Just Follow the Money

by Jinx Schwartz

  “Fabio got us and the boat as far as Mag Bay, where you and I just spent Christmas with Chino’s relatives, Rhonda. Then Jenks flew in and took us to Cabo, where I jumped ship to be with Chino. Hetta and Jenks made the trip to La Paz, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “So, I could buy a boat and hire someone like Fabio until I learned, right?”

  “Sure you can. Let me get your checkbook for you,” I volunteered.

  She was gazing at one of Carlos Slim’s yachts docked on the end tie behind us. “What does one of those cost? I see a lot of crew coming and going over there. They’ve been washing the boat all day.”

  “That yacht gets washed every single day. Whaddya think, Jan? What’s a boat like that run?”

  Ever the CPA, Jan said, “Around eight, nine million. But the upkeep? I dunno, at least a million a year.”

  “See, Rhonda? My boat is looking better by the minute.”

  “Wish we could have snagged that ransom money,” Jan mused. “We could ‘a had a bigger boat.”

  “Speaking of that caper, have you seen or heard from any of the other players since we all left France?”

  “Nary a peep nor a sighting.”

  “Then I deem it high time we snooped. I suggest we go out to dinner. At El Molokan.”

  “But,” Rhonda asked, “how’s that gonna help? No one is supposed to know we were involved in rescuing Juanita.”

  “Call it a gut feeling.”

  “Yeah, trust Hetta’s gut…it’s sure big enough.”

  “Po Thang, kill!”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Leaving Po Thang on the boat while we went off for dinner didn’t set well with him. He’d gotten used to going just about anywhere we did in France, and now we were back to the reality of living in Mexico, where he was treated like a dog.

  Because of the building blow, we crammed into my little red Ford Ranger pickup for the run to El Molokan. Normally we’d walk it, but not only was that wind chilly, I was weary after a flight from Texas to San Diego, then hopping another from Tijuana to La Paz.

  When we entered El Molokan, the man I recognized as the owner did a double-take, then rushed over to seat us, thanking us all the way to the table. So much for anonymity. I don’t think there is even a word for it in Mexico.

  I whispered to Jan as we took our chairs, “See, my gut was right. Thank God there are no secrets in this country. I’m going for max info.”

  “Okay by me. I’ll follow your lead.”

  “Me too,” said Rhonda. “Uh, what are you going to do, exactly.”

  “Watch and learn, amiga.”

  When the owner returned with his wife in tow, I asked them to join us and they didn’t hesitate. Since it was so early, there were only two other occupied tables, and the waitstaff was handling them.

  “So, señor, I trust all is well with your family now that the, uh, incident has ended happily.”

  Grinning from ear to ear, he bobbed his head eagerly.

  Jan jumped right in. “And how is Juanita? Fully recovered, I hope.”

  “She is very well,” Roberto’s mother said. She then whispered, “The ear? You cannot see there was any…injury.”

  “Oh,” Rhonda said, “that’s wonderful. And how is Chef Roberto?”

  Our hosts’ faces fell in unison, and we all leaned in to find out why.

  La señora spoke first, “He is leaving the military. We want him to come here, of course, and take over the kitchen, but it is his desire to open his own French restaurant in Puerto Vallarta. We would love to be able to help him, of course, for it is a large undertaking and he is a chef, not a businessman. But, he will be so far away.”

  Trying to be more upbeat, I said, “He is an excellent chef and, after all, how many French restaurants can there be in PV?”

  “Maybe ten, but only two that he considers competition. He has an investor who thinks Roberto will be a success.”

  “If he has a money guy, then they probably have someone with business experience, and they’re willing to give Roberto a chance. Sounds great to me,” Jan said.

  “Perhaps. We do hope so, for his sake.”

  “Is he working here tonight? I would love to see him,” Rhonda asked, unmasked hope in her voice.

  “He has the evening off. He has been working here every night since he returned and wanted to meet with his potential investors tonight. Please, come back tomorrow, and he will be here.”

  “Oh, I will,” Rhonda said with a smile. “He taught me so much about cooking while we were in France. How about la dueña—Sascha—have you seen her?”

