'I never did anything to her.
Ralph Ames shook his head. 'You're on the lady's list, Beau, and I'm not talking Christmas cards here.'
'What do you mean?'
'I called Ironwood Ranch this morning to see what we'd have to do to get you readmitted. You'll have to go back, you know. If you don't complete the program, the insurance won't pay, which isn't all that big a deal, but it could cause trouble with the Seattle P.D. since you're down here on sick leave. When I talked to her, though, Louise Crenshaw said not only ‘No' but ‘Hell no.' She doesn't want you back up there, period. As far as she's concerned, it's all your fault.'
'What's all my fault?'
'Everything. The whole mess.'
'How can that be? I didn't do anything. I was supposed to be a second victim, remember? Somebody planted a rattlesnake in my room.'
'Mediawise, all hell is breaking loose, and as far as the Crenshaws are concerned, you're a convenient scapegoat. If only you'd turned in your handgun…If only you'd taken care to secure your car keys…If only you'd reported Joey Rothman's curfew violations…'
'Don't tell me she's blaming all of it on me?'
'And that's barely scratching the surface,' Ames replied dryly. 'I'm telling you, the lady's mightily provoked. You have to understand, I'm sure the Crenshaws are looking at all this adverse publicity in the long term-how it's going to affect their viability in the treatment center community.'
'What adverse publicity?'
'According to Louise, the Joey Rothman story is headline news all over the state because of the prominence of his family. Both sides,' Ames added.
'Terrific,' I said.
Ames nodded. 'Not only that, now someone has leaked the snake story to the press as well. They're saying it's one successful homicide and one not so successful.'
'What's wrong with that?' I demanded. 'It's the truth, isn't it? That's better than newspapers usually do.'
'Louise Crenshaw is categorically denying the snake story, saying the snake was obviously an unfortunate refugee from the flood and that he inadvertently strayed into an occupied cabin.'
Ralph Ames allowed himself another slight smile. 'Actually, in terms of adverse publicity, I don't think it matters that much if the snake was a stray or if it was deliberately planted. Either way, Ironwood Ranch doesn't sound like the super-safe, squeaky-clean kind of place you'd want to send your addicted husband or wife or child, whatever the case may be.'
'Who leaked the story?' I asked.
'Nobody knows.'
'They didn't mention me by name, I hope.'
'Or the snake either, thank God,' Ralph added. 'If they'd done the story with names included, the wire services would be jumping on it, and Captain Powell would be reading it in Maxwell Cole's column in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer tomorrow morning at breakfast.'
'And you expect me to count my blessings?'
'Something like that. It could be worse.'
We sat there silently for a few moments, both of us sipping our coffee and lost in our own private thoughts. The more I considered the situation with Louise Crenshaw, the more puzzled and offended I became.
'Ralph,' I said finally. 'Louise Crenshaw is crazy. She's got to be. None of this is the least bit logical.'
'Who says women have to be logical?'
'Don't make jokes, Ralph, I'm serious. She's given every indication of hating my guts since the first day I checked into that damn place. She as good as said right then and there that I'd never make it, and she's been riding me hard ever since.'
'Sometimes there's no accounting for personal animosities,' Ames suggested.
'I can buy that, but in the last two days, her reactions as far as I'm concerned have been totally out of proportion to what's been going on. Joey Rothman was my roommate. Luck of the draw. I sure as hell didn't ask for him. He's dead, and frankly I don't care that much one way or the other. But Louise Crenshaw is carrying on like Joey was the Second Coming himself. How come?'
'I don't know,' Ralph said, standing up and moving toward the door, taking his half-filled coffee cup with him. 'Get up and shower, Beau. We've got things to do.'
'What am I supposed to wear?'
'I almost forgot to mention it, Louise had someone pack up your stuff. She sent it down with somebody named Shorty. He dropped it off about an hour ago. The dirty clothes are out in the laundry. The suitcase is in the closet. Shorty said for me to tell you that the sandbags held.'
'Wait a minute. You mean the Crenshaws sent my luggage? Before or after somebody from the sheriff's department went over the room?'
'I wouldn't know about that,' Ralph answered. 'Shorty didn't say. Neither did Louise. Get a move on, Beau. I have to go by my office for a little while. After that, we have dinner reservations between five-thirty and six. It's a good thing Scott called. Otherwise I might not have remembered your birthday.'
Fuming with frustration, I crawled out of bed and headed into the shower. Over my objections, Louise and Calvin Crenshaw had ordered someone to pack my things and send them to Phoenix. There was no point in calling Ironwood Ranch to raise hell or to check to see if anyone from the sheriff's department had gone over my room searching for evidence. They hadn't. Louise hadn't let it happen.
Ringo was gone, let loose to starve in the desert somewhere, and my room had been stripped clean of all personal belongings. Any trace of evidence my attempted killer might have left behind would have disappeared as well. If, after our talk in Prescott, Detective Reyes-Gonzales went looking for something, there wouldn't be anything left to find.
The problem with credibility is that once gone, it's hard as hell to regain. I didn't much relish the idea of some bright female homicide detective in Prescott, Arizona, thinking about J. P. Beaumont as a complete fruitcake.
I stood in Ralph Ames' steaming shower and vowed that one way or another Calvin and Louise Crenshaw were going to have to eat their words. Somehow I'd force them to admit that I had indeed been the victim of an attempted homicide. Once they agreed to that sticky stipulation, once they admitted that, they might take me back as a client. They might have thrown me out once, but I'd graduate from their pukey little program or know the reason why.
I was still lost in thought as I stepped out of the shower and toweled myself dry. Something was out of kilter with Calvin and Louise Crenshaw, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. It was enough of a thought to file away for later consideration. After all, that's what we homicide detective look for-things that are slightly out of place.
Just then a light tapping on the door cut short the thinking process. Ralph was champing at the bit and ready to go. I hurried into my most respectable shirt and sport jacket. Ralph had brought along one of his own ties, which he tossed in my direction. 'You'll need it,' he said. 'For dinner.'
Ralph, my friend as well as my attorney, drives an automotive anachronism, a huge whale on wheels-a white Lincoln Town Car. Unlike Rhonda Attwood's Spider, the Lincoln had plenty of headroom and legroom both, even for the likes of me. The smooth gray leather interior was plush and classy enough to suit even the most fastidious of clients, but as one who is making heavy monetary contributions to Ralph Ames' personal lifestyle, I appreciate the fact that he buys American. (After all, the Pcrsche 928 was given to me.) I don't want to pay the freight on the kind of conspicuous consumption that thrives on Mercedes or Jaguars.
We drove first to Ralph's office, a brass-and-glass high rise at Indian School and Central, an area that seems to be close to but not exactly in downtown Phoenix. I'm not sure there is a downtown Phoenix, but the city had plenty of mid-afternoon stop-and-go traffic without a freeway or bridge anywhere in sight.
I'm accustomed to the steep, tree-studded glacial ridges of Seattle and the Pacific Northwest. Driving through Phoenix, I was struck by the unremitting sameness of it all. The city seemed brown and flat, an endless panorama of urban blight. Here and there, on the periphery, stark rocky ramparts, blue and gray in the distance, rose up abruptly from the desert floor into a hazy, smoggy sky. I had been in Arizona for more than a month, but
