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

by Jinx Schwartz

  Like what? Passing the buck sounded good. “Jenks, do something!”

  The buck, it seems, stops with Jenks. Cool as a cucumber, he said, “Just keep your course, honey, while I concentrate on the waves for a break. Bottom’s coming up fast, but so far, so…”

  “Oh, my God!” Jan yelled, then began to giggle. She’d finally gone round the bend.

  Jenks, eyes glued to the binoculars trained on the dangerous bar, refused to be sidetracked, but I couldn’t stand to die without knowing why. I did a half turn and out of the corner of my eye I saw a large wake, heard a KA-WHOOSH, and inhaled the heavenly stink of whale breath.

  Lonesome passed us and headed for the bar, rocking us pretty good as he did so. Jenks lost his balance, bumped into me and almost dropped his binoculars. “Dammit, I’ve lost sight of my exit point.”

  “Never mind, dear, just follow that whale.”

  Epilogue

  I stretched, luxuriating in high thread count sheets and the soothing slap of waves breaking on the sand far below our balcony. Jenks, sound asleep, didn’t move as I slipped from our badly disheveled bed and padded into the sea cooled air. Just offshore,

  I could make out Raymond Johnson’s anchor light, where Jan and Chino were “redefining their relationship.” I could only imagine.

  Anchored farther out because of her size, sat Golden Odyssey. The strings of lights draping her decks like pearls gave her the appearance of an ornate wedding cake. The prince was not aboard, as far as we knew, but he had ordered his captain to leave San Diego, make haste to Magdalena Bay, find us. When we cleared Boca de Soledad and made the turn for Cabo, we were worried that the entirety of Mexico’s navy awaited us, but instead, there sat Golden Odyssey, sent by the prince to escort us to safety.

  We set Lujàn adrift in Jenks’s rented panga near the entrada to Mag Bay, then made an anonymous phone call to the port captain, reporting a drifting boat. Lujàn squawked, cursed and threatened, but I figured he was getting off easy; his cohorts in crime were mostly crispy critters.

  We then called Martinez and had him form a posse to liberate Fabio and Chino. Within two days, we were all reunited in Cabo, but now it was time to go our separate ways. All’s well that ends well, I guess.

  “Beautiful, no?” Fabio whispered from the balcony next door. Startled, I scolded, “Hush, you’ll wake Jenks, and Fluff,” using his wife's nickname. It was apt, for Juanita, who I'd pictured as a dark beauty, was actually an ivory skinned, blue-eyed looker with a fluff of blond hair. Fabio continued to be, to quote Sir Winston Churchill, “…a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.” Fluff was just another layer of his ever-changing, never quite explained, persona.

  “Fluff, she sleeps like the tree.”

  “Log. Jenks, too. Did Martinez call yet?”

  “An hour ago, but I did not wish to molest you.”

  “You had your chance, you know. Just kidding. Disturb, not molest. Trust me, they have distinctively different meanings in English. Anyway, what did Martinez have to report?”

  “Lujàn is in the jail.”

  “Good.”

  “And the ship Tanuki Maru is also taken.”

  “Confiscated?”

  “Sí.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Martinez, he find you dinghy in Lopez Mateos.”

  Rats, I’d already charged Tanuki six grand for the loss of that dinghy. “I’ll let Jan and Chino have it. Never hurts to have a second car, you know.”

  “You will keep Se Vende?” he sounded surprised.

  “All she needs is a little patching, and a new outboard. I think she has…character. Besides, I enjoy the stares we get from other yachts. What snobs. What else did Martinez tell you?”

  “He say to tell you…momento, por favor. He returned with a notepad. Squinting, he read: “ ‘You chickens they come to rust. You car sunk by man who you sunk his car. He work at mo…mort….

  “Mortuary,” I said glumly. “So it was Garrison, after all. I trust he’s in jail, as well.”

  “Sí.”

  “Well, then, I guess that’s it. We can all go home.”

