gathered up the white clothes, stuck them in the machine, and closed the lid before going back to the kitchen to deal with the mouse.
I located a plastic sandwich bag and put the mouse inside, lifting it by its tail when I picked it up. The plastic didn't succeed in containing all the odor, so I took bag and mouse outside and placed the malodorous package on the patio table.
For some time I stood looking down at it, trying to sort out what it meant. It was a clue of some kind, a message, but where had it come from and what was it trying to tell me? How had it gotten in my laundry bag? Who would have put it there when, and why? Inarguably, the mouse had something to do with Joey Rothman, his rattlesnake Ringo, and hence the murder itself. But what? And what did all of that have to do with me?
Feeling more than a little silly, I went back into the house, picked up the kitchen telephone, and dialed information to get the number of the Yavapai County Sheriff's Department in Prescott. What the hell was I doing? Calling a goddamn homicide detective to report finding a dead mouse, for Chrissake? But gut instinct told me that the mouse was, somehow related to Detective Reyes-Gonzales' case, and I couldn't afford to piss her off by withholding information no matter how trivial that information might seem at first glance.
The dispatcher told me the detective wasn't in. As a matter of fact, she was on the road, possibly somewhere between Wickenburg and Phoenix at that very moment. I left my name and phone number on the off chance that sooner or later Detective Reyes-Gonzales would check in with him.
'If it's an emergency of some kind, I can try patching you through,' he offered helpfully.
An emergency? About a dead white mouse? Not likely. Not even I had that much nerve.
'Don't worry about it,' I said quickly, giving him my name and number. 'And don't go to any extra trouble. But if you do hear from her, tell her I called. There's no big rush.'
I hung up the phone, drained the final cup of coffee from the carafe, and paced around in the kitchen, thinking and trying to decide what to do. Sitting still and doing nothing would drive me crazy. Homicide cops are action junkies, but in this instance, taking any kind of action at all could get me in a whole shit-pot of trouble.
I kept thinking about the dead mouse, cooking now in its plastic bag on the sunny patio table, and Ringo, the rattlesnake, starving to death somewhere on the banks of the swollen Hassayampa River. A dead mouse and an equally dead snake. Suddenly those two thoughts collided in my head, and a light bulb came on. Surely Marsha or JoJo Rothman would know when and how Ringo left their house. Why hadn't I thought to ask them about it earlier?
Quickly I searched through Ames' white laminated kitchen cabinets until I located a drawer full of telephone books. The number for James and Marsha Rothman listed a Carefree address. I dialed. Jennifer Rothman answered on the second ring.
'Hello, Jennifer, this is Detective Beaumont, from Ironwood Ranch. Remember me?'
'I know you. you're the one who helped me get to ride the horse.'
'That's right; Are either one of your parents home?'
'No, they both had to leave for a while. The babysitter is here, but she's watching television. Cartoons. Want to talk to her?'
I tried to conceal my disappointment. A cartoon-watching babysitter wasn't going to be much help. I started to ask Jennifer when her parents would be home and to tell her that I'd call back later, when I thought better of it. Maybe Jennifer herself could provide some of the information I needed.
'Jennifer,' I said casually, 'do you remember Joey's snake?'
'Ringo? Sure, I remember him. Sometimes Joey let me feed him. I did it while he was gone.'
Of course. I couldn't believe my luck. 'You mean you took care of Ringo while Joey was away at Ironwood Ranch?'
'My brother showed me how to do it,' she answered proudly. 'And he paid me, too. Twenty bucks. I was always real careful, though. Rattlesnakes are poisonous, you know. I always thought Ringo was kind of creepy. I like kittens.'
'When's the last time you saw Ringo?' I asked.
'The night Joey came to say good-bye.'
'He what?'
'When he came to say good-bye and to get his books. It was in the middle of the night and he woke me up. He had Ringo in a bag. He said he was leaving, that I wouldn't ever see him again. Did he know he was going to die, Mr. Beaumont? Do people know they're going to die before it happens?'
Her distress radiated through the phone lines. My questions had reopened a painful wound.
'Sometimes they do,' I answered.
There was a pause. Someone was speaking in the background, on the other end of the line. I heard Jennifer say, 'No, it's for me. It's a friend of mine,' followed by another pause.
'Jennifer?' I asked, 'Are you there?'
'Yes,' she answered, her voice small, tremulous.
'Tell me again what happened.'
'I was asleep. Joey came into my room and woke me up. He had Ringo with him in a pillowcase that was tied shut. He told me that he came back for Ringo and his books. He said he was going away, so far away that I'd never see him again.'
'What did you do?'
'I didn't want him to leave, and I started to cry. He said to keep quiet or I'd wake Mother and Daddy. So I Kept quiet.'
'And he left?'
'Yes. He got his books and left.'
'What books?'
'You know. Like a diary. I always kept them for him.' She laughed. 'He always said the best hiding place is in plain sight, and that's where I kept them for him. On my bookshelf.'
'And then what happened?'
'Like I said, he took the books and the snake and left. The next morning, I tried to tell Daddy about it, but he said it was all a bad dream or I made it up. That Joey would be back as soon as he got out of the hospital and that I shouldn't worry about it.'
'Did you tell him about Ringo?'
'No,' she answered. 'I didn't have a chance. He was in a hurry.'
Again someone was speaking in the background on the other end of the line. 'The baby-sitter wants to use the phone,' Jennifer said. 'I have to go.'
'Thank you,' I told her. 'You've been a big help.'
'Is Ringo dead too?' she asked suddenly. 'Is he dead just like Joey?'
'I don't know,' I replied honestly. 'He may be all right, but then again, I'm not sure.'
'I didn't like Ringo,' Jennifer said softly, 'but I don't want him to be dead. If he came back home, I'd take care of him, all by myself. No one would have to help me.'
Jennifer Rothman was a little girl whose unappreciated goodness knew no bounds. My heart ached for her.
'Do you want me to have Mother or Daddy call you when they get back?' she asked, her voice brightening once more. 'They'll be home pretty soon.'
'No,' I answered. 'That won't be necessary, Jennifer. You've really been a big help.'
CHAPTER 14
I put down the phone and stood looking at it for a long moment. Out in the laundry room, the washing machine rocked crazily into an uneven spin cycle, but I barely heard it. It was the morning after my forty-fourth birthday, and I was damn lucky to be alive.
Joey Rothman had indeed tried to kill me. His mother's worst suspicions were now confirmed by the innocent revelations of his adoring half-sister. But why? Had he been acting on his own authority or on somebody else's
