” she screeched. “You were going to set me up with Levi’s cousin?”
Her mother pressed her mouth together. “It’s a small town, honey. Our choices are limited.”
Her dad patted her hand. “We didn’t know how else to make you see the light.”
“And what light would that be? The red one? Because you guys clearly shop at Pimps-R-Us.”
Her mother pinched her lips tighter. “Don’t be dramatic, dear. We had to make you realize that nobody else was right for you.”
“Nobody else? You mean other than a hired assassin?”
“You’re never going to let us live that down, are you?”
“Not in this lifetime.”
Quincy put an arm around her shoulders and rocked her as she went through three of the five stages of grief.
27
Caller reported the little boy across the street
must’ve heard something he shouldn’t have.
He keeps licking whipped cream off her cat.
—DEL SOL POLICE BLOTTER
“You’re going to see Levi?” Auri asked when Sun called to check in on her way home. They had taken Cruz for some tests, and she was all alone in her hospital room. “He’s been here all afternoon, but he left a little bit ago. He should be at his house in about fifteen.”
“He was with you?”
“What do you smell like?”
“Tacos and disappointment.”
“Mom.”
“Cheesecake and loneliness.”
“Mother.”
“Xanax and the cold dark abyss of utter failure.”
“Muh-ther. Men have a very strong sense of smell. He’ll like you more if you smell good.”
“Please. He’s been sniffing moonshine his whole life. How good can his sense of smell be?” Just in case, she lifted her collar and took a whiff. Not bad. Could be worse. “Maybe I should shower first,” she said, doubting herself now. “Even though,” she added, recovering in the nick of time, “I am just going over there to go over what happened in the mine. We’re being deposed in the morning.”