Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 5) (15 page)

Those who set in motion the forces of evil cannot always control them afterwards.—Charles Waddell Chesnutt

Sunday morning after a big old bowl of
menudo
, that marvelous tripe soup the Mexicans have on weekends, Po Thang and I left for the boat, leaving Jan with Chino for a dusty back-road trek along the Pacific side of the Baja to their whale camp. I had considered taking that route myself, not wanting to pass by Café Olé and the dastardly Dickless again, but it was way out of my way and over unpaved roads for the most part.

I decided a baseball cap pulled over my hair, sunglasses and an unfamiliar pickup with a dog hanging out the window, blocking their view of the driver, were enough to camouflage me from Lujàn in case he was still around.

I needn't have worried, for the rocks blocking the entrance to Café Olé were gone, as were the goons. Despite my curiosity as to what had changed overnight, fear of running into Lujàn overrode my nosiness and I drove right on by, figuring maybe Geary would have the scoop.

Geary wasn't home, nor were his neighbors, so no luck on Dickless news. "Dang, dawg, guess we'll have to wait until we get back to the boat to learn the latest from Café Olé's Facebook page. By the way, do you have a Facebook page?"

Po Thang, who was happily perched in the passenger seat cocked his head and probably wondered if Facebook had anything to do with food. He'd recovered rapidly from his pig fest the night before and ate his own bowl of breakfast
menudo
. I was somewhat worried about the aftermath of innard soup on
his
innards, so I rolled my window down as a precaution.

A few miles down the road from Burro Beach, I spotted a lot of activity on shore when I rounded the curve at Posada, a Gringo community where the hot springs Jenks and I had recently steeped in burbled up from what I now considered a churning cauldron of unsettled volcanic activity. My nosy meter tweaked, so I turned into the entrance and parked.

Dune buggies, cars and pickups, as well as two Federal Police vehicles and a camo-painted military Hummer shared the beach. People milled about, all looking seaward. Whale shark sighting? I know there is often one in the bay and he always draws a crowd.

I found it ironic that when the Café Olé people were being held virtual hostage only a few miles away the day before, they couldn't even get the local cops to show up.  But a whale shark? Now that's
important
.

I snapped on Po Thang's leash and we sauntered over to see what the fuss was about. Perched on cacti and rocks at the far end of the beach near the rock-lined natural hot tub were about a dozen buzzards. Seagulls wheeled and squalled, but other than that it was a pretty hushed scene considering the number of people milling about.

"So," I said to the first person I encountered, "what's so interesting?"

A tall guy I recognized as a resident of Geary's beach nodded a hello. "Dead guy."

"Drowning accident?"

"You might say that, if gettin' your ass boiled in a hot spring qualifies."

"Well, yuck. I sat in that pool a couple of weeks ago."

"Don't imagine anyone will be getting in there any time soon. Heard he's pretty much well done. Mush."

"Now there's an image to ruin one's whole day. Any idea who it is?"

"Nah, some Mexican."

We were both silent for a while, watching as the police backed a pickup down a beach which, under other circumstances, would qualify as travel brochure material. Now the picturesque sparkling turquoise water and white sand somehow made the tragedy of a death worse.

Another guy joined us and said, "They've been waiting for low tide so they can get the truck to the body. 'Course the lower the tide, the hotter the water and more tender the guy'll be. Wouldn't want their job right now."

Swallowing hard I was backing away from the beach when a waft of breeze carried the scent of cooked flesh at us, invoking memories of last night's
carnitas.
Po Thang whined and I had a gag reflex. To stave off the urge to urp I whirled, rushed back toward my truck and spotted Geary standing by the front bumper.

"Hey, Geary. I stopped by your
palapa
, but guess you've been here. Bummer about the dead guy."

"Hetta, I think you should beat feet out of here. Right now."

"Why? What'd I do?"

"Nothing. But that dead guy? According to rumor, he was involved in that hostage situation a Café Olé."

"Oh, please, please, tell me that salt-water stew is made up of Ricardo Lujàn." 

Geary grinned but shook his head. "You better hope not. After all, you and this Dickless dude have a history, and the cops around here will be rounding up the usual suspects."

Crap, hadn't thought about that. 

Geary told me to drive down to the next beach and he'd meet me there with more information about the dead guy. By the time I parked at Santispac, Geary caught up with me in his dune buggy.

Po Thang roamed the beach in search of generous campers while Geary and I sat in my pickup. He brought me up to date.

"Café Olé's Facebook page said they'd hired an off-duty cop to spend the night there last night. It was chilly out, so he was holed up in the restaurant trying to keep warm when he saw a couple of pickups pull in front of the hotel."

"With the full moon it was like daylight out there, so he probably got a pretty good look."

Geary nodded. "He figured the goons were bringing in reinforcements, so he woke up the owners of the place and alerted them. Philly, Joe, and the cop sat up all night, worried that maybe there would be an attack, but come dawn the hoodlums had vanished. Just like that, not a soul in sight."

"When I drove by a little while ago the rocks blocking the road were gone."

"Yep, Joe was on the radio this morning announcing that Café Olé is open for business as usual."

"And now maybe Lujàn is doing a slow boil?"

"Lucky for Joe and Philly they had that cop with them. A foolproof alibi if ever there was one, in case it turns out there was foul play."

"So, you think maybe one of the hired guns, after they left the hotel blockade,  just got drunk and fell asleep in the hot spring? It happens, you know."

"Could be. Anyhow, I think it's best if you stay away for a while, until we find out more about whose body that is."

I didn't need convincing. The whole thing gave me the creeps, not because I was worried about Luján, but about
me
if he was dead.

