Just Add Salt (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 2))

by Jinx Schwartz

  “To his credit, he didn’t pull out a scimitar and off the guy’s head. At first he just stared, dumbfounded, at that tureen full of beautifully prepared spuds. Then, with that dry British accent, said, ‘I suppose, when one gives orders, one should be a bit more specific.’”

  Jan guffawed. “Priceless!”

  “Ain’t it, though? The crew, who’d looked mortified at first, practically swooned with relief when their boss and I cracked up.”

  Fabio and Chino, who had joined us on deck, added their two cents to my take, and we all agreed this was the kind of sea tale destined to be repeated in yacht club bars for years.

  Golden Odyssey left during the night, but not before restocking our freezer with major goodies—alas, no bacon or lardo—as well as two cases of wine and beer. Best of all, two sacks of potatoes, raw this time, landed on deck.

  We were set, and it was time to get to work, pay for this boondoggle. I’d already decided to tag Tanuki for hazardous duty pay. I’d also decided it was time to tell the crew exactly why we were here, but first a few things needed clearing up. First a little sweet talk, then I’d drop the bombshell Martinez had supplied.

  “Fabio, I’d like to thank you for being such a rock during the storm, and on the trip down here. You are truly a professional.”

  He blushed. “Gracias, seño…uh, Café.” He had long since given up trying to say Hetta, and had decided Café would be my nickname, not just my last name. I later learned that giving one a nickname was the ultimate Mexican compliment.

  “De nada, but before we go back into port, I have to ask you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why didn’t you include on your resume that you once worked for the Tanuki Corporation?” Then, ad-libbing, I added, “In fact, as captain of their fishing fleet.”

  Both he and Chino looked stunned, but while Fabio continued to look flummoxed, Chino’s expression turned to one of disdain.

  I waited to see what I’d stirred up.

  Chino spoke first. “Fabio, you? You worked for those, those, pendejos?”

  I wasn’t quite sure what pendejo meant, but the way Chino spat it out, you could take it to the bank that it wasn’t a term of endearment.

  Fabio sighed a long, ragged Mexican sigh, gave us the all-encompassing Mexican shrug, and remained silent. Chino, incensed, went on the attack. “How could you, a Mexican, work for those Japanese? They rape our waters! Kill our wildlife with their pollution. You are what is wrong with our country, the reason we are ridiculed as a third world nation.”

  I intervened, trying a little humor to lighten the mood. “Fabio, you did that all by yourself? Gee, I thought some of those politicians in Mexico City had something to do with it.”

  Chino was not to be humored. He shot to his feet and for a moment I thought he was going to launch himself at Fabio, but Jan stepped in front of him. “Chino, calm down. And by the way, I work for Tanuki. So does Hetta. And so do you.”

  “What?” Chino sputtered. “I? Never!”

  “Oh, but you do,” I said. “Not directly, of course, but who do you think is paying your consulting fee right now?”

  Chino looked like he’d been kicked in the stomach. He sat down heavily next to Fabio. “I thought you were, Hetta. I thought you had an interest in my whales.”

  Jan sat down next to him and took his hand. “We are interested in your whales, Chino. We were hired by Tanuki to find out what impact a huge desalination plant and a salt kiln would have on migrating whales here in Mag Bay. We just couldn’t tell anyone why we were here. Not that what we report back to Tanuki will amount to a hill of beans, but they’re looking for reassurance, especially in light of what happened at Ignacio.” Jan, it seems, had been doing her homework. That’s why I pay her the big bucks.

  Chino snatched his hand away and threw it to the skies. “Ignacio? A disgrace. What was Mitsubishi thinking? They murdered hundreds of sea turtles with their poison, then had the audacity to try and put in a vast salt farm. One that would encompass hundreds of acres in what must remain untouched whale birthing grounds. Thank God I was able to notify the Sierra Club and other environmental groups in time to stop that disaster in the making.”

  “See, Chino?” I said. “See why Tanuki is gun-shy? Not that they know you are the marine biologist I hired. They think Jan is.”

  “Jan, you are a marine biologist, as well?” Chino looked even more confused, but no longer quite as angry.

