Just Add Trouble (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 3)) (5 page)

“Is Allison at home?”

“Nope.”

My patience, with which I’m not overly endowed, fizzled. “Where. Is. She?” I growled.

“You mad at me?”

Yes
. “No, sorry. I think I need to talk with Allison about my car. I’d like to get it restored, if possible.”

“Okay.”

Two can play this game. “Office?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.  Oh,  Wontrobski,  did  you  call  me  a  few  minutes ago?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I’m clairvoyant,” I gloated, enjoying turning the tables on him.

“Want a job?”

“After that last piece of shit you sent me on? You are joking.”

“Big bucks. Fast.” The man definitely knows how to get my attention.

“Lemme guess, O.J. Simpson needs a new wife, and somehow my name came up?”

“No. I think you’ll really like this gig.”

The Trob said gig? Being married to Allison was truly having an effect on him. “Okay, give me the lowdown. When? Where? What? How long? How much? And who do I have to kill?”

This is the kind of non-rhetorical quiz the Trob thrives on. He didn’t miss a beat. “Now, or sooner. Mexico. Independent feasibility study. Two months tops. Top dollar, plus expenses. No one.”

“That sound suspiciously like the last gig you sent me on. The one that almost got
me
killed?”

“This one’s legit.”

Now there’s a new concept. But wait, there’s surely more. “If it’s legit, why isn’t Baxter Brothers taking it on?”

“Conflict of interest.”

“How come?”

“If the project goes, we plan to bid it. We want an independent and no one will ever suspect Baxters hired you.”

“Hey! I think there was an insult in there. Don’t even try telling me the brothers Baxter asked for me.”

“They did. They were impressed with the Tanuki deal.”

“Impressed? You’re kidding. I damned near started another Mexican-American war.”

“You did the job.”

True, in an,
the end justifies the means
, sort of way. I was hired to see if a saltwater desalination plant and salt kiln by-product could co-exist with a whale sanctuary, and the project is a go. Taken at purely face value, I did the job, took my handsome reward, and sailed into the sunset. Okay, so I have a few bullet holes in my boat, several people were killed, and my best friend ran away with a Mexican whale expert. I guess all’s well that ends well?

“Where in Mexico?”

“Guaymas.”

“Where is that?”

“Where are you?”

I told him.

“Check your charts. You’re probably only eighty nautical miles from Guaymas.”

“Fidel Wontrobski, son of a Polish communist and engineer extraordinaire, now delving into the nautical. What can the world expect next?”

He hates sarcasm. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

I hung up and called Allison’s office. After identifying myself to a three-deep front line secretarial and clerical defense, she picked up. “Hey, how’s Mexico?”

“Beautiful. I never want to return to Oakland, but when I do, I’ll need my car.”

“Can’t have it back. Fidel bought it for me fair and square.”

“Not my old Beemer. My VW. The Trob said you tried to get it released. What happened?”

“They want to talk to you. Since you steadfastly refuse to call them regarding a certain incident up here in Oakland, they are holding your car hostage.”

“I wasn’t even in the country when it hit the drink. Why me?”
As if I didn’t know
.

“As if you don’t know. There was a body in your car. The Oakland Police Department takes a dim view of such things.”

“Garrison put it there. The police know that.”

“I know that, and you know that, but the OPD gets real steamed when someone with your body count history won’t return their calls. All they want is to close the stupid case, so pick up the stupid phone so I don’t get their stupid calls anymore. Can I be more clear, Grey Girl?”

When Allison starts slinging racial epithets, it’s time to take her seriously. Or sling something back. “Don’t get all uppity on me.”

She laughed. “Hetta, just call them. Talk with Detective Norquist, the cutie who interviewed you when they found that other body on your anchor. I’ll give you Norquist’s number.”

So I did. Norquist was not pleased with me, but in truth he couldn’t justify keeping my car. I called Allison back and she said she’d get it towed in for repairs. Finally, I joined Jenks on the flying bridge. A sliver of moon rested low on the horizon, and a blanket of stars sparkled in a black velvet sky.

“What’s up?”

“The Trob has another job for me here in Mexico if I want it. About eighty miles from here. Place called Guaymas.”

“What’s the job?”

“What does it matter? Much as I’d like to stay here, I have a commitment back home in January.”

“Why can’t you do both? You could leave the boat down here, fly home.”

“For starters, this boat is my home, remember? Where would I live?”

“You can stay in my apartment in Oakland until your project up there is over. I’ll be in Kuwait for at least three more months. If we don’t have to take
Raymond Johnson
back to California, we can both get on with our projects sooner.”

“How about all my stuff? Everything I own is on this boat.”

“Take your clothes, buy more. When you’re ready to come back down here, drive.”

“Speaking of, Allison’s springing my VW and having it towed to a mechanic.”

“You should get another car instead.”

“I don’t want another car. I want my VW. It has great sentimental value. I could just kill that Garrison for running it off into the estuary.”

“If I were you, with your, uh, record, I’d be more careful about threatening anyone. People do have a way of getting dead around you. And if I remember correctly, there is a little tit for tat here. You did, after all, arrange to send his prized Morgan for a swim. He’s evened the score, in spades.”

“Don’t be reasonable with me, you know it doesn’t work.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not worth it, you know.”

“That was RJ’s car. I want it fixed.”

“RJ was a fine dog, and the only dog I’ve known with his own car, but you could buy some decent wheels for what it’ll cost to restore your antiquated VW. Especially after it’s been submerged in saltwater.”

