He didn’t seem to notice. “Sure, if you like. Make things easier.”
I dug out an extra key, slapped it petulantly into his hand, and silence befell us. Not something I tolerate well. So I filled it with something stupid. “Do you like guns?” I asked, not having any idea where that came from.
“I hunt. Do you?”
“Nope. I shoot beer cans. I feel more secure with a gun around the house. Boat.”
He smiled and said, “I somehow can’t imagine you feeling insecure about anything, Hetta. You seem like you take care of yourself pretty well.”
Merde. Men hate women who can take care of themselves. I had an idea. “Actually Jenks, I feel a little isolated down here. Uneasy at times. When the club is closed and everyone is gone, I sometimes wish more people lived at the marina. And when I’m gone, I worry someone will break in. We are, after all, in Oakland.” Was that convincingly needy? I thought so. Evidently, so did Jenks.
“I can fix that.”
“One man urban renewal?” I asked.
He laughed. “I’m not that good, but I can fix you up with a security system.”
“You can?” Like I didn’t know that. Like I didn’t know he owned a security business.
He nodded. “I’ll come down first thing tomorrow and discuss it with you. It’s....Oh, excuse me, Hetta, my date’s here.”
He stood, waved to the blonde I’d seen him with before, and hustled over to meet her. I rose to escape, but Jan, with a look of supreme glee, pulled me back in my chair. Jenks ferried his date over to the table, sat her in a chair next to me, introduced us, and left us to pick our noses while he went to the bar to get us a drink. I hoped hers was hemlock.
Shirley twirled a long, bleached strand of split ends with a claw painted a shade I call Bordello Red. “So, Hetta,” she said, “I hear you live on a boat.” Actually, Shirley breathed it. She must have been a Jackie O. fan. Or, meow, maybe a contemporary?
“Yeah, I got tired of working the rice paddies.”
“Huh?”
“A little boat person joke. So, Shirl, you and Jenks been dating long?” I asked.
Jan, no doubt enjoying the crappy situation I found myself in, pursed her lips at the underlying bitchiness in my tone.
The object of my malevolence didn’t seem to notice. She opened her very red lips to answer my less than subtle question about her relationship with Jenks, but Jan beat her to the punch. “Over a year. Right, Shirley?”
Old Shirl nodded, the little pout forming on her face threatening to crack her pancake makeup. “Over a year is right. I wish Jenks was more like his brother. I mean, look at you Jan, you’ve only known Lars a few months and he’s taking you off to Florida. Jenks won’t even take a key to my apartment, much less give me one to his.”
I suddenly felt much, much, better. Maybe it was the quinine in my gin and tonic.
I actually made a little civilized small talk. Well, not exactly small. I drilled the broad for every bit of information she so willingly gave up before Jenks returned with our drinks. As soon as he did, I grabbed mine and bid them adieu.
“Going home so soon, Hetta?” Jenks asked.
“Oh, no, just thought I’d mingle. Noblesse oblige, and all that. So if I don’t see you again tonight, what time will I see you tomorrow? Early, I hope. I have so much to do.”
“Seven okay?” he asked, and I was rewarded with a Shirley pouty face.
“Perfect,” I said, “I’ll have the coffee ready.”
I sashayed off, leaving any thoughts Shirley had of a lazy Sunday breakfast in bed with Jenks shattered in my wake. After a few steps, I turned back. “Oh, and Jenks, if I’m still out for my morning walk, use your key.”
Like Mae West, when I’m bad, I’m best.
Jan caught up with me on the way to the bar. “That was quite a little show, Miz Hetta. One might think you were jealous.”
“One might stick her thoughts where the sun don’t shine. Hey, who’s the hunk?” I asked, nodding towards the end of the bar. Okay, call me fickle.
“New member. British. Don’t you think he looks like Lawrence Harvey, the actor? He’s sooo elegant.”
I whistled. “I’d say elegant is an understatement. Come on, let’s go talk to him.”
“Oh, sure. How do you plan to break through the pack of slavering WOEies surrounding him?”
“Jan, Jan, Jan. How long have you known me? Will you never learn? Follow and observe.”
We went, not to the end of the bar where the new guy was holding court, but the opposite end. I finished my gin and tonic and ordered another. “And Paul, my man,” I told the bartender, “be so kind as to send a drink to yon dude and put it on my tab. There’s a good boy.”
“Brazen hussy,” Jan whispered. “I love it.”
Alan, as his name turned out to be, looked up in surprise when Paul handed him a Chivas and nodded in our direction. We nodded back, lifting our drinks in a long distance toast. Five minutes later he was seated between us.
Up close, Alan was shorter than I cared for, but he had sensuous dark brown eyes, wavy pitch-black hair and a clipped accent with a hint of the haughty. Not quite the mush of British upper crust, but definitely not Liverpudlian. His clothes and manner oozed class and polish. A mite slick for my druthers, but when I caught Jenks sneaking a glance our way, I was on the Brit like flies on merde. So to speak.
