orders? Was it because he had truly believed I was there working undercover, or was it due to some other reason entirely? It was impossible to tell.
In twenty years of police work, I had no doubt racked up more than my share of enemies, people who wouldn't have blinked twice at the idea of Detective J.P. Beaumont being rubbed out of existence. Ostensibly, most of those people should have been in Washington State, preferably behind bars, but the justice system doesn't necessarily work that way. Creeps get out of jail all the time. Sooner or later, they're back on the street, most likely still harboring grudges against the people who locked them up in the first place. Was it some pissed-off penal system graduate who had hired Joey Rothman to do his dirty work? If so, how had he known where to find me? Although I suppose that's a naive question. My checking into Ironwood Ranch had to be one of the worst-kept secrets of all time.
The wobbling washing machine rocked to a stop. Grabbing the clean clothes out of the tub, I took a whiff of them before placing them in the dryer. The dose of bleach had done its magic-the moldy odor was gone. Restarting the washer, I poured in another cupful of bleach before adding the lightly colored clothing. So what if some of the colored things faded? I much prefer faded to smelly.
When I came out of the laundry room, I could hear a voice speaking somewhere in the house. At first I thought Ames had returned, bringing someone with him. Then I recognized Detective Reyes-Gonzales' disembodied voice saying, 'I guess you must have gone out, so I'll try back later.'
Evidently I hadn't heard the ringing telephone over the laundry room's noisy equipment and running water. I dove for the phone and snatched it up. 'I'm here,' I said quickly. 'Don't hang up.' I caught her just in time.
'Detective Beaumont? Is that you?'
'Yes. The washer and dryer were both going full blast. I didn't hear the phone ring.'
'I got a message from the dispatcher that you wanted to talk to me.'
'That's right. Something's come up. We need to talk. When can I see you?'
'Not right now,' she said. 'I'm just now parking at the Department of Public Safety crime lab. The guy I need to see will be here for only a few more minutes. What about later, after I finish up with him?'
'Sure. Tell me where you'll be,' I said. 'I'll meet you.'
'You have wheels?'
'At the moment,' I replied.
I could almost hear her smiling. 'Does that mean you convinced Alamo to rent you another car?'
She was having a little fun at my expense, but I didn't blame her, and I was operating under no delusions. Alamo would never have given me the keys to a second vehicle if Detective Reyes-Gonzales hadn't gone to bat for me over the telephone.
'As a matter of fact they did,' I said dryly. 'Thanks for the help on that score.'
'No problem. I was happy to do it. Do you know your way around Phoenix?'
'A little,' I replied. 'Enough to get back and forth from the airport.'
She laughed. 'The DPS headquarters is at 19th Avenue and Encanto. Know where that is?'
'No, but I'm sure I can find it. Alamo gave me a map.'
'Good. How about meeting me at La Pinata? It's a Mexican restaurant at 19th and Osborn. I'll be there by eleven-thirty or so, if that's all right.'
Why wouldn't it be all right? I thought. I sure as hell wasn't doing anything else, although I was wearing a little thin on an almost steady diet of Mexican food. 'That'll be fine,' I said.
I found the restaurant without any trouble. A Yavapai Country Sheriff's Department car was already parked outside. Going into the darkened, cavelike vestibule, I was temporarily blinded by the gloom. I gave my name to the hostess, who led me into the dining room. Detective Reyes-Gonzales, with two colorful menus on the table in front of her, was seated in the far corner of the room.
When I approached the table, she stood up and held out her hand in greeting. 'Good to see you again, Detective Beaumont.'
'Call me Beau, would you?'
She smiled. 'Sure. And I'm Delcia.'
The careless toss of ebony curls as she sat back down hinted that under the lightweight camel-colored suit she wore, with its carefully tailored ivory silk blouse, lived a fiery woman. A fiery and temptingly feminine woman.
Something uncomfortable stirred inside me. I remembered what Calvin Crenshaw had told me about the aftermath of his own years of drinking-the long-term damage. Maybe it was just a case of dry-out paranoia, but I wondered if I too had risked any permanent ill effects in that department. However, this was hardly the time or place to deal with that thorny issue.
'What's the matter?' she asked quizzically.
Caught without a plausible lie on my lips, I gave her a lopsided grin. 'Nothing,' I said more or less truthfully. 'I was just thinking that you're probably the best-looking homicide dick I've ever seen.'
Detective Delcia Reyes-Gonzales gave no evidence of being either amused or complimented.
'Why did you want to see me?' she asked, easily cutting through any attempt at sociable small talk. Before I could answer, our waitress, dressed in a bright yellow, flared Mexican peasant's dress, came by to deliver Delcia's coffee.
She reached up to take the proffered cup and saucer. When she did, I noticed a slight but telltale bulge under her left arm. The small swelling told me she was wearing a not-so-feminine
loaded shoulder holster next to the elegant silk blouse. Seeing that, I found myself suddenly very lonesome for the comforting presence of my own AWOL. 38.
In answer to the server's question, I ordered a cup of coffee as well. 'Any chance of getting my Smith and Wesson back?' I asked once the waitress left our table.
'Not any time soon,' Delcia replied with a smile. 'You know how those things go.'
Unfortunately, I did know-only too well. It was highly unlikely that I'd ever again see my old faithful handgun. Although I had more than qualified to carry a new semiautomatic when Seattle P.D. switched over, I had hung onto the. 38 like a child clings to a worn but familiar teddy bear. If by some miracle it was actually returned to me, it would only be after a suitably long and paperwork-laden wait.
'Know where I could get a replacement?'
She studied me levelly before answering. 'Lots of places, but only with the usual three-day waiting period. Why do you want one?'
'I feel naked without it, for one thing. And for another, I now know for sure that Joey Rothman was the one who tried to kill me, but just because he's gone doesn't mean somebody else won't try to finish the job.'
My words had an electrifying effect on Delcia Reyes-Gonzales. Her eyes flashed fire and her whole body was electrically alert.
'Joey?' she asked, controlling her reaction enough that she put her coffee cup down without spilling any. 'You say you know that for sure? How?'
The waitress returned and took our orders. As soon as she left us, I launched into the story of my enlightening conversation with Jennifer Rothman. By the time I finished, Delcia was nodding her head thoughtfully.
'The problem is, there's no way to tell if Joey Rothman was acting alone or in conjunction with someone else.'
'Or why,' I added gloomily.
'It's too bad snakes can't talk,' she said with a half-amused smile. 'If they could, maybe Ringo could clue us in.'
'Ringo?' I demanded in surprise. 'What about Ringo? You mean he's still alive?'
'Didn't anybody tell you? It's one of the main reasons I'm in Phoenix today-to drop Ringo off at the Phoenix Zoo for safekeeping. I did that first thing, before I drove over to the crime lab. I didn't much like driving around alone with him in the car. In fact, that was my last stop before the Department of Public Safety.'
'How did you find him? I thought he was a goner for sure.'
'He was never lost. Shorty Rojas had him the whole time. Louise may have given orders to the contrary, but Shorty's too softhearted for his own good. He was afraid the poor old snake wouldn't be able to make it on his own. He hid him in the barn and planned to take Ringo down to a museum in Tucson on his next day off.'