  “No, she is in Mexico City. Roberto tells me she is still very upset about Juanita’s…troubles, even though Juan doesn’t hold her responsible.”

  Hearing that El Jefe didn’t blame Sascha for Juanita’s kidnapping was a relief; after all, what could she have done, short of nailing the girl’s foot to the floor? I never had a chance to talk to her about how the whole thing actually came down, but I was eighteen once, and it’s a miracle I’m even still alive!

  Changing the subject, I complimented Roberto’s mother on the seasonal decorations in the restaurant and outside. She filled me in on events I might be interested in during the next few days and invited me to join them at El Molokan for New Year’s Eve. Her kind invitation made my eyes sting, as I had wondered if I was going to be stuck on the boat with only a large furry critter, a bottle of champagne, and a pity party for that evening.

  Stuffed like a Christmas stocking on free food and wine, compliments of El Molokan, I waddled down the dock, climbed wearily onto the boat, and gave a pouty Po Thang a hug and a hunk of prime rib. His mood improved by leaps and bounds and, since the wind had died down for the night, managed to bully-whine me into taking him for a much-needed, for both of us, walk.

  The malecon, a waterfront walk that stretches from Marina de la Paz for a little over five kilometers along the bay, was spectacularly decked out with Christmas lights, and so were the stores, restaurants, and clubs on the other side of the street. Now that the Mexicans had come out for the night, every eatery and bar was filling up with holiday revelers. Christmas in La Paz starts in early December and runs through January 6—El Día De Los Reyes (Three King’s Day)—so it was like I was given three Christmases this year: one each in France, Texas, and Mexico.

  I’d forced Po Thang to wear a Santa hat I’d bought for him in Lille, and he wasn’t all that happy with it until he must have somehow realized how much attention it was getting him. We were photographed everywhere we went, and children that I thought were up way past their bedtime gathered around to pet him. More than one of them lost an ice cream cone or piece of candy in the blink of an eye, and while they giggled with delight, I reminded myself to muzzle him next time, lest I have to live with noxious dog farts for another night.

  Walking off all that food and wine was invigorating, so I turned inland, toward the town’s main plaza, which I knew would be lit up and surrounded by the ubiquitous tiangus, or tarp-covered stalls, that took over the area every year. Selling food, jewelry, clothing, and everything else under the sun—I wondered what lucky person was destined to receive the gift of retreaded tires this year—they somehow didn’t seem to know that Christmas was over, but then again, much of the gift-giving in Mexico takes place on Three King’s Day, while December 24th and 25th are reserved for religious ceremonies and family get-togethers.

  We had turned back toward the water when I caught sight of a familiar face: Chef Roberto. I started to raise my hand and holler out when I froze in my tracks. At the moment I spotted him, he turned his back to me and leaned into a wall, bending down slightly to plant a smooch on his companion.

  Stunned, I whirled and urged Po Thang into a jog before he spotted his kitchen buddy and barked a greeting. I think we were halfway back to the boat before I finally slowed and took a breath.

  Jan was already snoring in the guest cabin when I returned, so I urged Po Thang to wake her up while I st
ayed out of slugging distance.

  “What the…? Oh, hell, Po Thang! Jeez what have you been eatin’ for God’s sake? Yuck, go brush your teeth!” Jan yelled, but I could hear laughter in her voice.

  Po Thang emerged, a grin on his mug, with Jan following close behind. “Hetta, dammit, I was asleep. You—” she stopped grousing when she saw my face. “What’s wrong?”

  I looked around. “Where’s Rhonda?”

  “No idea, why?”

  “I gotta tell you something I don’t want her to hear. Wine!”

  Jan, who knows me so well, didn’t even question that one-word command. She headed for the fridge, pulled out a white, uncorked it, and headed up the stairs leading to the aft deck.

  Once we both had a glass in hand, we settled under the lap blankets I keep on the lounges. “Okay, Chica, this must be good because you look like you saw a ghost, or ate a canary. Hard to tell in this light.”

