The door clicked open again and a small bottle was placed on the table—carefully this time.
“Anything else?” Darby asked.
“Go get that donut Colson just heated up.”
“I don’t think… he didn’t—”
I shot him a look.
He retreated.
I leaned forward on my elbows, closing a few of the inches between us. Sunny looked away and begun rubbing her thumb over her clasped hands as we waited for Darby to return. It was a tick. Sunny didn’t like people in her space. Good to know, and it was a weakness I could definitely exploit. Especially with a smokeshow like her.
The door opened and a glistening, pink iced donut with rainbow sprinkles was placed at the center of the table. I made a mental note to chastise Colson on the way out.
“That it?” Darby asked.
“Yep.”
I waited until the door clicked closed, then picked up the bottle of pills. I shook two out, pushed them in front of her.
“Take the ibuprofen.”
“No. Thank you.” The last two words an obvious effort.
“Take it. It will help with the swelling.”
“My arm’s fine.”
“Agreed. I’m talking about your ribs. Ever had bruised ribs before?”
Something flickered behind her eyes. It was my first red flag.
“Hurts like a bitch,” I continued. “’Scuse the language. Take the pills and eat the donut if you’d like. I’ll wait.”
“I’m gluten free.”
I paused, leaned back. “What’s the thing about gluten, Miss Harper?”
Her lips parted, considering her answer. Then, with a heaved breath, she rolled her eyes and grabbed the two pills on the table. “Fine. I’ll take the pills.”
“You’ll thank me in the morning. Now, let’s get down to business. It’s my understanding you’ve waived your right to have an attorney present, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“It’s not smart.”
She stared back.
“Why? Why waive the right?”
“Because I have the utmost faith in Berry Springs PD’s ability to determine innocence.”
I grunted. “I don’t. Let’s begin, then.” I hit the red button on the recorder and recited all the mandatory bullshit, reminding her of her rights, then got into the questions.
“Can you please state your full name for the record?”
“Sunny Anise Harper.” Her voice still held that controlled confidence but less of the punch. A rasp that I hadn’t heard earlier suggested the beginning of an adrenaline crash from killing someone. I knew that feeling all too well myself.
“Age?”
“Twenty-eight.”
I cringed. A baby. Compared to me, anyway.
“Tell me what happened tonight, Miss Harper.”
“I was attacked.”
“Are you saying what happened was done in self-defense?” I needed that one on the record. A hundred bucks would buy my beer for the month.
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you know your attacker?”
“No.”
“Not a friend? An acquaintance? A boyfriend?”
“I’ve never seen the guy before in my life.”
“Okay. Tell me exactly what happened.”
Her shoulders squared and she licked her lips, drawing my attention to the swollen split at the end. Did I do that?
She began. “I was out for a jog—”
“At midnight?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why jog at midnight?”
“Why not?”
“Security. Safety. … Common sense.”
“Would you say the same to a man?”
“I’d say it to Imi Lichtenfeld himself. Answer the question. Why were you jogging in the city park at midnight?”
“I’d just gotten off work.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a dog trainer.”
This time, I blinked. Of all the jobs I expected this woman to have, a dog trainer was not one of them. Supermodel, actress, WWE ring girl, jazzercise instructor, Playboy bunny, mime…
“You train dogs for a living?”
“Yes.” Her tone a bit attitudinal. This telling me two things: Sunny took pride in her job, and also, it wasn’t the first time she’d defended her choice in occupation.
“What kind of dogs?”
“The furry ones.”
“Ah. So for comedy acts, then?”
Her lip twitched. “I train security dogs.”
Now that made sense. That fit her personality.
“How’d you get into that line of work?”
Her shoulder lifted, gaze shifted.
“Why didn’t you have one of these security dogs with you on your midnight jog?”
“Because I don’t like to take them on long trips in the car.”
“So you’d left town today?”
“Yes.”
“Where to?”
“A kennel in Missouri.”
“You breed?”
Her brow cocked.
“Dogs.” I said quickly. “You breed the dogs?”
“No.”
“Why were you going to a kennel then?”
“To purchase a few to train. I’m a dog trainer,” she reminded me, impatiently. “I get dogs, train them, then sell them.”
“This still doesn’t explain why you decided to go on a jog in the park at midnight.”
“Have you ever been in a car for eleven hours in one day?”
“I’ve been in a car for twenty-four hours in one day.”
“Then you understand the need to stretch your legs.”
My gaze dropped to her legs before quickly shifting back up.
“I prefer the public trails. I’ve jogged that trail more times than I can count, day and night.” She continued. “The concrete’s easier on me. The lights.”
“The security the light provides?”
She nodded.
“Your gun isn’t enough?”
She sat up straighter, her chin lifting, this telling me her job wasn’t the only thing she’d defended before.
“I carry it when I don’t have one of my dogs with me.”
“You got a license?”
“Yep, and a hell of an aim.”
I thought about the bullet to the eyeball.
“You carry it all the time?”
“Mostly.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Meaty gun. Where’d you get it?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Who taught you to use it?”
“Why do you assume I need to be taught?”
“Meaty gun.”
“A gun is a gun. I’m not the only one who carries one on their hip.”
“Not when they’re jogging.”
She didn’t respond to this.
“A can of mace, a shiv, coin knife, zip blade knife. Those are normal self-defense jogging weapons. I’ve been in this business a long time, Sunny Harper, and never once have I met someone who jogs with a loaded gun, especially with that kind of firepower. A 380 is the most common type of concealed carry weapon. Not good enough for you, though. A nine millimeter pistol suggests more thought. More reasons behind the carry.”