asked.
"Excuse me?"
"Your car keys. Where are they?"
Something about the way he spoke, the timbre of his voice as he asked the question, put my interior warning system on yellow alert. "Why do you want to know?"
"Just tell me."
"They're not in my desk," I said, stalling for time, hoping for a hint of what was really behind the question.
Through the four weeks Calvin Crenshaw had come across as a fairly easygoing guy. He seemed content to linger in the background while Louise hogged center stage. Not everybody would have caught the slight grimace of impatience that flashed across his face in reaction to my answer. I could see in his face that Calvin Crenshaw already knew that the keys to the rented Grand AM weren't in my desk. Someone had already looked.
"What were you doing in my room?" I demanded.
Calvin turned to walk away, but not before I caught the giveaway blink of his eye that told me I was right. There was something else there as well, a hardened line of resistance that I had never seen before. He started up the path, but I strode after him and caught him by the arm.
"Look, Calvin, I asked you a question."
"Go talk to the deputy," he replied. "He's waiting for you in the parking lot. I hope you have the keys with you."
Saying that, he shook off my restraining hand and hurried away. For a moment I stood there watching him go, then I did as I was told, heading up to the parking lot with the car keys in my pocket. Unwilling to give Joey Rothman another chance at making a damn fool out of me, I had carried them with me when I left the cabin.
Once I reached the parking lot I saw a lanky man wearing a khaki uniform and a wide-brimmed hat standing next to my rental.
"You Detective Beaumont?" he asked as I approached.
I nodded. No one at Ironwood Ranch had called me Detective since my arrival four weeks before. For reasons of personal privacy, I had played down the police officer part of my life as much as possible. As I came closer I noticed that the leather snap on his holster had been loosened. He held one arm away from his body in a stance that would allow immediate access to the handle of his weapon. His bronze-plated name tag said Deputy M. Hanson. He studied me appraisingly for a moment or two and then relaxed a little.
"What seems to be the problem?" I asked.
"Is this your vehicle?"
"Not mine. Rented, yes."
"Mind opening it up?"
"Not at all, but what seems to be the problem?"
"Let me ask the questions, please, Detective Beaumont. Unlock the door and then step away from the vehicle."
I did as I was told. As soon as I turned the key in the lock, Hanson pulled a penknife from his pocket and gingerly lifted the latch. When the door swung open, he leaned inside, carefully examining the floor mats of both the front and back seats. When he was finished, Hanson straightened up and stepped away from the car, studying me carefully.
"Did you disturb the vehicle in any way when you found it here in the lot this morning?" he asked.
"I got in it," I said. "On the driver's side. The keys had been left in the ignition. I took them out and put them in my pocket."
"Did you touch anything else?"
"I unlocked the glove box to check the rental agreement. I wanted to see how far the car had been driven. What exactly is going on here?" I asked, exasperated. "I call to report a car prowl. You turn up three hours later and act as though the case has suddenly turned into a major crime and I'm somehow at fault for stealing my own car."
"It has turned into a major crime, as you call it," Deputy Hanson said seriously. "It's my understanding that you believe your roommate, Joseph Rothman, took your vehicle, drove it?"
"Joey. That's correct. I left the keys in my desk drawer. He must have lifted them from there."
Hanson nodded. "That could be," he said "We'll have to check all that out later. In the meantime, I'll have to impound this vehicle. I'll need you to ride along up to Prescott with me after a bit. We'll need your