John looked doubtful, but when I reminded him that Safety said I was the boss for a day, he reluctantly showed me how to run through all seven forward gears, using a digital readout telling me when to shift. We were far away from anything remotely dangerous, in a flat field that was being prepared for a building. No ditches, rocks, trees, or even a cactus in the way of a threat. I drove around in circles for twenty minutes until I was familiar with all of the levers—and there where a lot. I even practiced dumping the bucket, even though it was empty.
After driving the big Cat I couldn't wait to get back to the office and tell Jan all about it. She commented it was a miracle the machine was still in one piece, a dig I chose to ignore, but stored in my get even file for later.
She and Rosario were getting ready to leave Camp Chino for the boat, she said, and should be there by the time I was. "We're packing up right now. Chino's so glad to get rid of me he's driving us over instead of making us take the bus."
"I've felt that way a time or two myself. What have you done?"
"Nothing, honest. Well, to him."
"Let me guess, Doctor Dropdeadgorgeous has had a bad week?"
"You might say that."
26
At this point, no one is above suspicion.—Hetta Coffey
Before I even stepped onto the boat I knew Jan and Rosario were there; the mouth-watering aroma of something wonderful cooking greeted me as I walked down the dock.
Po Thang raced ahead, ecstatic to see his friends again which gave me a twinge of jealousy. After all, we had slept together. But I needed not fret, for after his brief display of joy he headed for the galley, went on point at the oven and held his pose until Jan's Venetian-style lasagna came bubbling toward the dining table. Her recipe, made with spinach lasagna noodles—the last of our stash brought down from the States—and layers of garlic and parmesan-laced béchamel sauce, mozzarella, and a savory marinara sauce is, in my humble opinion, the best on earth.
After enjoying his freedom at Camp Chino, Rosario was less than pleased to be back under house arrest, although with that blonde beard and hair I don't think his own mother would recognize him. However, now that I knew for certain that Safety was hiding something we couldn't risk a chance encounter.
After dinner I called a strategy session.
"So here is what we know for sure," I told them. "Not a damned thing."
"I like this kind of meeting," Jan said. "Can we go to bed now? I'm stuffed and tired."
"Meeting adjourned."
Did I mention that I positively abhor meetings?
It has been my experience that the only person who enjoys a meeting is the person who calls it so they can look important and boss everyone around. While I do like bossing people around, I prefer a more informal jawboning session, say, at a bar.
Because Rosario couldn't be seen in a local cantina, we gathered around the dining table the next morning to try and figure out where we were in our investigation, which was pretty easy: nowhere.
Jan had walked into town early and secured fresh torta rolls from the famous El Boleo bakery, or panaderia. Baked in century-old mesquite fired ovens, these sandwich rolls, when split and lightly toasted, make the perfect base for Jan's Mexican-style version of eggs benedict. Lemons being hard to come by, she subs lime juice in the sauce and throws in finely chopped cilantro. Luckily we still had canned Canadian bacon left in the larder, and a chilled bottle of not very good but better than nothing champagne in the fridge.
"Ya wanna know what I think?" Jan asked between sips of champers and bites of her perfect hollandaise sauce.
"Not really," I teased, "but someone has to come up with something."
"Somebody is doin' some creative financing."
"Really? Like how?"
"I don't know for sure, but if you want to hide spent money, you don't spend it all from one account. Too obvious."
I thought about that. Accounting is not my long suit. "Wouldn't that take someone high up the organizational ladder to pull that off?"
"Yep."
"Then no one is above suspicion. Want to stake a wild guess as to how high this mess can go?"
"Chief Financial Officer or someone like him with pull and power."
"But he's in Canada, right?"
Jan nodded. "Yeah, I'm putting him on the list anyway, but this looks more hands-on, so my money is on someone in Mexico, either right here or in Mexico City. Someone with, what is it they say about murder suspects? Means, motive and opportunity."
"What does this mean?" asked Rosario.
"It simply boils down to someone, or in this case probably several someones, with the ability to commit the crime. This means the perp has to have the ability to steal money and hide where it came from and went to. That rules out people like you, Rosario, who have no opportunity to finagle things on the project. Although, after seeing what you've been up to, I may have to change my mind about that."
He pointed to himself. "Me? I was the one they tried to kill."
Jan used her fork to wave away his protest, thereby snagging Po Thang's attention. He'd run through his eggs and was looking to clean the plates and flatware. "Oh, for crying out loud, Hetta, you read way too many cop novels. Perp? Anyhow, we know the motive: moola."
Rosario opened his mouth, but I quickly explained. "Money."
"Oh. Moola. I have never heard that word."
I had folded down two fingers of the three I held up when listing what it takes to commit a crime. I wiggled the one left. "Opportunity. Far as I'm concerned in this case, it is the same as means. We have to zero in on who has the ability, and how."
