J. Jance - Minor in possession

"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."

"Oh," I said. "The one where his cousin works-the desert museum, or whatever it's called."

Delcia nodded. "The Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum," she corrected. "Well, according to the keeper at the zoo here in Phoenix, Shorty was probably right to be worried-about the snake, I mean. Ringo's old-somewhere in his mid to late teens-which is pretty old for a snake. The keeper said Ringo would have died if he'd been left on his own in the wild, especially since he would have been so far outside his natural habitat."

"He may be old for a snake," I muttered glumly, "but age didn't make him any less scary when he had me corned in the cabin. And it didn't slow him down enough so your guys found him when they searched my cabin, either."

"I asked about that this morning. At the zoo. The guy told me he probably found a hole somewhere and hid out in that until he thought it was safe to come out."

"Not a comforting thought," I said.

"No," Delcia agreed. "I suppose not. Anyway, Shorty kept Ringo out of harm's was until I picked him up, and now he's being held in protective custody at the Phoenix Zoo. The Yavapai County Sheriff's Department isn't exactly equipped to take care of lives snakes in our evidence room. That's why we farmed him out to the zoo. Come to think of it, I believe it's the first time we've ever had alive deadly weapon in a felonious assault case."

Delcia looked at me across her raised coffee cup while her dark eyes sparkled with humor.

"Somehow I don't find it nearly as entertaining as you do," I pointed out. "And if you ask me, that damn snake seems to be getting helluva lot more attention than yours truly, who just happened to be the intended victim."

"Sorry," she evenly. "I didn't mean for it to sound that way. Believe me, Beau, nobody's treating this as a joke."

Mollified, I backed off. "I guess I'm a little edgy," I admitted, disgusted with myself for trying to pick a fight with someone who was offering to be an ally at a time when allies were in short supply.

"Perfectly understandable." Delcia nodded. "Don't worry about it."

I went on to tell her about the books Jennifer had said she kept for Joey, the ones he had retrieved from her along with the snake the night he came to tell her good-bye.

"From the way she talked, there must have been several volumes," I said. "In fact, I'm sure he was working in one like it while we were together at the ranch."

"He was?" Delcia asked, thumbing back through her notebook, scanning several pages. "What was it like?"

"Cloth-covered. Looked like a regular book almost, but the pages are blank inside so people can write on them."

Delcia frowned. "That's funny. I don't remember seeing anything like that either in his room or at the crime scene. It could be important." She paused long enough to write another brief note in her small spiral notebook.