Bristling with firepower, and therefore confidence, I returned to the main saloon and aimed my world renowned auditory senses towards ferreting out my uninvited boarder’s whereabouts. Only small wind waves slapping Sea Cock’s hull and the whine of tires on the Bay Bridge disturbed the night air. If I hadn’t seen that dinghy tied to the back of my boat, I probably would have concluded I was imagining things, but the evidence was all too clear.
Finally, something moved. I zeroed in on a scratching noise that sounded like it came from overhead, on the flying bridge. Was it a thief intent on stealing my radio and GPS unit from up there? What else had I left out for some jerk to rip off? My wine selection from the sundeck bar? I think not, I was going to be out here a while.
Another piece of Martinez’s sage advice from a few months before suddenly popped into my brain. Make sure, he’d told me, that if you absolutely have to shoot someone they’re already inside the house. Or boat. Maybe the detective could wait while some maniac broke down his door, but I, for one, planned to shoot through my door. The beautiful teak door that I’d spent half a day sanding and varnishing. On second thought, maybe I’d call for help.
I stood up and was reaching for my PANIC button when a voice called out.
“Hetta dear, open up. It’s frightfully cold out here,” it said.
In a British accent.
We should never have allowed them back into our country.
* * *
Alan, after apologizing for scaring the crap out of me, sat in the main saloon, sipping at a glass of Jenks’s scotch. No ice, of course. Not the Brits.
Annoyed as I was, I had to grudgingly admit he made an attractive, if short, addition to any girl’s living room. Casually dressed in tan from head to toe, he was GQ all the way in a cashmere sweater, chinos and boat shoes. No socks. His perpetual suntan and color coordinated ensemble set off dark brown eyes and shiny, wavy, black hair. He looked for all the world like a vertically challenged updated version of Lawrence Harvey, that debonair star of the 40’s and 50’s silver screen. I also wondered, as I had many times before, if I didn’t detect a hint of perm and L’Oreal on those raven ringlets. When I’d lived in Tokyo, Hudson—before he so rudely took a powder and turned up dead several years later—and I attended a weekend film festival featuring Lawrence Harvey flicks. And even though the films were dated, the English actor’s charm transcended the generations, still able to tickle a gal’s fancy. Look alike or no, the tickle I felt now was more of an irritating twinge, one of annoyance and the slight uneasiness that I invariably felt in Alan’s company.
With his uncanny knack for surfacing when Jenks wasn’t around, Alan had a way of setting my teeth on edge, whether he was at the club, on my boat or around the docks. He was always friendly, always slightly flirty. Nothing overtly slimy, just charming in a smarmy sort of way. I was also still annoyed about the charter incident, especially since I didn’t buy the story he’d told Molly about my cabin door popping open. I’d seen him with my own eyes as he opened the door and slimed in. If he didn’t leave soon, I was pretty sure my anger would force me into confronting him, but how could I without letting him know I had spy cameras? I took a sip of wine and wondered how to get the bastard off Sea Cock without being too rude. Not that I mind being rude, but he was, after all, a fellow yacht club member.
“So, Alan, what brings you to Clipper Cove, and onto my boat, in the middle of the night?” I said, straining to sound civil. Why, I don’t know. All that Southern upbringing, I guess.
“Shakedown cruise on my new vessel. Too dark to see her right now. Tomorrow you must come for brunch on board.”
“It’s already tomorrow, Alan,” I said, a nasty edge on my voice.
“So it is,” he said with a smile.
His insouciance finally frayed my last nerve. “And now that you have your own boat you won’t have to charter mine, huh?” I said sharply, and was rewarded with a startled look.
Alan recovered quickly, though. “Oh, yes. It was a rather spur of the moment thing, that. Clients in town. You worked in the Orient, you know how it is. We enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Sea Cock really has improved with a woman’s touch, I might add.”
“I think so. Did you like my color scheme in the master cabin?” I was through playing softball.
“Molly mentioned that, did she? My dear girl, why so huffy? I was merely looking about. I have long since given up being invited into your boudoir.”
“You can take that to the bank, buster.”
“Come now, Hetta, let’s not get testy. I said I was sorry for frightening you. And to tell you the truth, I lied.”
“About what?”
“The shakedown cruise. I came out here expressly to see you.”
Merde. “Oh? How did you know Jenks and I were out here?”
“Hetta dearest, you do insist on being difficult. Jenks is nowhere near here.”
How did he know that? It was time to bluff. “I guess you’ve got me there, Alan. You’re right. He had to go to town for supplies, should be back any minute.” God, that was really, really lame.
Alan rolled his eyes. “Early riser, is he? Or perhaps late on his return? Since your dinghy resides in her chocks, I have to presume Jenks swam? A sport I’ve sadly never quite mastered myself. Stalwart fellow that Jenks.”
That did it. The gloves were off.
“Alan, what in the hell do you want? You are trying my patience more than the tad you usually do. God, I’m starting to sound like you. Let me rephrase that. You are royally pissing me off. I came out here to be alone and as you can readily see I am not because you are here. And to make matters worse, you boarded my boat without permission. If you plan to do much yachting, I suggest you learn a little boating etiquette.”
