"Ralph Ames," he said, introducing himself to her. "Beau here is a client of mine. So's Mrs. Attwood. They told me inside that I'd find him out in the car with you. May I join you?"
He opened the door and climbed into the cramped back seat.
I completed the introductions. "This is Detective Delcia Reyes-Gonzales, Ralph. She's from Prescott. How did you get here?"
Ralph smiled at her. "We met on the phone." He turned to me. "When you two didn't show up at Vincent's I got worried and came here looking. From what I've heard, Alamo is going to want to burn you at the stake. The next time you try to rent a car from them, alarms will probably go off on Alamo computers all over the country."
"At least I didn't take it to Mexico," I said. "That's the only thing I remember them telling me that I couldn't do. What's going on in there? It's taking a long time."
"They're about finished," Ralph said. "I suggested that considering the circumstances it might be wise for Rhonda to come stay with us. For tonight anyway. I'm sure I'll be far more at ease if I know she isn't staying by herself. We'll leave the Fiat parked here in the lot and make sure we aren't followed when we go."
I looked at Delcia. She was half dozing right there in the car. "What about you?" I asked. "Surely you're not going to drive all the way back home tonight."
"No. My sister lives across town in Peoria. I'll stay there tonight. If Ralph here can give you and Rhonda a ride home, I'll go ahead and take off if you don't mind. It's been a long day."
Ralph and I waited in La Posada's well appointed lobby until the detectives finished with Rhonda's room. She arrived in the lobby carrying a suitcase and small overnight bag.
"I guess you're stuck with me for the night," she said apologetically. "They told me I shouldn't stay here alone. And what about the paintings?"
"Don't worry," Ames assured her. "I'll let Vincent know what happened."
We took her out to the car through the main entrance. Driving home, I made several quick maneuvers and doubled back once or twice, making sure we didn't have a tail. When we got to the house, Ralph insisted on parking the Lincoln in the garage.
Once inside the house, we settled down in the living room for a few minutes to recap what all had happened over the course of the evening. Ralph had heard bits and pieces from many sources. He was the one who gave Rhonda the bad news that Michelle was missing. She took that stoically enough, but when she heard that Guy Owens had been trying to coerce Michelle into having an abortion, she was outraged and wanted to get in the car right then and there to make the three-and-a-half-hour drive to tell Lieutenant Colonel Guy Owens what was what. We finally dissuaded her, but only barely.
Toward midnight, we ventured into the kitchen, where Ralph made us a late-night supper of cheese, cocoa, and toast. Munching away, we finished our play-by-play review of the evening at the kitchen counter, said our good-nights, and headed for our separate rooms. I was in bed with lights out when there came a light tapping on my door.
"Who is it?"
"Rhonda. May I come in?"
She came into the room and felt her way across to the bed. Once there, she sat down on the edge of it.
"What's the matter?" I asked. "Is something wrong?"
"What would have happened to me tonight if you hadn't been there at the hotel, waiting for me in the parking lot?"
"I don't know. That's hard to say."
"He must have been there, hiding in my room. Would he have killed me if he'd had the chance?"
"Maybe, and then again, maybe not. We still don't have any idea what he was after, but my guess is that they think you have something, maybe something damaging to the whole operation."
"But I haven't."
"That doesn't matter, as long as they think you do."
"So why am I scared now, hours after it's all over?"
"For one thing, it's not all over. If they still believe you have whatever they were looking for, you're still in danger. Stay alert, and don't fault yourself for being jittery after the worst of the action seems to be over. It happens that way sometimes. When you're in the thick of things, you're too busy to be afraid. Fear comes later."
She turned to face me. In the pale glow of moonlight shining through the window, her face was unnaturally white, eyes wide open. I reached out my hand and caught hold of her narrow wrist, feeling the pulse imprisoned within it.
"It's all right to be scared," I told her. "It's a normal reaction."
"Were you scared out there in the car when he was after us?"
"Shitless," I answered.
"What about now?"
"It's worse now," I said, suppressing a grin.
She snatched her hand away and leaned closer, peering at me closely in the hazy light. "Worse? Really? Or are you making fun of me?"
"I'm not making fun," I said. "Women scare me a whole lot more than 4-X-4s."
For a moment she looked hurt, then angry, then a tiny smile tickled the corners of her mouth. "You mean to tell me you're scared of me?"
"Absolutely. Out of my wits. Shouldn't I be?"
Within seconds, we were both laughing, giggling first then laughing uproariously, rolling on the bed, holding our stomachs, and gasping for air. When we finally quit laughing, we were still lying on the bed, facing each other. Neither one of us made a move to get up. Within moments I moved closer, folding her in my arms.
It was the most natural thing in the world.
CHAPTER 17
I slept, content in the knowledge that whatever incursions booze may have made against my liver, other pieces of essential equipment, unlike Calvin Crenshaw's, remained totally unaffected. I awoke to the sound of small scratchings, rodent sounds, only to discover that Rhonda Attwood, sitting curled up in the high wing-backed chair beside the window, was busily sketching away.
"Coffee or orange juice?" she asked, not looking up. "Ralph already brought us both. He's out cleaning the pool."
It was only to be expected that Ralph Ames was already up and on duty. He evidently also knew where Rhonda had spent the night. "Coffee," I said, a little sheepishly.
"Okay. Just a minute."
She finished what she was doing, examined it critically at arm's length with a slight frown pursing her brow, and then put the sketch pad on the table next to her. Pouring two cups of coffee from a stainless steel carafe, she padded barefoot across the room to the bed. She was wearing a knee-length blue nightshirt with Mickey and Minnie Mouse emblazoned on the front. Her hair was tousled, but from the strained lines and shadows around her eyes, I suspected she hadn't slept nearly as well as I had.
"What are you working on?" I asked, taking one cup of coffee off her hands.
"Nothing much." Careful not to spill her coffee, she lowered herself onto the bed beside me. "Just a sketch."
I reached over and let my hand fall on the smooth firm curve of her thigh. It rested there for some time, and she made no effort to move it away. Closing my eyes, I lost myself in the miracle of an instant replay until she jarred me out of it with a softly voiced question.
"Will you drive me down to Sierra Vista today?"
Surprised, I opened my eyes and looked at her. "To Sierra Vista? Why?"
"Because I've got to talk to Guy Owens."
I sat up in the bed. "I thought we already went over that. Your chances for persuading this guy are nil. He's one angry man."
Rhonda Attwood's blue eyes filled with tears. "I can try, I've got to try. Don't you understand? Joey was all I had, my only child. I was never able to have another one after he was born, even though I wanted one and tried for years. This baby, Michelle's baby, is part of me, too. I can't just turn my back and let it go. I can't." The last sentence was a strangled sob.
When God gave Eve the ability to cry, he stacked the deck against us. It hasn't been a fair fight since. I'm impervious to lots of things, but a weeping woman isn't one of them. Besides, Rhonda Attwood could easily have gone off on her mission alone, without telling me. My masculine pride was honored that she wanted to have me along.