Her dad, Cyrus Freyr, took Quincy’s chair, his brows raised.
Since they’d been talking about prisons, she decided to broach her new favorite subject: the fact that Rojas, who had an uncanny ability to tell when someone had done hard time, swore that her father had been to prison. Not jail. Prison. The big house. The slammer.
“Turkey,” she said, narrowing her gaze at him. “You were busted trying to smuggle opium out of the country and sent to a Turkish prison where you got in a fight with the head bad guy and bit his tongue off.”
“Sunny, you gotta give this up. I have never been to prison.”
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Not under your own name. I checked. But identifying people who have been to prison is kind of like Poetry’s superpower, and he says you’ve been to prison.”
“You checked?”
“Is Cyrus Freyr even your real name?”
“Yes.”
“Did you rat on a cellmate, so they put you in WITSEC in exchange for your testimony?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did you use a drug to induce a heart attack so you could escape, and now you’re having to go by an assumed identity?”
He scratched his jaw. “Not recently.”
“Did you—”
“Sunshine,” he said, using her real name. Something he rarely did. “I have never been to prison.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “As far as you or anybody else knows.” Then he winked at her and stood to leave.
“Rojas knows,” she said, following him. “Is he in danger?”
“Only from his tía Darlene if she finds out he’s avoiding her.”
“Siberia!” she shouted. “You were in military intelligence and got busted in Siberia. That’s where you did your time.”
He turned and shook his head sadly. “So close and yet so far away.”
When she gasped softly, he chuckled and left before she could ask anything else. So close and yet so far away. There had to be a clue in there somewhere.
As the three of them sat eating her mother’s famous lasagna, also known as Stouffer’s, Sun went over her day, trying to decide which aspects to prioritize and which ones to hand off to her very capable deputies. First Doug. Then their Jane Doe. Redding showing up not only to the crime scene at Copper Canyon but creeping around her house. Cruz’s mental health. The possible abuse of Tim Redding. The possible disappearance of Whitney Amaia. Wynn Ravinder essentially escaping from prison via the Presbyterian hospital in Santa Fe. And finally Wanda Stephanopoulos’s break-in and subsequent missing tin.
There was only so much she could do at that hour. It was getting late, but most people were still up at nine p.m. She could at least check out Wanda’s story. “I’m going to go knock on a few doors.”
“What doors?”
She started to explain, then remembered she hadn’t told either of them about Wanda’s situation since she’d been sworn to secrecy. She figured as long as she didn’t tell anyone about the tin, she was good. “Wanda thinks she was broken into last night.”
Quincy’s gaze shot to hers. “I didn’t see that report.”
“She didn’t want to file one. Not officially. She’s not absolutely sure she was broken into. I’m just going to check on a few things.”
He wiped his mouth and started to stand. “I’ll come with.”
“No, that’s okay. Zee’s on it. I just want to make sure Wanda’s okay.”
He stood anyway. “Is she hurt? Was anything taken?”
Sun knew Quince had a soft spot for the woman he’d dubbed the town menace. How Wanda beat out Doug was beyond her, but she found his concern endearing.
“No, I need you to get what you can on Whitney Amaia, just in case. And call that ski resort.”
The suspicion on his face was impossible to miss, but that is exactly what Sun pretended to do.
“I’m going to check on Wanda, then probably head home. I suggest you do the same.”
She found Zee sitting outside Wanda’s house in her cruiser. She pulled in behind her and walked to her window.
“Hey, boss,” Zee said, rolling down her window.
Sun swallowed the two ibuprofen she’d popped into her mouth with a sip of water before asking, “What are you doing out here?”
“Waiting for Billy Harmon.”
“The lock guy?”
“The one and only.”
She looked over Zee’s hood at Wanda’s humble abode. It was a white narrow Victorian complete with a bay window and decorative cornice in desperate need of a paint job. “So she was definitely broken into?”
“Hard to say. Her locks are fine, but I want her to get new ones, just in case someone swiped a key. She’s really shaken up.”
She looked around the cozy neighborhood. “Did anyone see anything?”
“Not a soul, but I noticed two of her neighbors have security cameras.” She pointed to two of the houses. “I doubt they had a good view of Wanda’s house from their front porch, but you never know. They could have caught someone sneaking around.”
“Good job, Zee.”
“Thanks. They both said they’d check their footage and get back with me. Who knows if they will?”
“Well then,” Sun said, rubbing her hands together, “maybe I can encourage them. When is Billy supposed to be here?”
“About eight.”
Sun checked her watch. “It’s almost nine.”
“Oh, sorry, boss. I meant eight in the morning.”
“Zee,” Sun said in surprise, “you do not have to stay here all night.”
“Are you kidding? Wanda’s making me strawberry tarts.”
“Seriously? I’ve had her strawberry tarts. Maybe I should stay out here with you.”
Zee laughed. “I’m good, boss.”
“Fine. At least save me one.”
“Not likely, but I’ll think about you while I’m eating them.”
“That’s so sweet. I’m going to talk to homeowners.”
“I’ll be here.”
Unfortunately, the first homeowner Sun visited confessed that his camera was just for show. It was the one Sun was excited about. Professionally installed. High tech. And as fake as the orgasm she had when she and Tab Villanueva got drunk in college and tried to do it in his mother’s laundry room. It did not turn out well for either of them.
She hit paydirt with the second homeowner. Kind of.
“It picked up something off in the distance,” Principal Jacobs said, “but I can’t tell what. If my cat hadn’t triggered the camera, it wouldn’t even have picked up that much.”
Sun leaned closer to his phone. “What time was this?”
“About nine last night. See?” He pointed to a dark spot in the background. “It looks like someone is lurking. There’s just not enough light to see who. I can send you the footage, though. Maybe your tech guy can clean it up?”
If only she had a tech guy. Still … “Rojas is pretty good at this stuff.” So was her daughter, but she didn’t mention that to him. “Send it over. You never know.”