He escaped back to his shop, leaving us girls to chat. ChaCha made limeade and placed it on the glass coffee table along with some cookies—thankfully not wrapped in cellophane—then sat back with a crackle and waited for me to say something. Like, why I was there.
"Your work is buena?"
"Sí."
"No mas problemas?"
"No."
Okay, in for a penny, in for a pound. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a thumbdrive. "Do you know what this is?"
"Ah, sí. Memoria Ooh Esse Bay."
"You're sending that nice woman into the lion's den to do your dirty work?"
"Oh, come on, Jan, John Warren isn't exactly Hannibal Lecter. He's just a thief."
"How did you talk her into it?"
"I asked her to retrieve the memoria ooh esse bay—that's USB thumbdrive in Spanish in case you ever need to buy one in Mexico—from John Warren's office next week. When he isn't looking, of course."
"And she didn't question your motives? I mean, she could lose her job if she gets caught."
"I promised her a promotion. She really hates driving all day and would like to work in the office. Or maybe train other women to operate those big machines."
"There's a scary thought. You can't promote people."
"I hired you, didn't I?"
"Yo, Trob. How's it going?"
"I'm thinking of moving a bed into my office. No sleep."
"I told you, get a nanny."
"Allison's almost there."
"Good news. Jan and I think we may be zeroing in on your culprits. I do have one question though. Who exactly hired us? I mean, you hired me, but who hired you?"
"I was contacted by the project comptroller, Julio Vargas. Why?"
Well, crap. So much for figuring it all out. Why would Julio Vargas call the dogs on himself if he was involved in an embezzlement scheme with the Gang of Four?
"Oh, just wondering."
"So, you think you are close to unraveling this puzzle?"
"Uh, well, maybe not so much. Get some sleep."
Jan and I were dejected.
Here we thought we had, brilliantly of course, unearthed the dastardly culprits and now we were almost back to square one.
I have a lifelong habit for dealing with dejection: I leave town. I first ran away from home at three. Mother helped pack my bag.
"Po Thang, how would you like to go for a boat ride this weekend?"
He thumped his tail, probably thinking I said, "Po Thang how would you like to eat the entire state of Baja California Sud this weekend?"
Jan, however, didn't do anything near a tail thump. "Hetta, you promised Jenks you wouldn't leave the dock until he returned."
"So? I lied. He's used to it."
"I'm not going."
"Fine, I'll be back Sunday afternoon so you can get a room in town while I'm gone, or take my pickup and head for Camp Chino."
Silence.
"I have to get back in time to spiff up the boat and have Topaz's room all ready for Monday morning."
Silence.
"Earth to Jan?"
"Where are you going?"
"Just out to San Marcos island. You can see it from the flying bridge."
"What if Jenks calls?"
"Cell phones work fine out there. It's not like the middle of nowhere, you know. There's that big phosphate mining operation on the south end of the island and the village of San Bruno on shore."
The frown on her face smoothed some.
"Look, it's only an overnighter. An escape from WiFi, a chance to exercise the engines, watch some movies, chill. Jenks and I met pangueros from the Sweet Pea cove fish camp before he left and I'm sure they'll sell me fresh fish and maybe a lobster or two. I found a couple of good bottles of white wine at the liquor store to go with the lobster. So, I'll see you Sunday afternoon when I get back?"
"Lobster?"
"You know, those spiny little things you love?"
"What's Geary say the weather 'sposed to be?"
"Dead flat calm, light variable breezes. Nada. Sweet Pea cove is only a hop skip and a jump from the marina, so if the wind comes up from the wrong direction I can be back in less than an hour, so you don't have to worry about me."
"I won't then."
"Good then."
"Fine then."
I busied myself on the computer and counted to ten before Jan growled, "Oh, okay. I don't want you out there by yourself."
Friends, sometimes you gotta know what it takes to reel 'em in.
Saturday dawned Charlie Charlie, as Geary had predicted: clear and calm.
Po Thang, when I started the engines, paced the decks in worry. He stood on the bow and watched and whined as we backed away from the dock, made the turn and motored out the harbor entrance. Once we cleared the harbor, however, he joined Jan and me on the bridge and settled down for a nap.
Jan made us an underway Bloody Mary, light on the vodka. I'd long ago learned that no matter how good the weather, or how well the boat was running, keeping a clear head when away from the dock is a smart idea.
Po Thang suddenly levitated, rushed to the bow and began barking wildly, somehow alerted before we were that dolphins were about. The first one we saw was a big guy executing a double flip right off the bow, his splash spraying Po Thang and backing him up a bit. He quickly shook off the water and spent the next hour communing with the dolphins, both bottlenose and their little buddies, called common dolphins.
