Just a Happy Camper

by Jinx Schwartz

  Becky paled. “You think he might hurt Jeff?”

  “No! No! Sorry, Becky, that’s not what I meant at all. I suspect they could be working together.”

  “Oh. So, that’s a good thing, right?”

  “Um, maybe,” Jan said.

  I gave her the stink eye. “Let’s get back to what we know, and stay away from speculation for now, okay?” I recalled what Jenks told me about Jeff maybe being a fed, or that whatever he was mixed up in could be connected somehow to Becky’s job. “We need to get everything we know about you, and Jeff, down on paper. Including, your time in the Baja, how you met Jeff, what you know about each other’s jobs, stuff like that.”

  “You think any of that’s important?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Just grunt work,” I said, greasing the wheels over the fact that I was about to grill her like a Texas T-bone.

  Jan raised an eyebrow in my direction. I hadn’t had time to fill her in on my conversation with Jenks on that particular subject.

  I stood. “Hey, Becky, why don’t I stash these tired, damp dawgs in my pickup to dry out, it’s getting chilly out here. We’ll go in and get some grub on the table.”

  Becky said she’d take care of the dogs, and as soon as she led Po Thang and Scruffy away, I hustled Jan inside the RV.

  “Jenks thinks we need to know more about Becky’s work, just in case this Jeff dude, who once worked for a bigtime gun runner and dated his daughter, might be using her somehow. Jenks also said he has a feeling Jeff might be undercover ATF. Here comes Becky, follow my lead.”

  We sat around the removeable table, with Jan and Becky on the settee, and me dishing up fried chicken and potato salad. After demolishing our dinner, we cleared the table and went back to work. Jan womanned her computer, while we asked Becky questions in a way that didn’t seem like she was being interrogated, which she was.

  We learned that after Jeff helped Becky get back into the United States, using some connections of his to have her released from Homeland Security’s clutches, he totally disappeared from her life for several months.

  “So, you were on a watch list for fleeing the country to avoid testifying against this French dude for marriage fraud, but Jeff got you released?”

  “Well, it turned out all charges against me had been dropped, but I didn’t know that. Devereaux Gautier chose deportation rather than face jail time in the States after he confessed he’d duped me. Jeff just found all that out and got me out of detention at the border.”

  “And then he took off without a word?”

  She pulled a piece of folded paper from her pocket. “Not exactly,” she said, handing it to me. “I meant to show this to you yesterday, but forgot.”

  The note was handwritten on an historic upscale San Diego hotel’s letterhead.

  “Hotel Del Coronado? Well, he sure has good taste in hotels.”

  “Not only that, he rented one of those cool white cottages right on the beach.”

  Jan and I exchanged a look, and Jan said, “My gawd, whoever he works for, they surely do pay well. I wonder if they’re hiring.”

  “Oh, he said he used a bunch of Hilton points.”

  “I guess so,” I said, noting that the paper was worn, probably from Becky reading it over and over. Love stinks.

  I read it aloud.

  “My Dear Red… Hey, Jenks calls me Red, too.”

  Jan huffed and twirled her index finger, telling me to get on with it.

  I flashed her a different finger, but continued reading.

  “I know it sounds corny, but you have changed any previous perceptions I had of what it means to be happy with someone. Even though we faced serious threats together, I never once doubted your innocence, or intentions. I can’t say that about anyone else in my adult life. I have fallen in love with you, but our time is not right.

  Given the past five years of your life, I admire your resilience, but also realize that you need time to pick up the pieces. You have been through a great deal for a long time, and I sense and appreciate your reluctance to jump right into another relationship.

  I’ve been too wrapped up in work to consider what I really want in life, which I’m now certain is to meet someone like you. Timing sometimes stinks. Thank you for the past few days, and our great adventure together.

  The rental car is yours, paid for as long as you need it. Just turn it in wherever you settle. Scruffy’s spa bill is paid, as well. That dog’s digs cost almost as much as the Hotel Del, but he’s worth it. He’s a great dog and I know you’ll take good care of him, and him you. You need him right now as much as he needs you, so it’s a win-win.

