I told her. “Okay, then, we have about five miles to go. Think they’ll follow us up the winery road?”
“Don’t know, but I can surely outrun them for another few minutes. Dig my cell phone out of my purse. Ted’s number is in memory.” The SUV had dropped back some, but was still following us much closer than I liked. I frantically watched the countryside for a house, while praying we’d come upon a truck or bus going our way. If I could pass one and then really slow down, I’d have some cover. Where’s a slow Mexican truck when you need one?
Jan tried the phone, but no service. Figures.
White knuckled, and in a cold sweat, I concentrated on keeping us on the road and the SUV in my mirror. On straightaways I pushed ninety. On curves, since I took up both lanes, I alternatively hoped for traffic, and prayed there wasn’t any, because if we met, one of us was leaving the road.
“Hetta, remember how I threatened to murder you if you smuggled a gun into Mexico?”
“Yep.”
“I was wrong, and anyhow, you never listen to me. So, where’s the gun?”
“Sorry.”
“The next time you listen to me, I really am going to kill you.”
Even in my fearful state, I had to laugh. Howl, in fact. We both grew hysterical and I lost my concentration. When I looked into the rearview mirror, the SUV was no longer behind us.
My peripheral vision picked up a flash of white, and just like that, they drew alongside, staring at us with bewildered looks. Instead of being frightened by their move, their confusion only added to our cackles.
Tears blurred my vision so I had to slow down. If they intended to cut us off, this was the time, but they stayed a safe distance ahead. When I slowed, they slowed.
“Hetta,” Jan hooted, gasping for air, “l-let’s knock their dicks in the dirt.”
“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day. Hang on.”
I hit the gas and was on their bumper in a flash. Now that the tables had turned, I felt, well, in the driver’s seat. The biggest danger to us at this point was them hitting the brakes, but they didn’t. I rode a foot off their bumper, trying to decide whether to, as Jan so charmingly suggested, try and knock their dicks in the dirt. At this speed, just a properly aimed tap on their left bumper should do the job.
We rounded a curve, and Jan yelled, “Hetta, the winery. I just saw a sign.”
“How far?”
“Kilometer. Half a mile, more or less.”
“I’m doing sixty miles an hour. Start counting, like, one one-thousand, two-one thousand. Out loud. This old car doesn’t have a trip odometer.”
“You got it.” She counted, while I drafted the SUV and crossed mental fingers for what seemed forever. Finally, Jan hit four-hundred-forty, and I held my speed, but at four-hundred-forty-five, I hit the brakes, slowing to thirty miles per hour, hoping whoever made the winery sign knew how to calculate distance.
The SUV driver, seemingly unaware we’d suddenly slowed, disappeared around a curve just as we saw our road. I skidded onto it, then stopped. A brisk breeze instantly carried our dust away. Fighting the desire to sprint for the winery, I crept up the rocky incline at a dust-free speed. From my last trip, I recalled a dip where we could hide, a dry creek bed less than a quarter mile in. As soon as we got there, I killed the engine.
No longer visible from the main road, we sat, listened, and heard nothing but birds, and an ominous hiss denoting I’d possibly pushed my VW a mite hard.
“I think we lost them,” Jan whispered.
“Let’s wait another five minutes, and if we don’t hear them we’re probably home free.”
It was an interminable five minutes until we agreed to forge ahead. The VW, however, had other ideas. After several tries, I gave up on starting her, we grabbed our overnight bags and trudged up the steep road. When we crossed over a cattle guard, I told Jan she’d better keep us a tree in mind as we walked, just in case Booger Red showed up.
Thankfully, just before dark fell in earnest, barking dogs led two armed, mounted ranch hands to us, and soon we were sitting in Ted and Nanci’s living room, sipping excellent wine, telling of our road scare, and getting a scolding.
“Why didn’t you call us before taking the Rio Sonora road?” Nanci wailed, visibly upset. “We would have told you not to, no matter what. There have been all kinds of problems along there, not the least of which have been roadblocks, set up by thugs. People have died.”
“We did call. Rosa said you were out riding, but she’d tell you we were on the way.”