  “I just got a big surprise, that’s all. You are not going to effin’ believe it.”

  “Try me. After all these years with you, I’m used to your bombshells.”

  “Yeah, well brace yourself for a big one.”

  “You gonna tell me, or am I going to have to strangle it out of you?”

  “I saw someone we know in town.”

  “And this is surprising?”

  “Actually, it was two someones.”

  Jan stood and reached clawed hands for my throat.

  “All right, already. Chef Roberto, was one of them.”

  “And?”

  “Our king of cuisine had la dueña pinned against a wall, with his tongue halfway down her throat.”

  Jan, who had just taken a sip from her glass, almost choked. “You’re shittin’ me!”

  “You owe the cuss jar five bucks, but I’ll even the score. I. Shit. You. Not!”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Following Jan’s stunned outburst upon hearing that Chef Roberto and Sascha were kissing cousins, I grabbed a notebook and pen, scribbled out two IOUs for five bucks and threw them into a cuss jar.

  “Wow. Holy…sugar. I can’t afford to say what I really want to,” Jan said.

  Jan and I had decided we had to clean up our potty language a couple of years back, so we both kept cuss jars scattered around our abodes. Our scatology account was well over two grand by now, and just grew by ten bucks.

  “Good thing I don’t have to add moola for all the words I said to myself on the way back to the boat. I mean, they’re cousins, for cryin’ out loud?”

  “You’re the genealogy nut, Hetta. You figure out how.”

  I went to my office area and grabbed the hand-drawn family tree charts I’d sketched out while we were still in France. At that early stage of the game, we were still trying to figure out who El Jefe was by backtracking up the family line from the kidnap victim. Cousin Sascha wasn’t even a known entity then, so her side of the family wasn’t important.

  “Here we go. We have a lot more info now. Here’s Roberto,” I tapped a box, “and Juanita. They’re first cousins. Now, if we back up to Juan Tomato, the grandfather, and go from there…” I drew a line parallel to grandpa’s box, wrote his brother’s name in, added some boxes below him and, “Bingo! Sascha!”

  Jan counted the boxes and mocked wiping sweat from her bow. “Whew! Third cousins. Perfectly legit, if a little creepy, for them to fool around. But since when? I sure as hell didn’t get a clue while they were on Odyssey, and you know I can usually sniff out hanky panky at forty paces.”

  “Soooo, this foolin’ around is either something new, or they are consummate, you should excuse the double entendre, actors.”

  Jan hooted at my clever play on words, which set me off in turn. We were still giggling when Po Thang woke from his after-walk-and-junk-food snooze, charged down the steps into the main salon, and out onto the port deck, whiney-barking all the way.

  “Betcha that’s Rhonda,” Jan whispered. “We can’t tell her what you saw. She’ll be heartbroken. She has it pretty bad for Roberto.”

  “Agreed.”

  Rhonda followed Po Thang to the aft deck and plopped down into a chair.

  Jan made a show of checking a non-existent watch on her bare wrist. “And just where have you been, missy?” she asked. She sounded just like my mother used to when I tried to sneak in after curfew.

  Rhonda pointed toward the large yacht slips. “Walking the docks. Looking for a dreamboat.”

  “That sounds somewhat illegal, if you get my drift. You’re really serious about this boat thing, are you?” I asked.

  “Sure am. I loved living on that little boat on the Canal du Midi with you guys, and then the prince’s yacht? Well, that was beyond fantastic. I figure something right at fifty feet will do the job.”

  “I’ll help you find it,” Jan volunteered, jazzed at the opportunity to spend some OPM. “We’ll start here in La Paz tomorrow, but I’d wager we’ll have to go to the mainland, or even the States, to find what you want.”

  “So, Rhonda, how much of your inheritance are you willing to let Jan blow on this yacht of yours?”

  “I’m thinking somewhere between three hundred and four hundred thousand. Do you think that’s enough? That’s about what I’ll get for mom’s house when I sell it.”

  “Depends. I can tell you from experience, the first year will cost you a bundle in updates, repairs and the like, though. Unless you buy a new one, and even then it can get you over four hundred grand.”