The dolphins wove in and out of our bow wave and frolicked in our wake, performing twists, turns and other acrobatics and occasionally turning sideways, looking at Po Thang and chattering, or maybe chiding.
Jan and I took great delight at Po Thang's antics as he ricocheted between being intrigued, annoyed, confused, and downright manic. Dogs are better than television.
"Ya know, Hetta, you were right. It is good to get away from it all. Nice thing about boats is that you can."
"When I bought her everyone, and I mean everyone, including you, thought I'd finally lost my last loose screw, but as it turned out, it was a life-changing move. If it weren't for Raymond Johnson, I'd probably have never met Jenks."
"And God knows you need someone like him, what with your track record."
"Yeah, there's a lesson there."
She sighed. "I know, I know. I should appreciate Chino more. If he takes up with Doc Di, it'll be all my fault."
"He won't. Wanna call him and make nice?"
"I better not. What if he wants to drive over for a visit? I'd have to tell him what we're doing and then he'll rat us out to Jenks. I'll call him when we get back."
"I'll call Jenks then, as well. What they don't know won't hurt us."
34
We made too many wrong mistakes.—Yogi Berra
Sweet Pea cove is named for a hapless sailboat that was caught on the lee shore when a hurricane passed and the wind suddenly changed direction. The gale was so fierce their small engine couldn't power into it enough to raise the anchor, and when they cut the anchor line to escape it wrapped the prop, sealing their fate. Fortunately for the people on board they jumped to safety when the boat hit the beach. Two other boats that did manage to move to the relative safety of the other side of an outcropping took in the wet, frightened sailors. Pieces of Sweet Pea can still be found on the beach.
Matter of fact, the shores of the Sea of Cortez are littered with wrecks, each one with its own sad story. In 2003 over a hundred boats and two marinas were destroyed by Hurricane Marty and many vessels can still be seen either in pieces or semi-submerged. Over the centuries hundreds, maybe thousands, of boats of all sizes have met a nasty end due to the freakish nature of the Sea's weather, but wrecks that pose a hazard are, for the most part, marked on charts. Once in awhile, though, a cruiser gets a nasty surprise when they hook a wreck and lose an anchor. It is for this reason that every time I anchor I mark the location in my GPS, so I can avoid snagging something the next time, but also so I can return to
that anchorage in the dark.
And, as Jan and I had already learned the year before at a nearby anchorage, just because the weather is benign when you go to bed, it isn't guaranteed to stay that way. It was that harrowing middle of the night anchor drill that had Jan spooked about leaving a nice safe marina, but lobster always trumps worry.
We were the only cruising boat in the cove. Once anchored we took my panga, Se Vende, to shore and let Po Thang run wild while I scored a couple of sea bass, three lobsters and a half-kilo of illegal shrimp (the best kind) at the fish camp. I worried when Po Thang charged in and out of the water near the camp, afraid he'd pick up a fish hook or go after a stingray, but he was so happy I didn't have the heart to curb his joy.
Back at the boat I made him stay in Se Vende until we hosed him down with fresh water and then once we let him on deck, Jan gave him a shampoo. He took it all in stride, probably thinking this boat thing at anchor was a blast. I was thinking what a pain in the ass a large, hairy boat dog can be. Maybe I should convert Se Vende into a dog house?
We ate our dinner of broiled sea bass and lobster and were finishing the one glass of wine—albeit a large one—allowed while at anchor, when Po Thang's tail went into overdrive. Sure enough, rounding the point came Lucifer, bristling with fishing poles. The Gang of Four pulled alongside.
"Ahoy there," Safety hollered above the whaler's engine noise. "I wondered where you went. Looks like you two had the same idea as we did to get away for a night."
"Ya gonna sleep four guys on that little boat?" Jan asked.
"That an offer?"
"Nope."
"Shoot. In that case we'll stick to our original plan and head for the hotel at Café Olé in Conception Bay. Maybe hit that bar at Santispac for some beer and dancing on the way. Want to go?"
"No thanks, we'll hang here. You can speed down there in no time, but it would take us way too long," I told him. As if I'd even consider taking off with our four major suspects.
"Yeah, we gotta get on down the road if we want to make if before dark. Have fun."
"You too," I said with a wave. Then with a wink at Jan, I added, "Hey, you might want to try out that hot spring at Posada while you're there."
"Great idea. Thanks."
They sped south, their huge engines throwing a four-foot rooster tail in their wake.
Jan turned to me with an evil grin. "I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to be your friend."
We finished off our wine and moved into the galley to do the dishes that Po Thang had so kindly pre-cleaned.
In the middle of that chore, I had an epiphany.