  “We leave mañana. Fluff and I wish to be back home in Ensenada, with our son.”

  “Have a great trip and a Merry Christmas. Jan and Chino leave in the morning, as well, first to whale camp, then to San Carlos for Chino to head up the search for that galleon. Lucky for Tanuki, it looks like they’ll get the go ahead for the desal operation as soon as Chino has a chance to check for more artifacts.”

  “Oh, sí. And the ejido will benefit from the fresh water on their land, not that cacique, Lujàn.”

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish. While that jerk languishes in jail, I shall be cruising the Sea of Cortez with Jenks, happily spending my fee, which, I might add, Tanuki gladly paid after I let them know of their Mr. Ishikawa’s rogue deal with Lujàn. They claim they knew nothing about whale canning, and they’d sold the Tanuki Maru to some Mexican fishery. I’m assured more heads will roll before this thing is settled, but I’m out of it, thank goodness.”

  “Si, we are all out of it. I look forward to my home in Ensenada. It is so tranquilo.”

  “And now Jenks and I can cruise in the Sea of Cortez in peace until we have to go back home. Jenks says he has to get back to Kuwait in six weeks, so we have a little time.”

  “Well, then,” Fabio stretched and yawned, “bien viaje. And, should you ever need another capitán? Por favor, do not call me.”

  “I won’t. Next time I’ll get someone who doesn’t set off smoke bombs in my engine room and send me Internet hate mail. Goodnight, Ernesto.”

  His white teeth gleamed in his dark, handsome face. “And good night to you, Looocy.”

  “Hetta? Who you talking to?”

  Jenks came out on the balcony, put his arms around me and nuzzled my neck.

  “Ricky Ernesto Fabio. He and Fluff are going home tomorrow. Jan and Chino leave, too. We’ll be all alone, at last.” We stood looking out to where the Sea of Cortez meets the Pacific Ocean. A cruise ship, lit up like New York City, rounded Cabo’s famous arches. A mixture of disco, salsa and mariachi music wafted up on a breeze. Muy romántica.

  Stars reflected like diamonds on the calm water, moonlight shimmered off that pesky Lonesome’s back. And miracle of milagros, he had company. Just days before, Chino reported a female blue hanging around Lonesome. She hadn’t, so far, managed to charm his Floyd away from my boat, but we were keeping our fingers crossed. Bluebell, as we’d named her, stuck by his side as he swam in slow circles, keeping vigil on Raymond Johnson. Yep, romance was definitely in the air. I just hoped, for my boat’s sake, that Lonesome’s gal pal didn’t have a jealous streak.

  “Okay, so we’ll be almost alone. Hope you don’t mind the smell of whale breath.”

  “I can get used to it. Got used to you, didn’t I?”

  I elbowed him. “Watch it, Buster, you aren’t out of the woods yet. Jan told me that brother of yours, Lars, had your futures all planned, and we women folk weren’t in that plan.”

  “Lars who?”

  ~End~

  About the Author

  Jinx Schwartz lives in Arizona and Mexico with her husband, Robert. In addition to her novels, Jinx writes freelance articles for boating magazines.

  You can reach Jinx and check out all of her books at www.jinxschwartz.com

  Turn the page to read the excerpt from the next exciting book in the Hetta Coffey Series.

  Chapter 1, Just Add Trouble, Book 3 in the Hetta Coffey Mystery series

  Just Add Trouble

  by

  Jinx Schwartz

  Paco itched.

  Checking to make sure Nacho watched the scenery instead of him, he shifted forward on the hard bench seat of the panga and squirmed. What he really wanted to do was let go of the outboard’s tiller steering arm and claw at the thousands of spiders racing under his skin. They had names, he knew: Meth mites, crank bugs. He also knew he was on the verge of tweaking, a
nother crankhead clue.

  How many times had he and his homeboys busted a gut over the twitchy, skinny-assed suckers who bought their stuff. With their rotten teeth and scabby sores, the idiots might as well have a sign on them saying, Kick Me, I’m a Methhead.