  “I can go five. Where do we start?”

  “Where else?” Jan said. “The internet.”

  “And, I suggest you look for a 45-footer, cuz anything larger and you start paying through the nose for docks, and you’re probably going to need a captain.”

  Jan yawned and stretched. “We’ll commence the great yacht search first thing tomorrow. I, for one, am hitting it right now.”

  We all left the back deck, but after Rhonda went into the cabin she was sharing with Jan, I whispered, “Not a word about you-know-who.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know who. But yachts aren’t the only thing we’re gonna look into tomorrow. Enquiring minds want to know the scoop on those kissin’ cousins.”

  “Amen.”

  I woke up at two o’clock when some loudly cheerful party animals stumbled down the dock. I would have been annoyed if I hadn’t done the same thing so many times. Ah, to be young again.

  Unable to go back to sleep, I surfed the internet for fortyish-foot yachts for sale and was pleasantly surprised to see prices had gone down, until I realized mine had probably lost value, as well. Checking out sister ships for Raymond Johnson, I saw they were selling for about what I paid for her, and decided that wasn’t bad, even what with all the dough I’d poured into her over the years. Boats do not appreciate, and you’re lucky if they don’t take a dive, so to speak.

  I found Rhonda’s boat within ten minutes. Okay, so it probably wasn’t what she had in mind, but it was what I would buy if I could: a brand new forty-foot power cat.

  It was in Thailand.

  A vacay in Phuket on Rhonda’s tab sounded just dandy.

  I, too, can spend OPM.

  We all arrived in the galley at the same time the next morning, and headed for the Keurig. Jenks had given it to me for my birthday, with a six-month supply of Busteo Café pods. Six months’ worth, that is, if I could keep people off my damned boat.

  “Hey, Rhonda, I found you the perfect boat. It’s in Thailand.”

  “Really? That’s great! How soon can we get it here?”

  Jan groaned. “Oh, lawdy, Rhonda! Please, please, do not go into a yacht broker without one of us with you.”

  “Give me some credit, Jan. I was kidding. I’m not that naïve. Matter of fact, I woke up real early and sneaked out to the sundeck and did some cyber-shopping on my own. I found one in Marina del Rey that is just about perfect. Matter of fact, it looks a lot like Raymond Johnson, only bigger, newer, and much more luxurious,” she said prissily.


  “Yeah? Well,” I broke into song, “I saw Roberto kissing Sascha cuz, underneath the mistletoe last night.” For good measure, I added, even more prissily, “And it damned well wasn’t on the cheek.”

  Rhonda’s face fell and headed for her cabin.

  Jan shook her head. “Childish, Hetta. So childish. Just because Rhonda is shopping for a bigger and better boat than yours, you go and say something like that? You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  I was. Sort of. “Competitive instinct?”

  “When she stops bawling and unlocks that door, you should apologize.”

  “She should have waited to brag about that boat until after I had my coffee.”

  “Hey! Just what in the holy hell is bugging you? You aren’t usually this mean.”

  “New Year’s Eve.”

  “Oh, hell, not that again? I thought you’d finally gotten over obsessing about that crap since you met Jenks. Evidently not.”

  “You always have a date.”

  “Which I sometimes broke to be with you, I might remind you.”

  She was right. This fixation of mine on New Year’s Eve was stupid. I mean, lots of people are alone that night. Lots. Especially women with forty cats.

  “You’re thinking about that cat thing again, aren’t you? That is such a cliché. Besides, you’re allergic to cats. Tell you what, I’ll pry Rhonda out of our room, you make nice and say you’re sorry, and we’ll make plans to ring in the New Year together, and in grand fashion, okay?”

  “Don’t you want to spend that evening with Chino?”

  “Gee, why would I want to do that when I can be with you and your forty cats?”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Rhonda, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you what I saw. I know you have a crush on Roberto. It was very unkind of me.”

  I was talking through the door to the guest cabin, since Jan hadn’t had any luck getting Rhonda to come out.

  “Y-y-you really saw them? Are you sure you didn’t just misconstrue the circumstances?”