  She shrugged. “It’s a long story. Chino, just let Hetta tell you what Tanuki wants to do here. If you say no, then we’ll tell them no. Right, Hetta?”

  “Sure we will.” Like Tanuki, on my word alone, will just turn tail and send their fleet back home like good little boys? Like about the same time as swine soar.

  Chino, temporarily mollified, sat down.

  Jan must have been reading my doubtful mind, so she added, “And we’ll give you all the information you need to blow the whistle on them. Won’t we, Hetta?”

  “Certainly.” And end up with the Japanese mafia chopping off our fingers. “But first, Fabio, we are still waiting for the story of you and Tanuki.”

  “Café, I wish to confess.”

  “Ho-kay, confess away.”

  “I am guilty. Forgive me.”

  “I’m not a friggin’ priest, I just want to know what you did for Tanuki, and why I have the sneaking feeling that it’s no coincidence you’re on this boat. Jan and I rehashed the sequence of events and came up smelling skunk. You, it seems, contacted us first. Let’s back up and start with the basics. Just how did you know I was looking for a boat captain in the first place?”

  “I was contacted. By Señor Juantovsique.”

  “Who?”

  “Your amigo. Senõr Fidel Juantovsique.”

  “Wontrobski called you?”

  “Sí.”

  “Why?”

  “He say you are ‘mayor pain in ass’ and need someone to keep you from harm.”

  “How did he find you?”

  “That I do not know.”

  “Okay, then, tell us about Tanuki.”

  “I am the black sheeps with Tanuki. They asked me to kill whales for meat and I refused. They fired me. Your friend, Fidel, he knew this and said I should protect you from these pendejos.”

  “He should have hired you to protect his skinny ass, because I’m gonna kick it when I see him.”

  “Hey there, Trob, this is your ‘mayor pain in the ass,’ Hetta. The one you sent to Mexico with a spy on board? What in the hell is going on? You hand me a project, then dump in a ringer, namely Captain Fabio, to what? Stop me?”

  A little satellite delay, then, “Good morning. Nope.”

  “Nope, what?”

  “Not to stop you. To help you scrap the project, if necessary.”

  “What if I told you that we have a marine biologist on board, a serious whale hugger, who has looked over the plans and doesn’t really see a problem. Well, except that Tanuki is involved. He despises the Japanese.”

  “Henry Cabot Lodge.”

  “Huh?”

  “He didn’t like them either”

  “Who the fu…heck cares?” I spluttered, narrowing my eyes at Jan, who had opened her mouth to say, “Ka-ching.”

  “He did. In 1911, the Japanese tried to put in a coal fueling station in Mag Bay. Lodge stopped them, feeling they were simply trying to gain a foothold on our continent. Good thing too, what with World War Two.”

  “What, if anything, does this have to do with my salt project?”

  “There are those who feel that every Japanese endeavor has an obvious and a hidden purpose.”

  “And who would those be?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Won’t say?”

  “Allison’s sick.”

  The fast change left my head spinning. “Sick?”

  “Morning. Sick.”

  “That means she is running for mayor. You have to be sick to run. Just kidding, what’s she sick of
?”

  “Morning.”

  “Oh, never mind. Tell her to eat soda crackers. It works for hangovers.”

  “Okay. Where are you now?”

  “Headed back into San Carlos. It’s trashed. Roads washed out, buildings torn up, fresh water is a problem. Look Fidel, I have a bad feeling about the project.

  “Even though your marine biologist didn’t see a problem? With the environment, anyway.”

  “How secure do you think this phone is?” I asked.

  “Not very.”

  “What are the odds of someone picking up our conversation?’

  Silence. I waited, thinking I’d lost him, but I could hear clicking in the background. “Wontrobski?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Good grief! “I didn’t mean that literally, you doofus. What I want to know is, can we take a chance? I have something very important to tell you that is absolutely not for other ears.”

  “Send me an e-mail. Safer.”

  “It’s practically on the way.”

  I quickly typed up a synopsis of where we stood, especially in light of the astrolabe find, and sent it off. Wontrobski was right, there were probably curious ears in San Francisco, and cyberspace was safer. It never occurred to me that the weak link in our communication was on my end.