  You’re surely wondering how I managed to get inside to see you at the border, and how I found out about everything concerning your legal status both here and in Mexico, but it will have to suffice that I called in some favors.

  I won’t lie to you, I am going back to work for Muffin’s dad. They know nothing of our run for the border and I will make certain it stays that way.

  All the best to you and Scruffy. I wish things were different, but like you always say, it is what it is. Love, Jeff.”

  I handed the tattered note to Jan. “Becky, do you mind if we scan this?”

  “Go ahead. Don’t know how it can help, but maybe Jenks can use it.”

  Becky teared up, so I quipped, “Muffin? Really?”

  She swiped her cheeks and guffawed.

  Jan smiled. “Well, that is certainly the sweetest dump letter I’ve ever read.”

  Getting back on track, I asked, “And then, out of the blue and months later, he materialized in the dead of night?”

  “He did call first, a few days before.”

  “And?”

  “He said he loved me, and I hung up on him.”

  “I see that him giving you time ‘to pick up the pieces’ worked out for him,” I teased.

  She grinned. “Not. However, he was right in a way. I was so busy rehabbing the cabin, worming my way back into the workforce, and the like, that by the time he actually showed up, it didn’t take long for us to reconcile.”

  “Is ‘reconciling’ anything at all like ripping off his clothes and jumping his bones?”

  I hooted, while Becky blushed and said, “I was ruthless. I held out for at least an hour.”

  “Heartless Jezebel!”

  Becky giggled and gave Jan a little backhanded slap on her shoulder. “Okay, so I’m easy. But you know, the timing of his return couldn’t have been better. I was settled into my house, getting plenty of at-home work, and I was getting lonely.”

  I was thinking about that timing, but not in a good way. Call me a cynic.

  “So,” I asked, “do you think he was keeping tabs on you the whole time?”

  Becky looked startled. “Why, I hadn’t thought of that. I just figured that when he finished his job with Muffie’s father, he looked me up. I’m not hard to find, after all, what with Facebook. And, since he was the one who walked me out of Homeland Security detention, he knew a great deal about me.”

  “About that. How was it he was allowed to come get you?”

  Becky shrugged. “Like he said, he called in favors.”

  Jan, sitting behind Becky at the computer, rolled her eyes, and mouthed, “Fed!”

  Changing lanes, I asked Becky, “So, what has Jeff been doing for the past few months he’s been living with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Does he discuss his work with you at all?”

  “Not really. He’s on the road a lot, something to do with legal consulting.”

  “For?”

  She shrugged. “International companies wanting to do business in the United States, and vice versa.”

  Oh, brother.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jan and Becky took over the hunt for Jeff again, leaving me to deal with my hydrologists. Especially my problem hydrologist.

  In his defense, Donnie, a born and bred thrird-generation Texan, didn’t cotton to the i
dea of land owners being forced to give up real estate for the ‘cause’ any more than I did. It smacked of, as Daddy said, a bunch of Commies running the show.

  I couldn’t disagree with Dad, but my team wasn’t about to saddle up and run people off their ranches. We were a study group only. I say “we” but in truth all I did was summarize what the team of experts came up with. And since we were literally covering the waterfronts, I also was in charge of mapping almost every foot of beach above and below the thousand year flood plain.

  And it didn’t take long until, as we cruised along the lakefront in our heavy duty inflatable bristling with antennas, cameras, and such, land owners started calling the local law, asking what “that bunch of foreigners” was up to. In no time, some reporter got a whiff of a good story. We hit the news, and not in a good way. It was at that point that I realized why I had been hired: I was the sacrificial Texan.

  On her nightly visit to the RV, Jan, when I told her what was happening, slapped her knee and heehawed. “Hetta Coffey as a PR person? What idiot came up with that dumb-assed idea?”