For Jenks’s benefit, I pretended to be mesmerized by everything Alan said while my crawdad vision never missed anything Jenks did. I was happy to see old Shirl seemed mightily disgruntled. She and Jenks departed, leaving me with mixed feelings of jealousy and relief.
Oh, and a randy Englishman, whom I dumped unceremoniously as soon as Jenks cleared the door. There’s a name for women like me.
* * *
Jenks was on my boat at seven sharp. I’d meant to get up and doll up before he showed. I’d overslept and barely had time to wash the raccoon rings from under my eyes and make coffee. He was a little jittery and kept glancing towards my aft cabin. “Uh, if you’d like, I could come back later, Hetta.”
“No, I’m awake. I’m movin’ slow. Have a cup while my brain regroups. Jan and I sat up almost all night, what with it being her last night and all. She just left for Lars’s place so they could hit the road to Florida. Do you feel deserted? I sure do.”
Jenks looked relieved and I realized he’d thought maybe Alan was on the boat. I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. “They’ll be back,” he said. “Lars keeps forgetting how much he hates Florida.”
That cheered me up. “You want some breakfast? I’m starved.”
“Sure,” he said. “Tell me where everything is and I’ll cook.” He got up, walked to my refrigerator, threw it open and a look of dismay crossed his face. I joined him in the cramped galley and peered in. Nonfat yogurt, one apple, a six-pack of beer, some Monterrey Jack and one egg peered back. Pretty dismal.
“Do you know why the French make an omelet with only one egg?” I asked. He shook his head. “Because one egg is an oeuf.”
He didn’t get it.
Through the miracle of freezer space, I pulled together two “toast it” blueberry waffles and whipped up a cheese omelet. While I cooked, Jenks asked, “You’re hooked up to the Internet here, aren’t you?”
“Sure am. Why?”
“I want to try something. You said you were interested in a security system and I’ve developed one for people who want to keep an eye on home, or their boat, from anywhere in the world. All they need is an Internet connection.”
“That sounds like me. Here’re your eggs and waffles.”
“Looks good.” He dug in and nodded his approval. “And it is. Anyhow, since I’ll be working on your boat this week while you’re gone, I thought, if you want, I’ll install a system for you.”
“What’s it cost? Roughly.” After Garrison, I had learned that anything that gets done (or in Garrison’s case, not done) on a boat is big bucks.
“
Oh, let’s say a hundred a month?”
“That’s all? No equipment?”
“I’m renting it to you.”
“Deal,” I said. “More coffee?”
“Don’t you want to know how it works?”
“Surprise me. All I care about is that it works.”
“Okay, then. I’ll get started tomorrow morning early. Call me at this number,” he handed me a card for his security business, “tomorrow night from wherever you are and I’ll tell you what I’ve done and how to check it out.”
He stood to leave. “Like I said, call me. I’ll give you a code to type into a special Internet site. I think you’ll be pleased with what I’ve done. And I’m giving you a big discount. I charge lots more for corporate accounts.”
“Whatever. I trust you to do the right thing,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand.
“Maybe you trust people a little too much, Hetta,” he said, surprising me. It was the first time he had even hinted at giving me personal advice. Maybe he’d been warned, but he wasn’t scared off by my frown. “Not everyone has your best interests at heart, you know.”
I felt my blood pressure rise, while struggling to keep my voice neutral. I hate advice. “You mean like Garrison?”
“Him. And maybe others.”
“Who others?”
He shrugged, unwilling to elaborate. “Maybe you should think about being a little, uh, less friendly with strangers, that’s all.”
Jan, Martinez, and now Jenks. Could I help it if I was an extrovert? Jenks looked so sincere, I didn’t behead him like I would most folks who dared to hint that my facile extroversion might lack good judgement? Coming from him, it sounded like genuine concern.
Typically, instead of seizing the moment to further our relationship, I drawled, “Why sir, I’ve learned to rely on the kindness of strangers.”
He didn’t get it.
41
Jan called from Tucson, El Paso, and San Antonio. By Monday night, I’d gotten a road report on a goodly portion of Interstate 10. With each call came advice. I was not to get involved with the British guy, Alan, or do anything to piss Jenks off. I was to call Martinez immediately and tell him about the Key Note Club key. During her last call to my hotel room, I told Jan I’d brushed my teeth, said my prayers, and locked my door, so she could relax.
“Sorry, Hetta. I miss you and you know how careless you are sometimes.”’
“I’m fine, quit worrying. And drive safely, okay? Say ‘hi’ to Lars.” It was the best I could do. What I really wanted to say to Lars wasn’t fit for delicate ears. I hung up and called Jenks like he’d asked me to.
“Your brother, the best-friend stealer, is in Texas already.”
“Great, thanks for letting me know. Got a pencil? I have a surprise for you.”
