Just Add Trouble (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 3)) (10 page)

Jan threw her bag into the back and we piled in. She did her best to fold her five-foot eleven self comfortably into the caved-in passenger seat, but ended up with her knees up against her chin. Giving me a brave smile, she said, “Let’s boogie.”

As soon as we left the parking lot, Trouble flew out the window opening.

“Oh, my God, Hetta! Stop. You lost your parrot!”

No such luck. “Let him fly. He’ll be good and tired by the time we get home. We want him that way, trust me on this one.”

“I think I’ve done that a few times too many, Hetta Coffey, and have paid the price.”

Friends. Ain’t it marvelous how they can make you feel all warm and fuzzy?

Chapter 9

Trouble quickly figured out that the fawning blonde was a patsy for attention—and jerky—and shamelessly sucked up to by minding his Ps and Qs. Which in his case involved remaining on his Perch, Quietly. He didn’t dive bomb a single man or dog on the way home and, when we settled in for a Bloody Maria on deck, didn’t even steal our celery stalks. After serenading us with “The Yellow Rose of Texas”, he preformed a little ditty I’d taught him.

“Hetta, Hetta, she’s our gal. If she can’t do it, nobody shall,” he chanted, then after one ear-splitting demand of, “Oh Boy! Oberto,” he devoured the two strips offered by Jan, and settled in for a nap. No doubt resting up for a late afternoon blitzkrieg on the local marina staff. Jan remained enchanted. Yes, yes, yes.

We spent the next few hours catching up. I filled her in on the so-called Puerto Nuevo Tucson-Guaymas Corridor report I was working on, then asked her about the search for the Spanish galleon,
San Carlos
.

The afternoon wore on and we switched from Bloody Marias to Cuba Libres while discussing family news, our men, our lives. Much had changed for both of us over the past year, plus we shared a twenty-year history to rehash.

As the sun set, Jan gushed over the Sedona-red color of the Tetakawis, the volcanic peaks resembling goat teats that are San Carlos’s crowning glory. Happy at being reunited, but tipsy, we were in no shape to drive anywhere for dinner. We watched the sky color fade and stars come out before moving inside in search of food.

I was putting together our favorite meal of macaroni and cheese with Rotel tomatoes and extra Velveeta cheese, when my new Mexican cell phone chimed
La
Cucaracha
. Trouble awoke up from his third nap in three hours, and sang along, which stuck me as uncommonly funny. Grabbing the phone, I singsonged, “Hi, you’ve reached the voicemail of Hetta and Jan. If you met us in a bar, we didn’t mean it.”

Jenks laughed. “Gee, you’re in a good mood. Obviously missing me terribly.”

“Actually, I did. Do. Jan arrived today, and you know how we are.”

“Oh, yes, I do. What’s that racket in the background?”

“We got Trouble.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

While I strove for a suitably rude reply, a crackle filled the dead air. Or was that a cackle? Perhaps we were amusing someone in the CIA or FBI, or whoever listens in on calls from the Middle East?

“What kind of trouble?” Jenks broke the silence, sounding slightly anxious. He knows me all too well.

“The feathered kind. Mother sent me Aunt Lil’s damned parrot and both he and his name are Trouble.” I saw Jan eyeing me, so I added, “Just kidding, he’s actually a darling little thing.”

“You are kidding, aren’t you?”

“Yes. And no. Later for that. How’s Kuwait?”

“Same old.”

“Tell that idiot brother of yours that Jan has a fab allover tan. Looks like she stepped out of a Sports Illustrated calendar shoot.” I smiled at Jan, who was in her panda bear pj’s, with cold cream slathered on her face and curlers in her hair. Purple ones.

“I’ll do that. His loss. How’s her love life with Chino?”

“Getting married as soon as his Granny says yes.”

“Still seems awfully fast. Then again, I never rush into anything.”

You can say that again, Buster
. “Hmm-hmm.”

“And Granny?”

