Just Add Trouble (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 3)) (21 page)

I’d already handled Budget.

After a visit to the Port Captain, I found I wasn’t in hot water with Captain Reyes, and that in fact he was basking in the light of being somewhat of a local celebrity after his interview on CNN International. I asked him to recommend a boat watcher and when he found out I was willing to pay two hundred a month, he jumped on the job himself. He was free on weekends and, if I gave him a maintenance checklist, he’d be more than happy to make sure she didn’t sink in her slip. I figured he didn’t make a lot of money, and that my contribution would be a huge addition to his Christmas budget.

Lucky for me, my own credit cards were in my boat safe, as was my debit card, so I was set for moola for the time being. I polished up and sent my final report to the Trob, and topped off
Raymond Johnson
’s fuel tanks like Daddy always told me to do.

Now all I had to do was arrange to get myself back to the Bay Area. Almost everything I owned was on the boat, but I had left some go-to-meeting clothes at Jenks's apartment, where I would set up a working office. That meant I’d need my computer, printer, and fax machine. The list of stuff I had to haul was huge, prompting me to consider renting a car and driving back.

A couple of calls told me that Budget, as well as every other rental agency in Mexico, had me at the top of their S list, and I couldn’t quite picture driving the Thing all the way to the Bay Area, even if I could get it across the border with Mexican plates.

The solution came to me in a flash of red and yellow.

“
Day-ache-elle
!”

I stuck my head out the teak slider and was greeted by my old pals who’d brought me Trouble. I waved them on board and they headed straight for my replenished beer supply.

“So what is it today, guys? Got an
elefante
in your truck?”

One of them grinned and handed me an envelope, this one from the Trob. I quickly tore it open and saw a fat check attached to a disclaimer that Baxter Brothers was not responsible for my actions, and that by cashing said check, we were no longer affiliated. I also noted that for some strange reason, he gave me full invoice amount. Damn, I’d shorted myself if he agreed to all my demands.

I was free to head north, and I had a solution to my move at hand.

Two hours and a case of beer later, my clothes and office paraphernalia were packed into collapsible storage boxes I had stashed away, and loaded into the DHL van. I gave my stuff a fifty-fifty chance of arriving in Oakland, so I held on to my laptop, but it was the best I could come up with on short notice.

I was getting ready to call the airlines for a reservation on the next flight out when the phone rang in my hand.

“Hetta,” Jan wailed, “I need help.”

A friend in need is a pest.

Chapter 25

“What’s wrong, Jan?”

“I’ve broken up with Chino.”

“Did he do doo doo in his Huggie?”

“Just stop it, right now—”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

“You should be. I need help, and, after all, you got me into this mess.”

“I forced you to jump ship and take up with a beach bum?” Calling Chino a bum was pushing the envelope, but maybe that’s what she needed, a little negative reinforcement.

“There’s that, but what you really did was blow up my passport, Mexican visa, and credit cards. Now I’m stuck in Mexico and can’t get home.”

I didn’t bother to argue that it wasn’t me who blew up the rental, but a wild and crazy drug dealer, and we wouldn’t have been there in the first place if she wasn’t looking for Granny Yee. She wouldn’t listen anyhow. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to come get me. I can’t get on a plane or ferry without some kind of identification, and I don’t have a debit or credit card to buy the tickets anyhow.”

“You could ask Chino to reimburse you from his allowance, or maybe raid his piggy bank.”

“Het-ta, give it a rest.”

“Where are you?”

“The bus station in Santa Rosalia. I do have enough pesos for a room tonight, but that’s about it.”

“Seriously, Chino let you leave with no money and no way to get back to the States?”

“Well, I sort of didn’t tell him I was leaving. I left a note.”

“Did that note mention your age?”

“Just shut up and come get me.”

“I need to think. Call me back in thirty minutes. Do you still have minutes left on your Ladatel card?”

“Not much.”

“Okay, then, go down to the marina office at Santa Rosalia. I’ll call you there. If no one is around the office, find a ham operator on one of the boats. I’ll be on Happy Hour. Got that?”

“Oh, Hetta, bless you. I was so afraid I wouldn’t be able to reach you, and…” she began to whimper.

“Jan, pull in that bottom lip and go to the marina. Everything will be okay, I promise. I think there’s an American Consulate in Hermosillo, but right now we have to get you over to this side. I have a plan.”

“You do? Fantastic, bye.”

“Bye.”

I needed a plan.

Double crappola. Here’s what my Google search told me about getting Jan legal:

In the event that your passport is lost or stolen while in Mexico please come in person to the Passport & Citizenship Unit (Working Hours). Depending on your personal circumstances, the Passport office will process your application for a new full-validity or emergency (limited-validity) passport. Application requirements, including fees, for emergency passports are the same as those for full-validity passports. You will need proof of citizenship and a photo ID, such as a driver’s license or school ID. The cost of the passport is $97 USD for adults and $82 USD for minors under age 16.

The Passport & Citizenship Office will only issue emergency passports that are needed for urgent travel. Applicants requesting an emergency passport will be required to provide proof of immediate travel plans such as a valid itinerary or airline tickets, as well as an explanation for why the travel plans cannot be changed to allow sufficient time for the processing of a full-validity passport (usually about two weeks). In most cases, same-day issuance is possible for emergency passports. However, some cases require approval from the Department of State prior to issuance.