“Actually, Hetta, boarding without permission could be construed as a hostile act at best, piracy at worst , and you would technically be within your rights to shoot me if we weren’t in such a liberal mecca as San Francisco. You know how these California lawyers are. If I lived, I could probably sue you for even having a gun. You do still have your grandmother’s gun, don’t you?”
I caught myself before glancing towards the locker where I’d stashed the guns when I realized it was Alan on my deck. “If I do, it’s really none....Wait a minute, how did you know about my grandmother’s gun?”
“Oh, I know you much better than you think.” He reached over, picked up RJ’s urn from the coffee table and said, in a voice and accent meant to mimic mine, “ ‘RJ, my man, what are you doing? Are you being a good doggy? Yes, I miss you, too. Mommy will be home before you know it. Get off the couch’.”
My mouth fell open as I recognized my own recorded message to RJ when I’d left for Seattle. And it was also the day of the Jeep-jacking. Suddenly, pieces of the puzzle fell into place and it wasn’t a pretty picture. Shocked, I lost what cool I still had, and blurted, “You! It was you who let RJ out? It was you who changed my lock? Not Hudson? I don’t understand.”
“Goodness no, lovey, ‘twasn’t me. Your dear departed Hudson did those deeds. We were still friends then, he and I. Partners really.”
I wish people would stop calling Hudson my Hudson. “More like jailbird buddies? Partners in what? International crime?”
Alan looked surprised, but recovered quickly. “Semantics. Crime is simply a point of view if you ask me. We had a little business deal. He had what my people want, or so we thought. He led us to you. And you,” he pulled my Georg Jensen icepick from his pocket, “will lead me to the key.”
“Erf,” says I, the one seldom at a loss for words. My mind raced, trying to absorb all this information. I was finally able to say, “You bastard.”
“Sticks and stones. The key, Hetta.”
“What key?”
“Oh, spare me the dumb act. It makes me angry and when I’m angry I can be a very unpleasant fellow.”
“Alan, you are a perpetually unpleasant fellow.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, as yo
u Americans say. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to give me my key, I’ll be off and out of your life.”
Oh, shit. Now what? “Alan, I wasn’t kidding, Jenks will be here any minute,” I said, stalling for time, trying to think. I didn’t have the damned key, but I didn’t think Alan would believe me. I judged the distance to the guns. He was between me and them. Rats.
Alan wasn’t buying my bluff. “Jenks, you say? Surely you can’t mean the Jenks who left a note on your boat last week? A sweet little mot telling us—you actually—that he was going on a trip and would call when he returned? Not exactly a billet doux. ” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and tossed it to me.
I unfolded the note and read, Dear Hetta, I have something I have to do and am rushing to catch my plane. Sorry about this weekend. I’ll call when I get back. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’ll really miss you. Love, Jenks.
Despite the fact that I was fast realizing that I was stuck at anchor with a guy who was an internationally sought-after, homicidal maniac, I temporarily forgot my dire straits. I think I actually smiled as I reread the note. Jenks had signed “Love.” Wow.
But reality swiftly replaced my warm and fuzzies. Maybe I’d best concentrate on how to get rid of Alan. Maybe permanently.
“Alan, uh, where did you get this note?”
“From your boudoir, of course. I was hoping to also find my little key and leave, but it was not to be. Lord knows I have searched high and low amongst your belongings. You must have hidden it well, once again. And by the by, since you’ve met Jenks I see you’ve upgraded from cotton to silk knickers. Quite an improvement.”
“You touched my panties? Damn, I’ll have to burn them all. And what do you mean by once again”?
“Plain English. I meant once again. I searched Sea Cock soon after you moved aboard, but couldn’t find the key, so I decided to bide my time until I was welcome to freely roam your decks, so to speak. I wasn’t counting on Jenks moving in on my territory.”
“Your territory!” I spluttered, and then it dawned on me what he’d said. “How did you get onto my boat and rummage through my underwear, you pervert?”
He waved off my insult. “Your pet boat rat, Garrison, of course. The man will sell anything not belonging to him, it seems. Especially after someone drowns his car. You should have changed the locks. I’d say your past sins are all coming home to roost, Hetta. Now, the key?”
“What if I told you I gave it to the police?”
“Then I wouldn’t believe you. And I’d be forced to hurt you until I learn the truth.” He waggled the icepick. I was on the verge of needing a Depend.
“Now, Hetta. Get. The. Key. And be very, very careful as you do so. No tricks. No more stalling. I really don’t want to harm you.”
“Yeah, well, stand up and say that.” Why was I goading him? Everyone knows short men have crappy natures. Just my nature, I guess.
“Tsk, tsk. Sticks and all, dearie. But then, Hudson said you always did have the ability to go straight for the jugular. Oh, now wasn’t that an unfortunate choice of words,” he said, fingering the pick tip and giving me a really nasty grin. “Move. I don’t have all night.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll get the damned key.”
“Atta girl.”