“Well, she didn’t. Rosa knew you were on the Rio Sonora highway?”
“Uh, I didn’t tell her where we were. Taking that road was a spur of the moment thing, so I didn’t ask any questions like I should have. I wasn’t thinking, I guess.”
Seeing my dismay at being so stupid, Ted said, “How could you know? I’ll tell the staff to warn anyone who calls about that road until things get much safer around here. By the way, where in hell is Rosa?”
The question was directed at Nanci, who answered. “I haven’t seen her since before we left for our ride. I can’t believe she didn’t tell us you were coming. When I do find her, we’ll have a little talk.” She stomped out of the room, fuming.
“She’ll cool down,” Ted told us, “but I wouldn’t want to be in Rosa’s zapatas right now.”
“It’s not Rosa’s fault we took the scenic route.”
“No, but at least we would have been expecting you. Anyway, all’s well that ends well. You did the right thing, giving those guys the slip. No telling who they are.” He asked me for my keys, and sent a couple of his ranch hands to tow my car to his shop.
Minutes later, Nanci returned, clearly distraught. Rosa was nowhere to be found.
The men sent to fetch my car also returned with bad news. Like Rosa, my beloved VW had vanished.
I would, in time, forget the fortune I’d spent having that car restored after an old enemy dumped her into the Oakland Estuary, but her sentimental value went deep. She was the only tangible thing I had left of my dog, RJ, since I’d bought the car for him. Okay, so maybe it was to save the leather in my BMW from dog drool, but it was still his car. And I could almost forgive someone taking her if they really needed a car, but those jerks, and I was positive it was the guys in the SUV, already had wheels. The question is, were they waiting for us on the highway and if so, why?
“So, who do you think these buttheads are?” I asked Ted. “And why would they chase us around and then steal my old junker?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? This is Mexico. If you leave it, it’s fair game. Someone else might have taken it, you know.”
I thought about that. Maybe so. It could be that the SUV guys were simply having a little fun on the road, nothing more. I mean, the world abounds in white cars, so I was probably being overly suspicious, thinking that white SUV was the same one Craig and I saw on my last trip to the winery. Even with my vivid imagination, it was a stretch. One thing for sure, though, I was out an automobile, and all I carried on it was Mexican liability insurance.
“Think we should call the cops?” Jan asked.
“We could,” Nanci said dryly. Her answer and demeanor didn’t exactly instill confidence in that plan.
“But?” I asked.
“Won’t do much good. With your car permit, it can be out of Sonora in hours.”
“What car permit?”
“The one required to drive here.”
“I thought I didn’t need one in Sonora.”
Ted shook his head. “Not so. If you drive from Naco, through Cananea and on down to Imuris on Mex 2, you don’t, but once you turn off on Ruta Rio Sonora, you are no longer in the so-called hassle-free zone. You have to get a permit.”
“Well, fooey, I didn’t. Not last time, either.”
“Good thing the cops didn’t get you. It’s a big fine, and they can confiscate the car. Now, for sure, you do not want to report the car stolen because it is in Mexico ill
egally. Don’t know what your car is worth, but it’ll cost you big to get it back, even if you do find it. Sorry.”
“It’s just a car. No word from Rosa yet?”
“No,” he said, “and it is so unlike her. She told no one she had plans to leave. We’ve searched every building on the place, thinking she might have fallen or something, but no luck. First Lupe walks off the job, now Rosa.”
We were all in a bit of a funk when we sat down for a late dinner, but good company, great wine, and spicy food cheered us. Not so much that I didn’t still wish a million painful deaths on the perps who took my car, but my practical side was already trying to figure out how we were going to get home, and where I’d get new wheels.
My worrywart gene, a gift from my mother, nagged that the garage door opener still clipped to my car’s sun visor was going to cost me for a replacement. Also, someone could actually check the registration, find where I lived, and get into the house. Then, up popped another thing to worry about: Craig’s car, sitting in the garage, keys in the ignition.