  “Me.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I kinda stepped into it on the fly. A reporter showed up in a boat while we were cruising around, and started asking questions. The Dutch were flummoxed, and that other guy, my problem child, opened his mouth, and short of him fomenting a revolution with all his negativity, I took over.”

  “I’m having a problem grasping the concept of you as the voice of reason.”

  “Jan, if the LCRA pulls us off this study, I won’t have a place to live. Raymond Johnson’s engines are about done, but with the other work we’re doing, she might be in drydock for at least another month.”

  “You can live with us,” Becky offered.

  “Thanks, but when Jeff gets back, he might not like that idea very much. And don’t forget, I have a raucous parrot.”

  Becky’s lower lip trembled. “If Jeff gets back.”

  “He will,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. Our search was not going so well. We couldn’t find Nacho, even with Jenks’s help. And Jenks has people.

  “You two sure have a lot of…mysterious men in your lives.”

  Jan huffed. “Like you don’t, Chica? First that Frenchman you married, and now Jeff. I seem to have the only guy who has a clearly defined career.”

  “True dat. Okay, girls, let’s give Rhonda a call. We need help.”

  “Yes we—” Jan was cut off by the dogs raising hell outside.

  We looked out to find a group of scowling cowboys walking our way. At least they looked like cowboys, but Jan whispered, “Uh, Hetta, I think all they need are torches and pitchforks.”

  “Crap. Call Daddy and ask him to drive over, okay? I’ll go talk to them.”

  “Calling.”

  I walked to my pickup and let the dogs out, admonishing them to play nice, then greeted our visitors. “Good evening, gentlemen. What can we do for you?”

  A man about my dad’s age stepped forward. He had a belt buckle the size of a salad plate, on a tooled leather belt holding up work-worn jeans. Po Thang was busy sniffing his scuffed boot, probably trying to identify what type of poop was on them. Despite a glower, the man tipped his hat and said, “Evenin’, Ma’am. We wanna know whutch’all er doin’ here.”

  “Here in Texas, or here in the park?”

  “Either one. We hear there’s a bunch of foreigners snooping around our land.”

  “Oh, dear, did someone trespass Mr. uh…?” I asked, stalling for time. It would take Daddy under fifteen minutes to make the drive from his house.

  “Killebrew.”

  I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you. My name is Hetta Coffey.”

  “You kin to the Coffeys here on the lake?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re my parents.”

  The men started talking amongst themselves. One of them said, “Buster, I guess we got the wrong camper.” He glanced over at the other RVs. Luckily, the rest of my team had gone into Llano for dinner.

  Killebrew asked, “Do those rigs belong to those foreigners what’s been nosin’ around?”

  What to do, what to do? Fess up? Throw myself on the sword and confess to being a traitor to my fellow Texans. Not that I was, but they probably wouldn’t see it that way.

  “Well, uh…” Jan stepped from the RV, followed by Becky. All heads turned. Didn’t hurt to have a couple of tall lookers around for a diversionary tactic.

  “Howdy, gentlemen,” Jan cooed. Only Jan can coo a howdy.

  Becky pushed back her long red hair and fluttered her eyelashes. “My goodness, is the rodeo in town?” Anywhere else this might sound like an insult, but in Texas it’s a compliment. Especially to this age group.

  “Why don’t we all adjourn to that picnic table over there, and I might be able to help you out with your questions,” I said. “Would anyone like a beer or iced tea?”

  Becky took their orders and Jan and I brought out extra camping chairs. “Jan, what did my dad say?” I whispered.

  “He’s on his way, keep stallin’,”

  “Okay but…oh crap. Here comes the team.”

  As one of the work trucks pulled up by our other RVs, the men’s heads turned in unison. “That them, Miss Coffey?”

  “Uh, yes, but…”

  The cowboys stood and started walking toward the hydrologists camp. I wouldn’t have worried, but the A-hole was coming to meet them. This was not good. The OK Corral came to mind. His snarky attitude could very well get us all run outta town on a rail.