“You’re being reasonable again.”

“Sorry. I should know better.” He put his arm around me and kissed my forehead.

We chugged a few more miles out to sea, far from shore, cut the engines and drifted throughout the night. We spelled each other, taking three hour watches. Neither of us got much sleep. Staring at windows made black by the dark of night made me wish I’d taken my watch from the flying bridge, but we had a firm rule: While at sea, no one goes outside while the other sleeps.

Mentally replaying the scene at Agua Fria, I tried convincing myself that Jenks was right, and I didn’t see what I thought I saw. And so what if it was a crime? There was no way in hell, after my recent dealings with several unsavory Mexican authority types, I’d report it. The best thing was to erase the incident from memory.

Why worry over something one cannot control?

Chapter 4

After a night of drifting, we decided to further distance ourselves from the spooky Agua Fria, so we headed for another Steinbeck destination, Puerto Escondido. He wrote:
If one wished to design a personal secret bay, one would probably build something like this little harbor
.

Jagged mountains, the Gigantes, according to my map, jutted against the western sky, and the harbor was protected from all sides by hills and natural rocky berms. I can only imagine what a beautiful spot this was when Steinbeck and crew arrived aboard
Western Flyer
all those many years ago. But now he must be rolling in his grave, what with buildings and docks forever marring old John’s personal secret bay. In my career as an engineer I was, without doubt, guilty of trashing someone else’s perfect harbor myself, but I really hated what happened here.

Exhausted, we turned in early and were up, sipping coffee, when we experienced what was probably the most spectacular sunrise of my life. The rising sun hit the jutting, striated Gigantes,  painting them a mix of pink, salmon, and purple. Both the mountains and the rosy clouds hugging their peaks reflected on glassy, turquoise water. The effect was stunning.

I oohed and aahed, and asked Jenks, “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

He shook his head. “Pretty neat.”

“Pretty neat? Jenks, you are the master of the understatement. I’m getting the camera.” I rushed inside and was out in a flash. When I clicked off a shot before everything faded, I realized my batteries were dead.

“You know Hetta, there’s a better place to store your dead batteries than in your camera.”

“Yeah, I know. I usually keep them in my flashlight. Oh, well, we’ll be here tomorrow, and believe you me, I will have fresh batteries in this baby. You know, I’ve lived in and traveled to a lot of places in the world, but so far the Sea of Cortez is my favorite. Well, except for Agua Fria.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Last night, when we were drifting on my watch, I decided to call the Trob back today, take that job on the mainland. I looked it up. Guaymas, that is. It’s a port city and has a fair size harbor. Maybe there’s a marina.”

“Worth checking out. Give him a jingle, he should be in his office by now. Like I said, it could work to your advantage. Now, I’ll muck out the seawater strainer on the overheating engine before we— phone’s ringing.”

I caught it on the third ring, thinking it might be the Trob, but it was Mama.

“Where are you, Hetta Honey?” To everyone else I’m Hetta. To my mother, I’m Hetta Honey.

“Still in Mexico. Up in the Sea of Cortez.”

“That’s nice. Is Jenks with you?” She sounded hopeful. She likes Jenks and lives in fear that I will alienate him. I do have a history.

“Sure is.”

“And Jan?”

“No. Remember, I told you? She’s with Chino.”

Silence.

“Mom, he’s a doctor. He’s a good guy, and she’s happy.”

“He’s a Mexican.”

“Tsk, tsk. Your Texas prejudice is showing.”

“I am not prejudiced. It’s just that Mexican men can be so…fickle.”

“I don’t think Chino is, unless an exceptionally comely whale wiggles her tail at him.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. How’s Daddy?”

“That’s what I called about. He’s got trouble.”

My heartbeat stuttered. My parents entered the parent pool a little later than was fashionable in their generation, and didn’t get around to having me and my sister until they were in their mid-twenties. Even though sixty is the new forty, and my parents are in excellent health, I tend to worry. “Trouble?”

“It’s your Aunt Lil.”

I stifled a moan. My aunt, who never had children of her own, spent inordinate amounts of time telling Mom how she should raise me and my sister. As well as being a giant thorn in my derrière, Auntie Lillian is overbearing and bossy, so you can imagine how well we get along. Not.

A retired nurse of Ratchet ilk, she’d been married four or five times, and met each and every of her spouses while they were drying out at Veteran’s Administration Hospitals.

My mother, always the peacemaker, puts up with her crap. I never do, although maybe I should consider taking a cue from her modus operandi; she finds her hubbies in rehab, marries ‘em, buys ‘em a bottle or two when they get out, and bingo! Death benefits.

“She get herself another husband out of the drunk tank at the VA?”

“Hetta Honey, be nice. She is blood, you know, and no, she’s not married again. At least I don’t think so. Also, I’m sure she loved all of her husbands, in her own way.”

“Spare me the love. Lil is a miserable human being who does her level best to spread the virus of discontent. She’s a happiness terrorist. Sorry Mama, I know she’s your only sister. How could two sisters be so different?”

“You and your sister are different.”

“Yes, but we come from the same planet. So what has the infamous Lil done now?”

“She’s disappeared.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“If you’re going to be this way, maybe we should talk later.”

“Okay, okay. Maybe you’d better tell me the story. Truthfully, however, I can’t imagine that my aunt taking a powder would upset Dad too much.” Actually, I know for a fact that my father would give his new Tony Lamas to never lay eyes on auntie’s sour puss ever again.