"Jan, let's go back to the dock. We can still make it before dark if I put the pedal to the metal."
"Why, what's wrong?"
"Nothing that a couple of turtlenecks, leggings and knit caps, all in black, of course, and a credit card won't fix."
Since it was Saturday night and Mexicans are notorious late nighters, we waited until three AM to make our foray up the hill and park a block away from Bert's house. At that hour Po Thang wasn't really miffed at being left on the boat.
We sat in the car with the windows down, listening and watching for anyone who may have noticed our arrival, but the neighborhood was as quiet as a cemetery. Even the hospital was dimly lit and the parking lot empty. Without street lights and only a few lit porches—thankfully not on our targets' houses—the going was slow as we crept up the street. When we were almost there, several dogs set up barking, freezing us in our tracks, but I've noticed that in Mexico dogs are always barking and no one pays any attention. For some reason Mexicans seem to have an enviable ability to tune them out. No lights came on so we continued on our mission.
Three company pickups were lined up in front of the darkened houses. We'd seen Safety's dually where he left it, in the marina parking lot.
I pointed out Bert's large Victorian for Jan, and the two smaller ones on either side that housed the other three men. "Which one should we hit first?" I whispered.
Jan didn't hesitate. "The big kahuna's. Bert has to be the gang leader."
We went right through the front door, using a credit card to open the simple lock. Once in, I exhaled loudly, letting go a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and asked, "So, what are we looking for?'
"You're asking me? This was your bright idea."
Now that I thought about it, what exactly did I expect to find? Surely he wouldn't leave incriminating evidence laying around in plain sight. "I dunno. Maybe get a feel for his contacts outside of work. I mean, if he's making off with money, it must be going somewhere."
"So, ya wanna check under the mattress?"
"Sarcasm has it's place, and this is not it."
"I wasn't being sarcastic. I mean it."
We headed for the bedroom.
I put my penlight in my mouth, like in the movies, and felt on one side of the bed while Jan did likewise on the other.
"I've got something," Jan said, so I joined her. She fished out a handful of envelopes and laid them on the bed. One was from a Canadian bank showing deposits of paychecks. "Jeez, this guy is pulling in the dough. Maybe I should try to get his job when he gets the boot."
"Yeah, Hetta, you're certainly qualified. You said project managers should be ass-kicking meanies."
I hit her on the head with the envelope. There were a few pieces of personal correspondence: a birthday card to the best uncle ever, a nasty letter from the soon-to-be ex and an equally devastating letter from her lawyer.
As I was sorting through them, Jan spit out her penlight and said, "Paydirt."
"Whatcha got?"
"Exactly what everyone tells you not to have: a list of his passwords and PINs. Uh, did we bring anything to write on?"
"Crap."
While Jan replaced everything except her big find back under the mattress, I made my way into the kitchen and found a drawer containing ballpoints and note pads. There was also a phone number list. We sat at the kitchen table and while Jan copied one list, I did the other. We carefully replaced everything and were almost to the exit door when we heard a noise and hit the floor.
Turning off the penlights, we lay still, ears pricked. Nothing. After what seemed an eternity but was probably five minutes, Jan said, "Let's go."
I agreed, and was pushing myself onto my knees when something hit me in the head and let out a horrifying screech. Or maybe that was me.
The emergency room reception area was dark, but since the front door was unlocked, we figured someone must be around. While I cradled my swelling hand and neck, Jan went in search of anyone who could help.
She returned dragging a sleepy looking guy by his white coat sleeve.
Luckily for me epinephrine is epinefrina in Spanish.
Did I mention that I am highly allergic to cats?
It was almost dawn when we dragged ourselves back onto the boat. I was jazzed by the shot that jangled my nerves and sent my blood pressure soaring but thankfully opened my bronchial tubes.
Po Thang sniffed me suspiciously, probably thinking I'd been unfaithful. Jan, in an ill-timed attempt at humor, said I indeed looked like something the cat dragged in.
"Not at all funny. Who the hell ever heard of an attack cat? And how come he didn't savage you instead of me?"
"Gee thanks."
"Sorry, what I mean is, you aren't allergic. Boy, I could really use a glass of wine before we turn in."
"I'm sure gonna have one, but I don't know if you should, Hetta, what with that shot and all."
"You get the wine, I'll Google it."
WARNING: Using chlorpheniramine (epinephrine) together with ethanol (booze) can increase nervous system side effects such as dizziness, drowsiness and difficulty concentrating. Some people may also experience impairment in thinking and judgment.
Jan returned with two glasses and bottle of chilled white wine. "What'd you find out."
"Wine shouldn't have any effect at all on my normal state of being."
35
Where there's smoke, there's fire.
Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series) Page 21
