A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1)(56)

“Um, thanks, but why baby oil?”

He shrugged. “Pizza sauce is very acidic. And your lips are already chapped.”

Embarrassed yet again, she covered her mouth with a hand, but he didn’t notice. He got a clean tissue, poured another couple of drops, then lifted it to her face again. When she didn’t lower her hand, he tugged it off her face and ran the tissue over her lips, the act feather soft.

His coffee-colored eyes studied her as he did it, and a warmth she hadn’t expected flooded every cell in her body. Then she noticed a scar on his arm.

She took his hand to maneuver his arm for a better look.

He pulled it back, and said softly, “Stop.”

She leaned away from him. “I’m sorry.” She stood and grabbed her backpack. “I’m . . . I should go.”

He stood, too, and put a hand on her arm. “Please, don’t.”

“Look, if you’re mad at me, just say so.”

“Mad? Why would I be mad at you?”

She really had no answer. “Be . . . cause.”

He stared at her a long moment, spending an inordinate amount of time on her mouth, before saying, “Great reason.”

“I thought so.”

“Look,” he said, sitting on the bed again, “I don’t always have the best social skills. I was raised in the deaf world. Their cultural norms are a little different from the hearing world’s.”

She sat at the desk again. “That is the coolest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Smothering his confused expression, he asked, “Their cultural norms are a little different?”

“No, that you were raised in the deaf world. That’s just so cool.”

He cast her a soft scowl of doubt.

“Of course, that’s easy for me to say. As an outsider looking in. It must be challenging.”

“In some ways, it is.”

“Is your mom deaf, too?”

He stood and grabbed his backpack off the floor beside her. “No, she was hearing.”

“Was?”

“Yeah, she died a few years ago.”

“I’m so sorry, Cruz. I didn’t know.”

“And I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Thanks,” she said, genuinely appreciating his thoughtfulness.

Cruz tossed a notebook on the bed beside him along with a couple of textbooks and an unopened box of pens.

But it was the notebook she was most interested in. “So, any poetry in there?”

Without even looking at her, he took the notebook and put it on a shelf behind him. “Nope.”

“Can I read some?”

He stopped unpacking his things but still kept his gaze averted. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why? You’re incredible.”

“I’m a hack. Just like everyone else at Del Sol.”

She held out her hand. “Can I be the judge of that?”

He chewed on his lower lip, then said, “No, but if I ever get to that point, you’ll be the first I tell.”

Disappointment washed over her, but she understood. It took courage to open yourself up to criticism. “Deal.” Then, to lighten the mood, she brought out the homework assignment. “Okay, do you or have you ever stolen a candy bar from a grocery store?”

“No,” he said. “It was gummy bears, and it was at a gas station.”

She laughed, and thus the interviews began.





13


Several callers complained about thongs

hanging from an eighty-five-year-old female’s apple tree.

When questioned, she explained,

“It was either the apple tree or the azalea bush.”



—DEL SOL POLICE BLOTTER

While Price was out collecting the information from the Quick-Mart, Zee brought Sun her macchiato, then went to her desk to study every inch of the footage they had thus far.

Sun studied the letter. Again. Like she didn’t have it memorized. Then she opened the diary and started on page one.

Sybil was so innocent. Too young to prophesy her own death. No wonder she was so shy. So withdrawn. She didn’t know who to trust.

There were entries other than her premonition, as well. She liked a boy named Chase in the fifth grade. She loved The Big Bang Theory and wondered why people couldn’t mention Star Wars and Star Trek in the same sentence without infuriating a certain percentage of the population. And she loved— Sun looked closer. She loved a girl named Auri like a sister for making her feel seen. In a sea of invisibility, Auri made Sybil feel special.

Sun’s chest swelled.

She went back to Sybil’s accounts of the dream. “Come on, Sybil. Give me something new. Anything.” But the girl had been right. It was just more of the same. The dream never changed. She never saw the guy. Never knew why he took her. She only knew how she would die. And when.

Sun made notes about any changes in the girl’s story, no matter how subtle. But they were mainly expansions in her vocabulary. She began calling it an abduction instead of a kidnapping. And using the word male instead of man. Caucasian instead of white.

A male voice drifted to her from her office door. “Nobody told me you talk to yourself.”

She looked up at U.S. Marshal Vincent Deleon. “Nobody told me you eavesdropped, but here we are.”