  Chapter 25

  I hoped, when Wontrobski learned of the astrolabe and what the impact such a find would have on Tanuki’s, or any other project designated for Mag Bay, he’d dig me out of this hole I’d sailed us into. Maybe he’d drop a dime on his buds in Tokyo, tell some bigwig it’s not my fault my boat dredged up what was environmentally tantamount to a spotted snail darter owl. Hope springs infernal.

  I hadn’t heard from Martinez for a while, so I called him on his cell phone, but got a message in Spanish that I understood to mean the phone was out of service. Great.

  Jenks called just as we were entering San Carlos harbor. “Wonderful to hear your voice, Hetta, I was getting worried. Back in port yet?”

  “Just getting in. Boy, from what I can tell, they got nailed. I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes months for the town to recover.”

  “Too bad. How’s your big secret project going?”

  “Me to know, you to find out. Just kidding. Good. I can honestly inform the client that his facility should not face much controversy by the environmentalists.” But will surely be torpedoed by the archeologists. “I think we can wrap up soon.” And run like hell, before the Japanese mafia can find me.

  “So, tell them what they want to hear and go on to Cabo.”

  “That’s the plan. Just a little paperwork and we’re outta here.”

  I wish.

  I must be losing my touch. I usually lie with the sang-froid of a world class Texas Holdem champ, but even with a sat delay, Jenks picked up on something in my voice. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  Maybe if he hadn’t added the honey my upper lip would have remained stiff. Or if, just as he asked me what was wrong, I hadn’t seen Chino and Fabio leave in the dinghy? Whether it was his endearment, my need for comfort, or the fact that I could talk freely, neither Jenks nor I could have known what an ocean of emotion his simple question would unleash. I was tired. I was worried. I was in over my head. Whatever, the dam burst and, despite the jangle of warning bells that sat and cell phones are not secure, I abandoned what was left of my good judgment. Besides, we were in the middle of freakin’ nowhere, the town was devastated, and there wasn’t another vessel in sight. Who on earth could possibly be listening?

  I unloaded on Jenks for twenty minutes, telling him everything. Okay, so I left out a minor flirtation with the hired help, but everything to do with Tanuki.

  “So,” I summed up, and by this time I was starting to sound pretty whiney, “Tanuki’ll have to turn their ships around, at least when the galleon news gets out. So far only we on the boat, the Trob, and you, know about the astrolabe, but you can bet that Chino will be letting the whole world in on it as soon as he can safely do so. There’s a lot at stake here, so mum’s the word. Just in case the Mexicans or Japanese try a cover-up, he plans to send out a press release via e-mail in the next few days. He’s getting his ducks in a row first, checking out stuff on the Internet and putting together a list of who to notify. He’s even including NUMA, Clive Cussler’s group, ‘cause he says they’re publicity hogs. Anyhow, that’s it.”

  Jenks was quiet for a beat. “Hetta, I think you should leave Mag Bay right now. Leave the boat, in fact. Send Fabio home with Raymond Johnson, and you and Jan catch a plane. You, to Paris. I’ll meet you there.”

  I’m a sucker for Paris and Jenks knows it. ‘Course I can remember when the name Paris Hilton conjured up visions of a great hotel with a fabulous view of the Eiffel Tower, instead of a vacuous blond airhead dilettante. Sigh.

  “Hetta?”

  “I'm here. Why should I leave?”

  “Because this whole thing is starting to sound like a grade B adventure movie. You don’t even know who the bad guys are, or where. Get out.”

  “But I’ve never cut and run out on a project in my life.”

  “No time like the present.”

  He was starting to piss me off. No one tells me what to do. I was beginning to regret telling him my problems. “I’ll think about it.”

  “That’d be something new.”

  “Excuse me?’

  “You, thinking about anything before you do it.”

  “I have to go now, Jenks. Fabio needs suntan lotion rubbed on his big, thick….” I slammed the phone shut and whirled away to encounter a highly arched eyebrow.

  “Gosh, that was mature,” Jan said, twitching that brow. “I just wonder how long Jenks is going to endure your little temper tantrums. Do the words, enfant terrible, mean anything at all to you?”