  The cavalry, in the form of my mom and dad in his Ford Ranger, drove in to save the day. Dad divided the groups with his pickup, effectively stopping them all in their tracks.

  Dad walked around, opened the passenger side door, my mother stepped out—how in hell does she always have her hair, makeup and clothes in perfect order?—and hats came off. Hey, why didn’t they doff their hats when they met me? I am convinced I was adopted.

  Mom drawled, “Why howdy there, Clint. Buster. John. Hardy. Green? How y’all this fine evenin’? I see you met our oldest.”

  Thanks, Mom. I think. Oldest isn’t my favorite word.

  The men all dipped their heads as mom spoke their names, and mumbled yes ma’ams to Mother’s question about the lovely evening, while Daddy strode over to shake hands.

  Within minutes my father had explained our study far better than I ever could, letting them know that, a practical use of pumps and levees (paid for by the government, no less), could make life on the water in this part of Texas less of a yearly crapshoot.

  As soon as the mollified men left, I typed out a press release for the LCRA’s approval, using my father’s words verbatim.

  Note to self: Is there a DNA kit targeting whether reasonability is a genetic marker that can be traced? If so, I’m certain mine would show no direct blood line between me and my parents.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The night after the near showdown at the OK Corral, the gals brought meatloaf for dinner. This nightly “meals on wheels” thing was seriously messing with my vow to lose weight, so I went on my version of the fasting diet thingy.

  My idea of a fast? Coffee with fat free half and half for breakfast, a high protein drink when I started to crash during mid-afternoon, gallons of water and unsweetened tea, and then pretty much screwing the whole thing up with wine and dinner. Oddly enough, after a week, I was down two pounds! And yes, both feet were on the scale.

  Of course, most days I walked a great deal, wrestled with heavy equipment, and was the designated captain of the good-sized inflatable. On days when we had wind, the lake roughed up fast, so those afternoons we walked predesignated shores. Since we were only targeting would-be hundred, five-hundred, and the dreaded thousand-year flood zones, the hydrologists input their findings into the master computer program, which we dubbed Water Works, each evening, while I marked off areas already addressed on my topo map. At our rate of non-progress, this was going to be a th
ousand-year project. I called a progress meeting with the LCRA, and dragged the senior Dutch hydrologist, Daan, with me.

  “After ten days on the job, it would seem our scope and timelines are way out of whack,” I said, addressing the LCRA big-wigs brought in for the meeting. “That’s engineer speak for we are so far behind the projected schedule that if I were still working on a cost-plus job, I’d be shopping for a new Jaguar.”

  A nervous laugh let me know they had no idea what the hell I was talking about.

  Chuck, the LCRA project manager, said, “I guess we’d better hear why.”

  “Well, it sure isn’t because our team is sitting on their butts in our RV’s all day, sipping beer and watching Chuck Norris reruns. We’re already beat, and we either need more people or less scope.”

  “What do you suggest?” Chuck asked.

  “Less scope. If we finish just Lake Buchanan in the next two months it will be a miracle. No way are we going to get near working Inks, LBJ, Travis or Austin in our time frame and budget.”

  I didn’t mention that if they dumped me their budget would go a whole lot further.

  One of the other men at the table, a guy I’d never met, asked. “Is it possible you are being too thorough?”

  “Oh, yes. However, we’re doing what we were told. We could cut corners and forget the five-hundred and thousand-year studies, but with the way the climate is changing now, we’re witnessing regular flooding almost as bad as before the dams were built.”

  He nodded. “I’ve been evacuated twice this year, myself. My house is fine, but it was a close call. Had water up to my front porch. Never had that before, and I’ve lived in the area for my whole life.”

  Everyone around the table nodded. Very few people in the state had escaped being affected in some way by the latest rash of flooding.

  “Well, then, seems to me we’re gonna need a bigger budget,” Chuck drawled.

  We all laughed at Chuck’s reference to the famous line from Jaws, even Daan.