“No word yet from her. Guess the phone’s still out. Think old Grans is being held prisoner by those panga thugs we saw? Maybe Jan and I should go over to Agua Fria, kick some thuggy butts, and free Granny.”

Jan began to chant, “Free Granny. Free Granny,” as did Trouble.

“Hetta,” Jenks raised his voice over the racket, “that is a really bad idea. You’d best stay right where you are, at the dock, where you belong. Out of trouble.”

I broke into my own song, with, “Ha! Ya got trouble, right here in River City.” Trouble harmonized, Jan cracked up. Jenks gave up on having a sensible conversation, and ended the call with a lame, “Love you.”

“What a spoilsport,” I said into the dead phone.

“Yeah, no fun at all,” Jan agreed. “What’d he say?”

“We should stay here, out of harm’s way.”

“Hey, if we wanna go find Granny, we’ll by-golly do it.”

“You bet we will. Soon as we eat all this macaroni and cheese.”

“I’ll open more wine.”

Trouble was sitting on my head when I woke up, chewing on my fuchsia bangs. His beak made little grating sounds, which syncopated with the thump between my ears. The lingering taste of macaroni and cheese, and red wine coated my mouth. I checked the clock. Ten.

Ten! Damn, damn, damn.” I sat up, dislodging Trouble from my forehead. Screeching loudly, he flew a few feet. “Oh, shut up, before I ring your scrawny little neck,” I screeched back. And he did.

I headed for the shower. I had a meeting with some port authority guy from Topolobampo in fifteen minutes, and Guaymas was a thirty minute drive. I didn’t want to make the port captain, who’d gone through a passel of hassle to set up the meeting, look bad. I was headed for the phone to give him a call and a lame excuse, when I noticed it was dark outside. I checked the ship’s digital clock. Ten o’clock, p.m.

Relieved, I coaxed Trouble into his lair with a fresh jalapeño pepper, covered the cage with a beach towel as per one of the many instructions, written in my mother’s hand, that accompanied the little bugger.

I checked on Jan, who was passed out in the guest cabin, then went around closing doors and hatches. The wind had died during the day, but it was still chilly outside. I cast an eye on the mess I’d made in the galley, but gave it a mental rain check. The melted cheese was already hardened, glued to the plates, and probably my arteries.

I vowed I’d dig out the dreaded resistance band and DVD that Pam, or as I call her, the Paminator, sent from California, along with a cheerful note that if I stuck to the routine
even I
could get into shape. Gee, I didn’t realize that once you hire a personal trainer, they never let you escape their clutches.

I was crawling into bed again when I remembered Jenks’s call, and that I’d best call him back the next morning, apologize for being so silly. Or not. I am woman and therefore reserve the right to silliness at will.

Jan, sipping her third cup of cappuccino, moaned, “What in hell were we celebrating last night?”

I shook my head, very gingerly. “Damned if I know. But then, have we ever needed a reason to drink and eat too much?”

“Nope. You going to work?”

“Gotta. I requested the meeting when I heard this guy was visiting Guaymas, and so far the port captain has been a doll, so I don’t want to piss him off. Wanna come?”

“I’d rather eat the newspaper from the bottom of Trouble’s cage.”

“I understand that. We shouldn’t be gone all that long. Take it easy. Get some sun. Check out the docks. Wash the dishes.”

“You takin’ Trouble out for a fly on the way?”

“Oh, yes. He gets cranky if I don’t let him go with me.”

A loud, “Oh Boy! Oberto,” split the air. I opened the cage and gave him a strip of jerky.

“How can you tell the difference?”

“Oh, believe you me, he can be…” I remembered my endeavor to fob the bird off on her, “…so sweet, but like the rest of us, he needs his exercise.”

“Hetta, you hate exercise.”

“And I am generally cranky. I rest my case.”

“If you say so. Want some breakfast?”

“Oh, yes. There’s a great place in town that serves breakfast enchiladas, just like the ones we used to eat in Austin.”