Jan brightened. "If we find the how, we can find the who. So, let's get back to work on the paper trail, even though these days it's more of a data trail."
"Okay then, Ms. CPA, if you were able to, how would you somehow add hundreds of thousands of dollars onto a project and then steal it."
"Easy-peasy. I'd set up a phony baloney purchase order or two. Make one out to, say, Hetta Coffey, LLC. Then you would submit invoices for services not rendered, and we'd split fifty-fifty."
"Seventy-thirty."
"Sixty-forty, and that is my last offer."
"What a cheapskate."
Rosario held up his arms. "What are you talking about?"
Jan and I had a good laugh, but we knew we were on to something.
Maybe.
After several hours of comparing estimated costs for each and every department on the project, we found no real red flags, only a steady twenty-percent or so overrun for each one. Which, in itself might not be all that suspicious, except that the cost overruns were being blamed partly on gasoline and steel prices, so why the overspending in, say, office supplies? Seemed a tad too tidy.
If, for instance, the monthly budget was estimated to be a cool million, to take a number, twenty-percent is a substantial overrun. In one year, you are looking at two and a half million bucks.
I'd heard El Boleo, the big mining project over the hill, was also having money worries, but it was more understandable because they were building in El Vizcaíno Biosphere Reserve, Mexico's largest protected area. I was amazed they even received a permit to mine there, but El Boleo was taking drastic, expensive, measures not to cause environmental problems. I'd gotten a tour of the project and was very impressed with the steps they were taking.
All the water used at that mine came from a massive desalination plant so no ground water is tapped, and they even use the brine byproduct to salt roads so no excess salt is pumped back into the sea.
My project, Lucifer, had a much smaller scope and is outside the protected area by mere miles, but because of that we have far fewer constraints, but there were some similarities in the rising cost of steel and fuel.
This was really boring stuff to spend much time on, so I took a break and called Deputy Sawyer in Bisbee to see if she received my email invite and was coming over. Even if the boat was getting a little crowded.
"Hetta?" she s
aid, "How good to hear from you. And before you even ask, I haven't managed to break into the prison system and plug that piece of crap for you."
"Well, dang. If you can't do it can we hire someone? Surely you have friends in low places, what with your job and all?"
"I arrest them, Hetta, I don't drink beer with them. And speaking of beer, if you'll ice down a case or two I might take you up on your generous offer of an all-expense paid trip to sunny Baja. I could use a break, it's still cold up here and I have vacation coming. How about next week? How do I get there?"
"It ain't easy, but the best way is to drive to San Carlos, stash your car in one of the storage lots and fly over. Unfortunately on the way down you almost have to spend the night in San Carlos because the plane leaves really early out of Guaymas, but on your return trip it's a one dayer."
"That's okay, I want to visit San Carlos again anyway. What airline?"
"Aero Calafia. You better go online, check the schedule and book if you can. If for some reason you can't do it that way, I'll buy your ticket from here. Just let me know when and I'll be ready for you. By the way, there's a shuttle from the Santa Rosalia airport to my marina. Jan will be here on the boat."
"Okay, then. Chill down that Tecate, and hasta la vista, baby."
"We're gonna have company, guys," I told Jan and Rosario. "Well, Jan and I are going to. Rosario, you'll have to go back to the fish camp so our friend Topaz can have the guest cabin."
Rosario tried to hide his glee, but I had a sneaking suspicion he couldn't wait to get back to Doctor Delish and more freedom. I wondered if the pretty marine biologist had any idea Rosario was smitten with her. And speaking of smitten...."So, Jan, have you managed to divert the lovely doc's amorous attentions from your beloved Chino, or does she still want to play doctor?"
Jan's face clouded. "I knew you couldn't leave that alone. And, it's none of your bidness."
Rosario looked stricken. "You think Doctor Diana is really that interested in Doctor Chino?"
"Don't tell me you haven't noticed?"
"No." His short and gruff answer spoke volumes.
While Jan and Rosario lapsed into separate pouting sessions over the same woman, I marveled at the human capacity for attraction to, and dislike for, others. I was really pissed at Safety, but he still held a strange appeal. Jan was ready to call it quits with Chino until Doctor Devine showed up. I am in love with Jenks, but once in awhile someone like Safety, or the elusive and mysterious Nacho, comes sniffing around and I get an itch. Lucky for Jenks I have scads of Benadryl onboard.
I could understand Rosario's infatuation with the doc, considering his youth, but the rest of us? Aren't we getting a smidgen long in the tooth for this crap? I sometimes feel like I'm living my life in Soapoperaland, and none of it is real.
Reality, however, has a way of biting you in the butt, as it did when I opened a good news/bad news email from Geary.
The good news was the well-done bod was not that Dickless Lujàn.
