Detective Delcia Reyes-Gonzales seemed to qualify on both counts. She was only about five six, slim and olive-skinned, but I sensed tensile strength packed in that slender body. Lustrous ebony curls were pulled away from her face while silver earrings dangled from each delicate earlobe. She was far and away the prettiest and most exotic detective I've ever seen, but there was nothing frivolous about her dignified carriage. Her brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and purpose.
Delcia Reyes-Gonzales inclined her head and held out her hand, acknowledging Nina's introduction. She smiled slightly, revealing a row of straight white teeth.
"Sorry to disturb your session," she said. "Hopefully this won't take too long."
"No problem," I replied. "I was getting a little antsy in there. Can I do anything to help?"
"We'd like to go through your cabin, if you don't mind, since it belonged to you as well as the deceased. We'll need to search your vehicle as well since presumably he was in it shortly before he died.
"I have someone standing by in Prescott ready to obtain search warrants if necessary, but that will take several hours. In the meantime, I have a Consent-to-Search form here. If you'd be so good as to sign that, it would certainly speed things up."
"I don't mind at all," I said. "Hand it over."
The detective withdrew the consent form from a maroon leather briefcase and handed it to me. Using the case as a writing surface, I signed the paper on the spot.
"I suppose you've already called in a crime scene team," I commented, passing the signed paper back to her.
Detective Reyes-Gonzales shook her head. "We do our own crime scene work," she replied, "although the state crime lab in Phoenix does the actual analysis. This way, please, Detective Beaumont. We're to use Mrs. Crenshaw's office. Mr. Crenshaw will be making the official announcement as soon as people come to the dining hall for lunch."
In the course of the morning a new bank of lowering clouds had blown in from the west. Now it began sprinkling in earnest. Walking briskly through the spattering rain, Detective Reyes-Gonzales led the way up the path to the main building, through the deserted dining room, and down the tiled hallway to Louise Crenshaw's office. She opened the door without knocking and motioned me into a chair before pausing to speak briefly to someone who had followed us down the hall. Finished with that, Detective Reyes-Gonzales closed the door firmly behind her, then settled herself easily into Louise Crenshaw's executive chair.
"I take it things weren't particularly cordial between you and your roommate, Detective Beaumont," she said, opening our discussion with both a shrewd statement and an equally disarming smile. That's a killer combination for a detective-one few male detectives ever master. It did as expected and suckered me right into talking when I probably should have been listening.
"‘Not cordial' isn't the expression I'd use," I replied shortly. "Joey Rothman was a punk kid. I've never liked punk kids."
"Tell me a little about him," she said. "For instance, what do you mean by the term ‘punk kid'?"
"You know the type-a spoiled brat. His family has way more money than good sense. He was a braggart, especially where women were concerned. Claimed he could screw anything in skirts. And then, there were all those rumors."
Detective Reyes-Gonzales seemed to become more alert. "What rumors?"
I had opened my mouth and inserted my foot. "About him being a hotshot drug dealer," I answered. "Legend has it that he was a big-time operator, that he was still dealing right here at Ironwood Ranch."
The detective arched one delicate eyebrow. "You're saying he was still dealing while a patient at the recovery center?"
"As I said, that was only a rumor. I'd take it with a grain of salt if I were you."
"Why?"
"I'm telling you, Joey Rothman was a braggart. He thrived on attention. Bad attention, good attention, it was all the same to him. Joey knew I was a cop. I wouldn't be surprised if he started that rumor himself just to see if I'd try to do anything about it."
"Did you?"
"I ignored him as much as possible. I'm not here dropping a grand and a half a week to play games of cops and robbers with some young twerp. Joey and I shared the same cabin, but that's as far as it went. I kept away from him except when absolutely necessary."
"What happened last night? I understand from one or two people I've talked to that there was some kind of problem in the dining room just before your family went back into town to their motel."
That was a lie. The detective hadn't talked to one or two people to get that piece of information. She had only talked to one-Louise Crenshaw herself. I remembered the disapproving glare Louise had leveled at me as she walked by Kelly and me just when our battle over Joey Rothman was reaching fever pitch.
"He was messing around with my daughter. Kelly's only seventeen. He was leading her on when he'd already-"
I broke off, but too late. Detective Reyes-Gonzales was on point. "When he'd already what?" she asked sharply.
Lamely I shrugged my shoulders. "I suppose by now you know all about Michelle Owens."
"What do you know about Michelle Owens?" Detective Reyes-Gonzales returned.
"That she's pregnant and claims Joey Rothman is the father."
"And how do you know so much about it? Did Joey tell you?"
"Are you kidding? Of course not. I talked to Guy Ownes, Michelle's father."
"After he got the results back from the doctor?"
Clearly, Detective Reyes-Gonzales had already done a considerable amount of homework among the players.
"Yes," I answered. "After he got the results."
"Where?"
"Where what?"
"Where did you talk to him?"
"At the cabin. Joey's and my cabin. Guy came there looking for Joey."
"When?"
"Last night."
"After lights-out?"
"Yes."
"What time did he leave?"
"I don't know. It must have been around midnight. Maybe a little later."
"And then what happened?"
"I kept waiting for Joey to come in, but I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up around four-thirty, that's when I discovered the car keys were missing."
"And?" she prompted.
"I went up to the parking lot, expecting the car to be gone, but it wasn't. It was parked right where it is now. The keys were in the ignition."
"You should have turned your gun in to the treatment center when you checked into Ironwood Ranch four weeks ago. It shouldn't have been left in the vehicle."
Detective Reyes-Gonzales was no longer smiling. Deputy Hanson had already told her about the Smith and Wesson in the glove box, and her understated reprimand was well deserved.
"I know. I've been telling myself the same thing over and over all morning long. I just didn't, that's all. No good reason for it either except that we've been through the wars together, that. 38 and I. Maybe I'm paranoid. I don't feel comfortable if I can't get to it if I want to. If I need to. You know how it is."
From the level, detached look she gave me, I wasn't at all sure Detective Reyes-Gonzales did know how it was. Maybe female cops don't have the same kind of meaningful relationship with their weapons that male cops do. Maybe they don't have to.
There was a sharp rap on the door behind me. "Come in," she called.
The door opened to reveal Deputy Mike Hanson standing outside, waiting anxiously for the door to open. "Excuse me, Delcy, but could I have a word with you?"
Detective Reyes-Gonzales stood up. "Do you mind?" she asked.
"Not at all. Go right ahead."