“Well, I was thinking granola.”

“Well, I was thinking of putting you back on the ferry.” She grinned and we went in search of cheese and onion enchiladas with that wonderfully bitter red
salsa colorado
we were raised on.

Heaven.

Chapter 10

The man I wanted to meet with worked at the port authority at Topolobampo, a busy little port on the Sea of Cortez. Not only did they have a thriving port, but one with a successful railway link called the Texas-Chihuahua-Topolobampo Corridor. The similarities to the project I was scoping out were too good to pass up, and besides that, I just love saying Topolobampo.

If I could get a feel for their overall operation, and especially how freight and paperwork flows, or doesn’t, I'd use the info for recommendations in my own report.

My contact, who turned out to be a wizened little Aussie who’d lived in Mexico for forty years, was very cooperative, probably hoping I’d mention him favorably in my newspaper article. We journalists sure do wield power.

After the meeting I asked the port captain if he thought someone taking Trouble on the Baja ferry would pose a problem. He frowned, not a good sign. “The bird would be required to stay in a car. I know it is so with dogs and cats. Without a car, I do not think pets are permitted.”

Rats. So much for that idea. On to plan B. “
Capitán
, do you know of a small village on the Baja called Agua Fria?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You been there?”

“No. The road is very bad, I hear, but some say it is worth the trip.”

“What do they do there?”

“Do?”

“Yeah, you know, how do they make a living?”

“Fishing. And they raise goats. Like most villages along the shores of Baja, they get along as best they can.”

“No industry?”

“Industry? No. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. “We anchored there briefly before coming here. The little village seemed, well, prosperous, compared to others we saw.”

He shrugged. “I have not heard of anything that would make it so, but sometimes Gringos discover these small, charming places and move there. With them comes prosperity. I can inquire of the port captain in Loreto if you wish.”

Charming? Not in my book. “Oh, that’s not necessary, I just wondered, that’s all.”

“It will be no problem to inquire. I must call him today on another matter.” He seemed to be mulling over something, then asked, “You were sailing near the Baja coast recently?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see other vessels?”

“Not many. Mostly pangas, a few shrimp boats, a sailboat or two.”

“Do you remember seeing a blue panga. It is named
Maria
.”

“
Maria
? No, I think I would remember a blue panga, since most are white. Why?”

“The panga was found on a beach, without the
panguero
. There have been other, similar, incidents of late, as well, on the Baja side of the Sea of Cortez.”

“Incidents?”

“Missing fishermen. The boats are found, but not the men.”

“Did someone steal their motors?” Outboard motors are a prized possession in the Sea of Cortez, and many a cruiser has lost his to thievery in the dead of night.

“No, only the gas containers.”

I must have looked shocked, because Captain Reyes reached out and grasped my shoulder. “Miss Coffey, are you ill?”

“No, just surprised. When we were at Isla San Francisco, a new panga, with a large engine and two men, approached our boat and asked for gasoline.”

He shrugged. “That is not unusual.”

“Maybe not, but these two? I think they were planning to…I don’t know…they were threatening. They frightened me.”

He asked a few more questions, but what more could I tell him? Only that the men headed north.

As I was leaving, Captain Reyes shook my hand and we agreed on a meeting later in the week to get more details for my story. “Oh, Miss Coffey, will you be bringing your photographer?”

My photographer? Jeez, what was I thinking? What’s a newspaper story without the photos?

“Uh, yes. As a matter of fact, my photojournalist is arriving today.”

“All you do is aim and shoot, Jan, like you know what you’re doing.”

“Like when you fobbed me off as a marine biologist?”

“Yeah, like that. Hey, think of your resume. Marine biologist. Photojournalist.”

“Idiotic follower of a psychopath.”

“Not nice.” I swooped into a parking space. “Okay, we’re here. Reel in the bird.”