The bad news was the well-done bod was not that Dickless Lujàn.
In my mind the really good news was that now I would maybe have an opportunity to off him in person one day.
However, Geary had even more worse news. Evidently one of the other players in the Café Olé incident had been arrested, and he told the local cops that their boss had warned them of a dangerous redhaired Gringa with a yacht before his fellow thug ended up boiled.
If we were in the States, the authorities would be referring to me as a "person of interest".
27
Lamont Cranston: We're going to need help on this, m'lady—help from an old friend.
Margo Lane: The Shadow?—From a 1954 Radio show.
After telling Jan I was a "person of interest" in a death I had nothing to do with, I whined, "I feel totally helpless. If they come after me, even though I have an alibi, it probably won't make one damned difference."
Jan nodded. "Mexican cops don't give a big rat's rump about alibis. They toss you in the local clink and wait for things to get sorted out."
"Then we need things sorted out before they come for me."
"Does Geary think the cops know where you are?"
"He doesn't know much. Conception Bay and Mulege are gossip mills on steroids. He says he overheard this latest tidbit during a Texas Holdem tournament."
"Well, that's appropriate. They actually named you?"
"Not exactly. This guy he was playing cards with said the cops were nosing around the Gringo community, asking about a redhaired woman with a boat."
"Well, heck, you're safe. You ain't no real redhead."
I tossed and turned most of the night, imagining heavily armed federales in balaclavas swarming my decks. Jan and Po Thang—who had wormed his way onto Jan's side of the bed—growled at me several times for waking them up with my fretful writhing, so I moved out to the settee in the main saloon. Still unable to sleep, I decided to try and catch Jenks on Skype.
Before I called I brushed my teeth and hair. Like Jenks can smell my breath on Skype?
"Whatcha doing up, Hetta? It's your middle of the night."
"My dog threw me out of bed, and don't even think of making some smartassed remark."
"Sounds like he threw you out on the wrong side of that bed."
"Sorry. It's been a long day and longer night. We've been going over really boring accounting crap trying to find the black hole of pesos. You know how I hate that."
"Good thing you have Jan working on it with you. Okay, so what's really bugging you?"
Jenks is getting to know me all too well. "That rat bastard Lujàn."
"I thought he was stewed, so why are you stewing?"
"Clever. You have razor blades for lunch? Here's the deal, he ain't dead. However, one of the other goons from the Café Olé thing is dead, and I think someone is trying to finger me. I smell a set up of Lujàn's doing, because now the local gendarmes have been nosing around the Gringo community, asking about some redhead with a boat."
Dead silence. From his frown he was either stifling the urge to remind me that my hair is so red by the grace of L'Oreal, or he was working up a worry.
"Still waiting for a profound statement here," I prompted.
"Sorry, I'm thinking."
"I hate it when that happens. I thought I saw smoke wafting from your ears."
We shared a chuckle at our old joke. It made me feel much better just knowing I had him in my life.
Finally he said, "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I think you need to contact Nacho."
"What? You told me Nacho is dangerous. That he's bad news. And to stay away from him."
"All that is true, and on top of that every time that man gets near you I get a bad feeling."
"Would that bad feeling be jealousy by any chance?" I teased.
"Yes. But desperate times, and all." He sighed. "Look, here's the deal. I talked to Nacho after you called about Lujàn nosing around and then pulling some stunt at Conception Bay, and asked him if he could find you a bodyguard. I have a sneaky feeling he decided to take care of the problem himself."
"You talked to him?"
"I felt you needed someone in your corner, even if it is a rival for your affections."
"Oh, come on, Jenks. You have nothing to fear in that department. He holds zero appeal for me," I prevaricated. I do not lie outright, I fib and prevaricate. It sounds so much better.
"I'm not sure that works both ways. I've seen how he looks at you. However, right now I think it's more important to have friends in low places on your side."
"Funny, I just asked Topaz Sawyer, our sheriff's deputy buddy in Bisbee, if she had some of those people around so we could deal with that sleazebag I shot in the nuts that's trying to sue me."
"Hetta, does it seem at all strange to you that we're having a conversation that most people would not experience in a lifetime, unless while brainstorming a Hollywood screenplay?"
"Jeez, Jenks, a little murder, mayhem and gu
nplay put a little spark in a romance, doncha think."
"Just make sure whose romance."
I changed the subject and told him Topaz was on her way to Santa Rosalia, so Jenks was somewhat mollified. Maybe he viewed her as a chaperone? He still urged me to contact Nacho, pronto.
I removed the mystery man's card from where I had taped it underneath a drawer. Which, according to Jenks, is the first place someone would look. I thought it was safer than burning or eating it, what with my lousy memory for numbers. Conversations I remember for decades, but numbers? Not so much.
Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series) Page 17