Nope, I thought with relief, my car was still registered to Jenks’s apartment in California, and there isn’t any mail with my Bisbee address in the VW, right? And what about—
“Earth to Hetta,” Ted said, and I gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m flying to Sierra Vista in the next couple of days, so I’ll drop you guys at the Bisbee airport, then you can call a cab, or maybe someone there will give you a lift, since your house is so close.”
“That’ll work. Craig’s car is in my garage, so we’ll use it until we come up with something else.”
Jan shook her head. “Oh, no. Craig will have our heads if we touch that Porsche.”
“Craig’s in Baja and won’t be back for days. He’ll never know. I’ll chalk mark the wheel location, then disconnect the odometer, just in case he checked it before he left.”
All three had comical, quizzical looks on their faces, so I explained, “Misspent teenager-hood.”
Nanci laughed. “See, Ted, I knew there was a reason we never had kids.”
Chapter 26
The day after our daunting ride over the back roads of the Rio Sonora Valley, and my VW going walkabout, Ted mustered a posse and set off looking for Rosa, my car, and the winery van it turned out Rosa must have taken. At first there was speculation Rosa left a day early for her weekly shopping trip to Cananea, but she’d never done so in the past. Winery employees went to both Arizpe and Cananea, questioned Rosa’s friends, and even the grocer she favored. No one had seen her since the week before.
Ted took to the air, then stomped in just at dusk, having flown a search pattern with no sightings. Rosa’s disappearance, coupled with Lupe's weeks before, called for drastic measures, Ted told us. They were going to call the police. While this might seem logical in the States, cops are a last resort in Mexico.
“What about Sonrisa?” I asked my fellow diners. “Isn’t she friends with Rosa? Maybe Rosa told her something that she thinks is unimportant, but isn’t.”
Ted looked at his head foreman, who said he’d questioned Sonrisa, and all other employees, at length, but no one knew anything. As if on cue, Sonrisa herself glided in with a fresh pitcher of ice water.
She circled the table, refilling glasses. When she got to me, I noticed her tense slightly. Never one to sit by and let the chance to annoy someone who annoys me go by, I asked, “Say, Sonrisa, seen your black buddies lately?” Her only reaction to my mention of her hitchhike with the Xer’s was a noticeable straightening of her spine.
“She doesn’t speak English,” Nanci reminded me.
“Oh, right, I forgot. I was just wondering—”
Jan pretended to drop her napkin, leaned down, pinched my leg, and whispered, “Later. Let it go.”
I did, but watched Sonrisa closely the rest of the evening. Her bland facial expression set my teeth on edge. Rosa, her supposedly new BFF and mentor, had vanished, so shouldn’t she at least look worried? Or was I being too hard on her? After all, Nanci told me Sonrisa came from an area where not drawing attention to yourself is a matter of self-preservation. I wouldn’t do well there.
After dinner, I cornered Ted about my own missing person: Jenks. He’d emailed and called Jenks, as I had, but gotten nowhere. The only thing we knew for sure was that Jenks was still registered at his hotel suite in Kuwait City, and Lars, his brother, was too. Neither, however, was in residence. We checked my home answering machine for messages, hoping Jenks left one, but only Craig called to say he was with Chino at the whale camp.
We all retired to our rooms early, worn down from a combination of concern and frustration. Jan came to my room and we popped a cork on Ted’s finest.
“So, did, uh, Craig say anything else?” she asked casually, like she wasn’t fishing for info.
“Oh, you mean, did Craig say something like, ‘Chino says he simply cannot live without Jan and is contemplating throwing himself upon a sharpened whale bone’?”
She slapped my wrist. “Yeah, okay, I guess I was hoping for something like that.”
“Sorry, all he said was Chino met him at the ferry in Santa Rosalia, and he was enjoying the beach. Besides, I thought you didn’t care what Chino thought anymore.”
“He could pretend to miss me. Oh, well, at least I know where he is. Not like Jenks.”
“Jenks isn’t being like Jenks. He’s sorta disappeared before, but not for this long. I have a horrible feeling that something bad has happened. I can’t help it, what with stories of contractors being beheaded and all.”