Jan whistled and Trouble fluttered onto the front seat, stretched his wings and panted. I gave him water from my bottle, and a pepper. We left him shredding jalapeño all over what served as upholstery on the Thing, and went into the
Capitanía
, where Jan presented Reyes the business card we’d printed out that morning.

Captain Reyes read the card and warmly welcomed her to Guaymas. “Do you know my niece?” he asked.

Jan gave me a wide-eyed look. I’d forgotten all about the relative who worked at the
Sierra Vista Observer
. “Jan, Veronica, in classifieds, she’s Captain Reyes’s niece. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

Jan recovered quickly. Being around me for all these years has honed her improvisational skills to the level of a Jerry Seinfeld. “Oh, yes, of course. Veronica. Sure.”

“Julietta.”

“Excuse me?”

“My niece, she is Julietta, not Veronica.”

Jan gave him a dazzling smile and the benefit of her big baby blues. “Oh,
that
Julietta, of course.”

The port captain, happily married man or no, seemed to forget he even had a niece. He puppy-dogged around after Jan while she snapped shots of everything in sight, especially him. In minutes, she had him practically drooling. I wish I knew how she does that. I send men scurrying instead of salivating.

After an hour we departed, leaving an increasingly pixilated port captain in our wake. We let Trouble out for his flight home, then Jan climbed into the passenger seat and studied my camera.

“Ya know, Hetta, I’m not sure this thing has film in it.”

“Ya know, Jan, it doesn’t. It’s digital.”

“So, you think I actually took some photos you can use?”

I shrugged. “Probably. We’ll check them out, and if there is anything, I’ll send them to the Trob. I figure a couple of more weeks here, then I’ll go to the Bay Area, give him my final report, collect my dough, and kiss some ass so I can get on the project. I still have that other schedule and logistics study for those guys in Oakland, but I can knock it out
muy rapido
.”

“You want to stay at my place while you’re up there? Well, actually Lars’s place. Since he’s still in Kuwait, he hasn’t gotten a chance to change the locks on me. I have to go up there and get my things out of his house one of these days. And your stuff.”

When I sold my house and moved aboard
Raymond Johnson
, I put my antiques, paintings and heirlooms in Jan’s care. Now we were both houseless, and Jenks’s tiny studio apartment didn’t have room for all of my belongings. Not that he’d offered to store everything. That, I’m sure, would be
way
too much like a commitment of some sort.

“I’ll crash at Jenks’s, but if you want, I can collect your clothes from Lars’s place, put them in storage. We’ll handle the furniture and art later.”

“That’d be great.”

“So, how will I tell which clothes are yours?” I teased. Lars has to weigh two-fifty and is over six feet tall.

“Anything that’s too small for you.”

“Oooh, aren’t we sharp this morning? Living on the beach, eating all that fish, must be good for the old brain power. And I’ll have you know that inside of this body is a skinny woman yelling to escape, but I’ve quite successfully pacified her with Fritos. Speaking of, how’s the tortilla making lessons going?”

She shot me the finger.

“Oh, Trouble, Miss Jan is not only sharp, but very defensive. Think I hit a nerve? Maybe she’s having second thoughts about living in a hut on the beach when the treasure hunt is over? Perhaps considering that the reality of counting whale sperm might not be a suitable replacement for reality TV?”

“Hey, at least I’m not the one conversing with a bird. Besides, I’m sure we’ll have satellite TV one of these days. Before you make your usual snap judgments, you should see where we live. Nothing but miles of beautiful water and beach. At night you can hear the whales calling each other, and now the babies are there. They come right up beside the panga so we can pet them. One mama whale actually turns on her back and hugs the boat. Lifts us right out of the water, ever so gently.”

“Wow! Can you send pictures? That is so cool.” I immediately regretted my enthusiastic outburst. After all, I lured her over here to talk her out of marrying Chino, but the truth is, I’d never seen her so enamored with either a man, or her situation. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe Jan belonged in a fish camp? Maybe I should mind my own beeswax? Nah.