  He’d been careful, didn‘t smoke or shoot it. He knew better.

  Smoking meth makes your teeth black, and he hated needles. All he’d done was parachute a small amount wrapped in a little piece of napkin when he was really dragging ass. Was it his fault the boss had them on a killer schedule? Okay, so lately he’d added a poco extra now and then, but only when he really needed to, and he had lost some weight, but with everyone working long hours, they all looked like hell. Up until today, he’d never, ever felt the bugs. Until today, he thought he was golden.

  When the boss told him to pick up a new man in La Paz, he hadn’t thought much about it, but something about this guy set him on edge. Maybe it was the way he raised his eyebrows when he spotted two liters of Mountain Dew in the panga. He’d meant to buy bottled water, but the meth craved the heavy sweetness of the Dew. He should have been more careful. Was it too late? Was the boss on to him? Had he sent this guy to spy? Or was this Nacho just another LA type, coming down to check out the operation.

  Whatever, Paco decided he was through with ice. Done. Finished. He just wished he felt as good as he did ten hours ago.

  Racing northward, he steered the panga over a glassy Sea of

  Cortez, trying to figure out why Nacho was here, and why he hadn’t just flown in to Loreto. Or on one of their runner planes. Why La Paz, and a long boat ride that would take hours—

  Oh, shit! He looked at the needle pegged at HALF on the fuel tank. How could he have forgotten to top it off? Slowing the engine, he glided to a stop.

  Nacho swiveled around. “¿Que paso, hermano?”

  Paco wanted to scream, “I’m friggin’ on fire here, that’s waatsappenin’, and I ain’t your stinkin’ brother,” but he didn’t. Instead he whined, “Fuckin’ guy at the fuel dock. I jes’ realized he didn’t fill up the fuckin’ tank.”

  Nacho seemed to buy it. “So, what do we do? How far to the next gas station?”

  Paco snorted. “Ain’t none.”

  “No? So what are we going to do? Turn around?”

  Wanting to off the guy right here and now for asking so many questions when he was, literally, itching out of his skin, it took every ounce of control Paco could muster to say, “We’ll get some somewhere. All these fishermen, they got gas.” That we can steal.

  Nacho nodded and turned back to face the bow, but he was starting to have doubts about this Paco character. He hoped the rest of the gang was more together. He also began to suspect that Paco was a meth head. The boss would not be happy to hear that. Using was breaking a cardinal rule. Guys like this ended up feeding the sharks if they got caught.

  All Paco could think of was putting this boat on a beach, somehow getting away from Nacho long enough to take a hit. His last. What was left in the envelope in his pocket was just enough to get him to camp, then he’d quit for good. Putting the engine in gear, he sped northward until, as they neared an island, he changed direction so suddenly he almost launched Nacho overboard.

  Nacho, catching himself before he broke a rib, or worse, went ass over teakettle into the sea, shot a dark look backward that wiped the smirk from Paco’s face.

  Paco gulped, and yelled, “Sorry, man. “Gotta piss.”

  Recognizing all the signs now, realizing he had a tweaking cranker on his hands, Nacho didn’t challenge Paco. Not here, not now. He knew from experience how to handle a tweaker: keep your distance, slow your speech, keep them talking, and for God’s sake don’t piss ‘em off. “Okay by me,” he yelled over the engine noise, “then you can show me how to drive this boat. I’d like to try it out, if you don’t mind.”

  Paco’s eyes narrowed, but then he shrugged. “Chur. No problem, hermano.” Looking past Nacho, at the looming anchorage ahead, his blood raced with a burst of murderous exhilaration. Glancing into the fish well behind him, making sure his razor sharp machete was handy, he repressed an hysterical giggle, and thought, Now I’ll show homeboy how it’s done down here. Jes’ like your neighborhood ampm Mini Mart. One stop shopping: a hit, a piss, and a full gas tank, all for the taking.

  He increased their speed.