“Surely CNN would have gotten wind of a kidnapped contractor. Besides, I don’t recall anyone ever being nabbed in Kuwait City.”
“How do we even know he isn’t in Iraq? Ted told me himself that he and Jenks were no strangers to clandestine ops.”
“Ops? You been reading Clancy again?”
I laughed, despite a hollow feeling in my gut.
Jan poured more wine. “I’ve got it!” she suddenly screeched, scaring the crap out of me. “Let’s call the prince.” Sometimes Jan is a friggin’ genius. Why hadn’t I thought of bringing Prince Faoud into the loop? He’d given us his private phone number after we’d weathered a hurricane together in Baja’s Magdalena Bay, and he even contacted Jenks in Kuwait several months before, then lent him an airplane when Jan and I found ourselves up to our ears in bad guys down on the Baja.
“Brilliant, Jan. Think he’s in Saudi Arabia?”
“I doubt it, since his relatives apparently pay him to stay away. Doesn’t matter though, we have his cell number.”
“We’ll have to use Ted’s house phone, my cell won’t work here.” I dug out my address book, thankful I hadn’t left my stuff in the VW when she conked out on us. I also dug out a small flashlight and we tiptoed down the dark hall and stairs, into Ted’s den. I eased the heavy French doors closed, then found a light switch.
The generator powering the entire complex shut down at ten, so the household was now running off battery power and inverter. I hoped the satellite system was connected to the battery grid, as it is on my boat. A series of blue lights on the router told me the good news. “We’re in bidness, looks like. I’ll call, you talk.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because, Miz Jan, old princey-poo has the hots for you.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t let me have anything to do with him, remember? You said I’d probably end up getting unveiled in his harem.”
“Yeah, but that was before we needed him.”
“Let me get this straight. It’s okay if I end up in a harem, so long as you get what you want?”
“That about sums it up. Dialing.”
As soon as I heard a ring I shoved the phone at Jan. She snatched it with a petulant huff. After a short while, she said, “Uh, Hetta, I don’t thi—Prince Faoud? Oh, hi, this is Jan, I was on Hetta’s boat at Mag Bay when we…fine, fine, and you?”
She listened, a crooked smile twitching one side of her mouth, and then cooed, “Oh, I
’m sorry to hear that, but I’m sure you’ll work it out. Say, the reason we called, Hetta and I, is we have a problem you might be able to help us with.” She explained how Jenks was missing, we were worried, and was there anything he could do?
I waited impatiently until she gushed, “Oh, thank you. You still have his cell phone number?” She waited, mouthed, “Checking,” to me, then into the phone she said, “Yes, that’s it. He and Lars are registered at the Mövenpick, because Jenks likes the food. The front desk won’t give us any information, so maybe you can pull strings. Hang on a minute, Hetta wants to talk to you.”
With a feeling of overwhelming gratitude, I said, “Thank you, thank you, Prince Faoud. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. We’re a little lost over here. My next move was to catch a plane to Kuwait City.”
“No need for that. It is my pleasure to help. I trust you and the lovely Jan have been well?”
“Actually, the lovely Jan had a bad case of the tourista, but she is much better now.” I ducked as Jan launched a couch pillow at me. “Matter of fact, she’s downright feisty. Let me give you the number here, and my new home number. We’re in Mexico right now, but we’ll be in Arizona tomorrow. Uh, I have another favor. No big deal, but I thought maybe you could help.”
“Anything within my power for ladies in distress.”
Prince of a fella, that prince. “There is this Mexican guy with a family name of Hayat Racón,” I spelled it. “He has hinted he’s somehow related to the Carlos Slim clan of Mexico, and I would like to learn more about him.”
“He is an Arab?”
“Lebanese, I think, like Slim.”
“I guess, to you Americans, we all look alike.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to—"
“I was jollying you, Hetta. I do not take offense.”
“And none meant. More like I figure all you rich guys know each other, no matter what your ethnic origins, and since Slim is reportedly the richest man in the world these days, he qualifies for your exclusive club.”
Just Deserts (Hetta Coffey Series (Book 4)) Page 16
