This, I think, is not one of Shannon's best. She has slipped back to the "single-case" format--although there are a number of references to other current cases.
The interest in this story comes from the gambling. Several characters, including the main suspect, are "pro sharps", which is a job that Mendoza considers one of the hardest in the world. "You need a memory like God's, and the eyes of a hawk." Nevertheless, Mendoza is at home in this world, having a pro sharp for a grandfather, learning the ways of the cards during his childhood, and growing up to join the Vice squad and spending most of his time spotting the pros for his superiors.
Mendoza feels some sympathy for the suspect--he knows that such men are absolutely not the kind to resort to murder. And maybe he feels a sense of debt on behalf of his grandfather, who left him all that nice money.
It's a pleasant enough story, and it's probably one that Mendoza will remember for all the complications stretching in all directions. And it's rather fun watching Mendoza "disguising" himself in his purplish tweed suit (I rather think this is the one that had been mentioned in passing before; the pattern is a lot less "discreet" than he thought, and he's very annoyed with his tailor.) He puts away his expensive accessories, buys a couple gaudy rings with big fat fake diamonds, and sets off for Gardena for a few hands of draw....I wonder if Los Angeles still has its rather peculiar gambling laws?
There's also the fun side issue of Alison's pregnancy--is it twins? Boy or girl? Two boys, two girls? And what shall we name them? What if they turn out to be red-haired Mendozas?
Almost forgot--this is also the book that begins a standing joke that is carried through the entire remaining opus. One evening, having accidently spilled a little rye on the kitchen drainboard, Mendoza, out of idle curiosity, lifts El Senor up to have a sniff. The result is an instant craving for whiskey. Henceforth, Mendoza will never drink at home alone. El Senor can hear the cupboard door open the length of the house away, or the word "drink" or "rye" uttered in a whisper, and will come racing into the kitchen to demand his share. I suppose that turning a cat into a drunkard could qualify as animal abuse, but El Senor would probably argue the point.