Hello? Hetta to the US Passport and Citizenship Unit, who in the hell carries proof of citizenship when you have a passport, which is proof of citizenship?

Jan didn’t have proof of citizenship or a photo ID. We’d have to call her mother, have her send a certified copy of her birth certificate to her in San Carlos, call California for a duplicate driver’s license, and after all that finally arrives, apply for a passport.

I doubted the Department of State would deem breaking up with your boyfriend enough of an emergency to issue an emergency passport, so we could be stuck in Mexico for another month. Not that I would normally mind, but like I said, I felt the welcome mat down here was getting a mite frayed.

Maybe I should call my DHL guys. Hell, they shipped an illegal parrot, so what’s a blonde to them? Once DHL landed Jan in San Carlos, and I uncrated her, we could make a run for the border. My experience so far was that the Mexican military never asked to see our tourist visas at their inspection stations, or any other ID, for that matter. Once we made it to the US border, they definitely would require proof of citizenship, but if Jan started bawling and telling her sad tale of woe, they might let her in.

But back to the here and now.

I really, really, didn’t dare press my luck, and take
Raymond Johnson
across the sea alone again. I was wracking my already overloaded brain when the phone rang again.

“Jan?”

“No, Jenks.”

“Oh.”

“Gee, your response makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Jan called and she’s left Chino and needs to get over here, but she doesn’t have a passport or Mexican visa.”

“What happened to her papers?”

“They were burn…uh, burgled.” I didn’t think Jenks needed the ugly details, especially since it would only reinforce his silly idea that I’m a disaster looking for a place to happen.

“Burgled?”

“Her purse.”

“Ah. And Chino? He was burgled, too?”

“No, he was dumped. If he calls you, tell him Jan’s all right, and on her way here.”

“You think he’ll call me?”

“He might. I guess she just kinda left him a Dear Chino note.”

“At least she called my brother, Lars, to dump him for Chino. Do I detect a pattern here?”

I laughed and it felt good. It also felt good to know I had Jenks to confide in, laugh with. It wasn’t what I was used to.

Being a single, professionally successful, highly independent female of a certain age has many pitfalls, the most dangerous of which is being stubbornly single, sovereign, and solo. I won’t even address the certain age part.

As the years roll by, insecurity builds, despite one’s secure facade. Ever more on the defensive, even the slightest hint that your life is not absolute perfection sends you into an increasingly defensive mode to protect your dirty little secret, which is that you would rather be helplessly dependent on a significant other, but you don’t know how.

It is just this conundrum that led Gloria Steinem to quip, “I have yet to hear a man ask for advice on how to combine marriage and a career.” It’s women like me who keep the Dr. Phils and Lauras of the world in bidness.

My personal defense mechanism is flamboyancy in the extreme, which is a great attribute when amusing your friends, but a risky trait when attempting to attract and keep a soul mate, or whatever they call them these days.

Right now, my defenses were down. “Jenks, I miss you. Can’t you come home?”

“Sure, in a month.”

“I mean now,” I whined. I hate whining.

“Hetta, are you in trouble again?”

“Why do you think that?”

“You whined.”

“I did not. I do not whine.”

“That’s what I mean.”

This conversation was destined for derail. There were a couple of ways to handle the situation, one of which was sweetness and diplomacy, perhaps exercising a little non-defensive self-control for a change? It could happen, but where’s the fun in that?

“Screw you, Jenks, and the camel you rode in on.”

“That’s more like it. Gotta run. Love you.”

“Yeah? Well come home, then.”

“Bye.”

Chapter 26

The afternoon rolled by with no call from Jan, and my calls to the marina office at Santa Rosalia went unanswered, so I put myself to work, decorating
Raymond Johnson
for Christmas, just in case I stayed longer than I should. It gave me something to do instead of fretting and waiting for Jan’s call. Smith came by and gave me a hand with the lights, said he’d turn them on for me if I wasn’t here, and even volunteered to take them down after the season.

Satisfied that both the strings of white lights lacing the rails and a wreath gracing the bow pulpit passed muster, I tuned up the ham radio, poured myself a glass of wine and waited. On the dot of five, familiar voices started chattering about boat parts, weather, the price of diesel, and the latest gossip. After ten minutes with no call from Jan, I grabbed the mic. “Edgewise,” I yelled.

“That sounded like Hetta. That you, Hetta? Did you finally get a license, or is this another emergency?”

“This really is an emergency.”

“Okay, everyone stand by while I get formal. Station calling, what is the nature of your emergency?”

Why hadn’t I thought this through? Think, think. “I don’t have an emergency per se, but I do have a sort of important message for a friend who may be on a boat in Santa Rosalia, listening in and waiting for this, uh, traffic.”

The net manager, Gene, sighed. “Name of person you are trying to contact?”

“Jan Sims.”

“Boat name?”

“
Raymond Johnson
.”

“Not your boat name, Hetta. Jan’s.”

“Oh. I don’t know. She was supposed to look for a boat with a ham radio.”

“Okay, then, standby. CQ, CQ, CQ, Santa Rosalia.”

Silence.

“CQ, CQ, CQ, Santa Rosalia.”

A booming voice straight out of a Grade B WWII war movies answered, “Tango Lima, Santa Rosalia. Ist Herbert here.”

“Herbert. Haven’t heard from you in a dog’s age.”