Jenks gave me a set of explicit instructions, which I jotted down carefully on the hotel notepad by my bed. After I hung up with him, I spent the next few minutes accessing the Internet. Then, on a special website he’d provided the URL for, I registered and entered my own secret set of ID numbers. Jenks had warned me not to use my birth date, social security number, or the like in my password. And, he also told me, “Don’t ever, ever, tell anyone your code. Even me.” I used Raymond Johnson. A return e-mail confirmed my password, and I was ready to go. I called Jenks back.
“All done, sir. Now what? What’s my surprise?”
“You’ll see. Get back on the Net, go to the website again, go to the section called YOU ARE SECURE, put in your e-mail address and password, then sit back and watch.
“Uh, this isn’t gonna be something kinky, is it?”
He chuckled. “Nope. Just do what I told you and you’ll see. Don’t bother calling me back, I’m shutting down and going to bed now. Sweet dreams.” Click.
Sweet dreams? I cannot remember the last time someone said that to me. Especially a man. A little quaver ran through my stomach. Well, actually a little lower.
I accessed the Website, put in my password and waited. After a brief pause, my computer screen lit up in a four-way split screen. In each quadrant was a live image of a different cabin on Sea Cock. “Wow.”
I followed the instructions at the bottom of the screen and turned up the sound. Water lapped against my boat’s hull and my ship’s clock rang seven bells. Seven thirty. In the lower left quadrant I spotted something in the main saloon, zoomed on it and saw a hand lettered sign leaning against the settee. I read it out loud. “ ‘How’s this for secure? Dinner Friday? Jenks.’”
“Double wow.” That little quaver down low threatened to become an earthquake.
* * *
Dinner?
Friday?
What did it mean? For starters, it probably meant dinner, Friday.
But love, lust, or whatever you want to call it is, for me, a many splintered thing. Not unlike my thought processes when I’m in it. Every word, every gesture must be analyzed, ad nauseam, in search of hidden rejection. Surges of noxious anxiety emanate from what I call brain farts and travel like sewer gas to my stomach. Tums have their work cut out for them.
Most of Tuesday I spent eating calcium and obsessing over two words. Dinner. Friday. Staving off the onset of osteoporosis is small consolation when one has no one to obsess to. Who? Who? I could almost hear my father’s voice saying, “Your feet don’t fit no limb.”
Jan was out of the question. She was sleeping in the enemy camp, probably in Florida.
Mom? Nah, no use getting her carefully pressed Hanes crinkled over a possible love match.
My sister? Too easy. Six years younger, much prettier, and the kind of gal men trip over, she’d never understand my trepidation. Besides, she was the marrying kind. Like the Gabors, she believed in one true love and intended to keep marrying until she found it.
I considered unloading on Craigosaurus, but hell, he has more insecurities than moi. He once had a mental meltdown when Raoul forgot how he liked his eggs cooked.
It’s lonely at the bottom of the amour pond.
After I returned from La, and about two seconds after I got to the boat, I dialed up Jenks to tell him how much I liked my new security system. Sure I did. I really called to ferret out what he meant by Dinner Friday? He wasn’t in. I left a message. He didn’t call back. I sent e-mail. He didn’t e-me. By Wednesday morning, I was hyperventilating. I hate love.
Poor Allison made the mistake of calling while I was breathing into a paper bag. She listened so silently to my angsty whining I wondered if she was racking up billable hours. When I finally paused for oxygen, she spoke.
“Hetta,” she said, “have you lost your friggin’ mind? A man has simply asked you out to D-I-N-N-E-R. It’s an old American custom where one sits at a table and eats food.”
“Allison, that sounds suspiciously like a date. I don’t date. I hate dates. The last date I had left me with an empty bank account. And all I have to show for it is a lousy bar key and a ruby I bought myself as a consolation prize.”
“Speaking of which, have you told the police about the key?”
“I will, damn it. When I get a chance. Quit changing the subject. We’re talking about men here and how I screwed up with the last one.”
“That was years ago,” she said.
“Some things never change.”
“Then say no,” she said reasonably.
“You’re fired,” I said unreasonably.
“Good, because you don’t need a lawyer, you need a nanny. Someone to give you warm milk and burp you. Calm down, get rational. A stretch for you, I know.”
“I’m trying. You know how I am.”
“All too well. How about some good news? Then you can fire me.”
Allison outlined the final deal she’d cut with the Seattle group, one that was fair to both the client and me. She’d returned the buy-off check to the maker and I was free to go back to work ASAP.
“So Hetta, go forth and multiply, or whatever you engineers do, for our business is concluded. I c
heerfully accept my sacking in this matter and that little murder thing as well. Since you no longer seem to be a suspect in the offing of old Hudson, we can both get back to our real jobs.”
This bit of good news temporarily sidetracked me from my romantic dilemma. “Hallelujah! I’ll go up to Seattle next week, really get down to brass tacks. Thanks, Allison. Not all lawyers are shits. ”
“Gee, thanks. And speaking of lawyers, lawsuits and the like, have you heard from Garrison? He must know it was you who arranged for his Morgan to go snorkeling.”
Just Add Water (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 1)) Page 22