  “Does the word tweezers mean anything to you? You could use a pluck, you know.”

  I escaped to the deck. After the oppressive heat immediately following the passing of the hurricane, we now had a cooling, pleasant northwestern breeze that soothed my hot cheeks and ruffled feathers. The bay water was once again an unclouded blue. It was hard to believe that just a week before we were under siege. Hard to believe, unless you took a look at San Carlos through the binoculars.

  Water stood everywhere, and clean up crews were just starting to clear the piles of debris washed into the streets by the storm surge. Some houses, including the Capitanía, had a foot of mud inside. The port captain advised us not to come ashore, and to spray our boat for mosquitoes lest we come down with a nasty case of dengue fever, also called breakbone fever.

  Actually, we could leave Mag Bay once we got our papers stamped by this guy, but do you think he’d just say something like, “Hey, just go ahead and leave? I’ll call Cabo and let them know it’s all right”? Not on your life. So here we sat. What the heck, it was costing Tanuki a bundle.

  Jan sensed I’d cooled off and came out on deck. “Uh, did Jenks mention Lars by any chance?”

  I shook my head. “I guess I should have asked?”

  “No, Lars should have asked. I guess that’s a wrap, huh. Actually, it’s a relief. I was gonna dump him anyhow. I don’t have time to waste on men who can’t even use the F-word.”

  “F-word?”

  “Future. And speaking of, what are you going to tell that dude from Tanuki?”

  Actually, I had been avoiding his phone calls, checking the caller ID, letting Ishikawa leave messages which I didn’t answer. “The truth.”

  “Ho-kay. And that would be?”

  “Tanuki’s project might face major opposition by environmentalists, but one prominent marine biologist, namely you, thinks their salt plant, water plant, and pipeline pose no real threat to marine life.”

  “Me?”

  “You are my marine biologist.”

  “Fire me. Get Chino to bless it.”

  “He hates the Japanese.”

  “Suggest that Tanuki make a rather large contribution to Chino�
��s whale foundation. All Chino has to do is hold off telling anyone about that galleon until he gets Tanuki’s generous contribution into a bank. Then the project is a moot point. Chino gets money, the project gets stopped anyhow.”

  “Jan, my dear, you are a diabolical genius.”

  “You’ve taught me well, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Here come the guys, and they don’t look pleased. Maybe our plan will cheer them up.”

  They liked it. Jan’s idea even wiped the frown from Chino’s face. He hadn’t cracked a smile since he found out he was on the Tanuki payroll.

  “And speaking of whales?” I asked, after we all agreed on a plot to enrich the whale fund, “Any sign of Lonesome out there?”

  Chino shook his head and looked sad.

  “I’m sure he’ll….” Jan grabbed my arm and pulled me to a window. We had company. A panga made a beeline for us. Unfortunately, it was Dickless Richard.

  “Fabio, you and Chino go below. Let him think we are alone. If necessary, we’ll charm his slimy ass. Oh, and should he ask why the dinghy is here, we’ll tell him we dropped the guys off on some sand dune to fish.”

  Fabio started to protest, but then gave a shrug and followed Chino. Jan and I went to meet our visitor.

  “Hola,” Lujàn hailed, as his panga, driven by what looked like a couple of thugs, came alongside. “Miss Coffey, I have papers for you to sign.”

  “Great.” Thinking the port captain had sent out a release so we could leave, I pasted a smile on my face. “Be nice,” I whisper-warned Jan as Lujàn climbed on board, “let me piss him off.”

  In a smarmy gesture, Lujàn grabbed my hand and kissed it before I could draw back, then he turned on Jan and slimed hers. I reached in my pocket, squeezed out a dollop of hand sanitizer, then tossed it to Jan. If Lujàn knew what it was, he chose to ignore the slight. “I’m so delighted you remain unharmed after such a terrible storm.”

  “Thank you. You say you have papers for us?”

  “I do.” He produced an envelope from his shirt pocket, opened it and handed me a thick sheaf of papers. “I will need you to sign.”

  The document was in Spanish, and festooned with all sorts of stamps and seals. Nowhere did I see the words, Raymond Johnson. “These aren’t my port exit papers, are they?”