Now what, Ollie? I stood on shaky legs, feeling like Olive Oil in those cartoons when her knees knock together like castanets. I tottered to my desk. Alan followed, but not close enough so I could mule kick him. I opened the desk drawer, leaned over, and pretended to rummage around with one hand while reaching under the desk and pushing the PANIC button with the other.
My mouth was so dry I could barely talk. I murmured, “I can’t find it, Alan. I thought I put it in here, but I don’t see it. I’m so damned scared that I can’t think where —” The phone rang. We both stared at it.
I looked at Alan, fully expecting him to say “Don’t answer it.” Hoping he’d say “Don’t answer it” so Ed Lu would turn on the cameras.
“Answer it,” Alan ordered. Merde, doesn’t he ever go to the movies? They always say “Don’t answer it” don’t they?
When I hesitated he repeated himself, then added, “Very, very carefully. Watch what you say.”
“Hello,” I said. I sounded like I was eating cotton balls.
“Hetta, Ed Lu here. Do you have an emergency?” Oh, Ed, I love you.
I opened my mouth to say “yes” when I felt sharp cold steel sting my neck.
“Hetta?” Ed said.
“Oh, hi, Ed. How are you? How’s the book coming? You must be working so hard that you didn’t realize the time difference. It’s about four in the morning here,” I jabbered, trying to make light conversation that didn’t sound like a cry for help on my end. Ed Lu was smart, so surely he’d pick up on my inconsistencies. After all, I had hit the PANIC button. I must have woken him up, because he wasn’t hitting on all cylinders yet.
“Uh, fine, thanks, Hetta. I’m rewriting it for the eighth time. And looking for an agent,” he said, all chatty, but his voice was taking on a puzzled quality. Good.
“And your boss? How’s he?”
“What? Oh, Jenks. Actually I expect to hear from him soon and so should you. He’s due back into the country any minute now.”
“Back into the country?” I said, despite the slightly increased pressure and sting of the icepick tip. I cut my eyes at Alan and he was giving me a “cut” motion across his throat with his other hand. I hoped he was only signaling for me to end my conversation. I nodded, verrry carefully.
Ed rattled on. “Yeah, if I talk to Jenks do you want me to tell him anything?”
“Oh,” I said, “tell him that everything is fine except that I’ve been really seasick and crying my eyes out.”
“O-kay,” Ed said, probably wondering what in hell my problem was, “I’ll tell him. You have a good evening. Morning. Whatever.”
“You, too, Ed,” I said, my heart sinking.
“Oh, and Hetta, you know the rules. I always have to ask. Do you want me to call the police?”
“Yes Ed, please do that. I love you,” I said, and hung up. And I meant it.
“You did quite well, Hetta. And dear Ed? Does Jenks know about him?”
“You know how it is, Alan, a gal can’t put all her eggs in one basket.”
“Don’t I know it?” he said, his voice bitter. He backed away and waved the pick in my direction. “Now, let’s get back to the task at hand. The key?”
I returned to my rummaging charade. If Ed called the cops, how long would it take to get help out here? I thought Ed knew I was at Clipper Cove, but I wasn’t positive. If he did know, would he call the Coast Guard? And if he didn’t know my location, did Jenks have a GPS locator on my boat? Think. Think. A nudge in my ribs brought me up short.
“Could it be that you are stalling, Hetta? I suggest you pull that damned drawer out, dump it and find the key before I totally lose patience.”
I did what he said, ever mindful of the icepick and cursing myself for cleaning all the crap from the desk drawers during my recent cleaning spree. There was clearly no key among the pens and paper clips.
“The truth is, Alan, I can’t remember where I put that stupid key. I mean, I might not even have it anymore. It’s been ages since I’ve even seen it.”
Alan’s eyes became very mean, indeed. “I’m warning you, do not underestimate me. I have it on good authority that you were wearing that key around your neck,” he drew the icepick’s tip along my neck, causing a burning sensation, “not all that long ago.”
I felt a trickle of blood run into my sweat shirt collar and knew I couldn’t wait for the cavalry to arrive. I had to do something on my own. Now.
“Okay, Alan. Get rid of the icepick and I’ll make you a deal.”
Alan laughed an ugly laugh, but stepped away. “A deal? I hardly think you’re in a position to make any deals.”
“No? I know where the key is and you don’t. And if you kill me you’ll never fi
nd it.” Damn, that sounded good. Too bad my bladder didn’t appreciate a good bluff.
“Oh, by the time you’re dead, dear girl, I will know where the key is and what it’s for. However, for curiosity’s sake, and because I know you’re such a clever bitch, what kind of deal?”
My mind whirled. Alan didn’t know what the key was for? No wonder he was desperate to get his hands on it. Hudson kept his secret to the end and had inadvertently handed me a slight advantage. Alan, had he known about the Key Note Club, could probably have bluffed his way past the club manager, and into the box, key or no. Or he could have gone to Tokyo and simply staged a break in, searching every liquor box in the club. Risky, but doable. However, without knowing about the jazz club, he was flying blind.
Just Add Water (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 1)) Page 29