I'd planned to stop in Mulege, hit Saul Davis's grocery store for some American goodies—Polish sausage and Alpo were on the list, and I'd heard he carried Velveeta!—but the Café Olé thing sent me straight back to
Raymond Johnson
, and the phone.

"Jan, Dickless might be dead!"

"You killed him?"

"Not that I wouldn't mind, but I was with you, remember?"

"Anything you want me to say."

I shot her the finger, even though she couldn't see it.

"I saw that, Hetta."

"Good."

"Anyhow, what happened to Lujàn?"

"Maybe nothing. I saw the police throw a body bag into the back of their pickup and Geary told me rumor has it that it was one of the perps from Café Olé, which, by the way, is goon free and open for business. The dead guy was found simmering in the Posada hot spring this morning, so hope springs eternal."

"That, Hetta, was a truly lame joke. But, uh-oh."

"What, uh-oh?"

"Well, you
do
have a history there."

"I know, I know. That's what Geary said,
if
it turns out to be Dickless. But I have an alibi. I was with you guys, thank the Lord."

"No, I mean a history of your men gettin', you know, parboiled."

"That's ridiculous. Okay, so my ex-so-called fiancé's body was found in the hot tub at my old house back in Oakland, but that was eons ago and even the police agreed I had nothing to do with it. Anyhow, like I said, I was in Lopez Mateos with you."

"Not exactly."

"What,
exactly
, Miss Jan?"

"You went off by yourself to commune with whales in the moonlight. You even said you might sleep out there until I told you those dunes harbored scorpions and that the last time, and I do mean the
last
time, Chino and I camped there we found at least a dozen under our tent when we broke camp."

"And that is exactly why Po Thang and I returned to the house in Lopez Mateos. I hate sleeping with critters."

"Oh, come on Hetta, you've slept with lots of critters."

The body of a dead enemy always smells sweet.—Titus Flavious Vespasian

NOT!—Hetta Coffey

As soon as I returned to the boat I'd rubbed Vicks vapor-rub in my nostrils to obliterate the stench of what I hoped was, at the same time hoped wasn't, Luján au jus.

If it was the jerk, I probably should have felt some bit of remorse for his family, but figured he probably hadn't gotten around to stealing one.

After I gave Jan the latest news, I called Jenks to let him know El Lujàn was maybe dead. Jenks wasn't exactly grief-stricken; after all, he'd launched a Molotov cocktail at the little creep once himself. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," he said. "How'd you do it?"

"Very funny. You're the one who said you'd deal with him when we talked last night. So, how'd
you
do it?

"Hey, I'm in Dubai, I have an alibi."

"Was that a very bad attempt at poetry? Gosh, between you and Jan I feel sooo supported." I told him what she said about my ever so slight connection to dead guys in hot tubs.

"Coincidence? You be the judge," he teased, using one of my favorite lines. "Just ribbing you, sweetheart. Well, if it is him, someone saved me a lot of time and money."

"How's that?"

"I was trying to hire you a bodyguard."

"You're kidding? I don't know whether to be grateful or pissed off."

"Stick with grateful, it'll make both our days go better. And as for you having anything to do with his death, do the math. Could you possibly have left Chino's cousin's house, driven to Conception Bay, found Lujàn, somehow lured him away from his armed guards and killed him in the time frame allowed? You and Jan saw him mid-morning one day and the next morning he's bouillabaisse."

"Oh, crap, Jenks, you have laid waste to any future desire for one of my fave dishes." 

"Sorry about that. Okay, let's count the hours. You were with Jan and Chino's family until what time?"

"I left the house around six so I could get to the dunes in time to watch the moon rise. It takes around three hours to drive from there to Café Olé. So, say, six hours round trip, maybe a little less, but remember it was nighttime, Saturday night of Semana Santa, and even with a full moon Mex 1 is no picnic. I'm sure a racer from the Baja 1000 could cut that time in half, but not me, and certainly not in a Ford Ranger."

"Okay, let's say six hours. You left at six, that
could
put you at Café Olé at nine and then you're back in Lopez Mateos by midnight. What time did you return to the house from your whale-watching expedition."

"Rats. About midnight. We pussyfooted in, although Po Thang would probably take exception to the term. The lights were out and we didn't want to wake anyone.  Ask Po Thang, he'll vouch for me."

Hearing his name, Po Thang sprang to his feet and stared at the fridge.

"Po Thang would have been a character witness for O.J. if there was steak in that glove. You might conjure up a more credible witness or two. Was anyone else out on the dunes?"

"Yes!" I pumped my fist into the air. "A busload of Japanese tourists. They even petted Po Thang. I told them I'd lived in Tokyo and found out one couple actually live in my building. Not when I was there, but they live there now. And, their tour guide translated when we got all fouled up between my lousy Japanese and their English."

"Well, there you go. Besides, that timeline of only six hours to drive round trip back to Conception Bay, off Lujàn and then get back to the house by midnight wouldn't hold up with the US cops, but I think Geary's right; cops, Mexican or otherwise, always go for the obvious suspect first. Is anyone at Conception Bay besides Geary aware that you know Lujàn?"

"Nope."

"See, no worries. Besides you have a perfectly reasonable alibi."

"Jenks, where I come from the phrase, some folks just need killin', is a perfectly reasonable alibi for people like Lujàn."

"Listen, Dorothy, you're not in Texas anymore. Write down everything you remember about that tour bus and any other people on the beach in case you need to find them. How come you went whale watching without Jan and Chino?"

"Jan said she'd seen enough whales for a lifetime and Chino had a hot domino game scheduled with his cousins."

"No wonder you left. You never win at dominos."

"Only when I play you, Jenks. I kick ass when challenging mere mortals."

He chuckled. He and I have played hundreds of games. I think I've won ten. One should know better than to play a game of chance with someone who spent twenty years in the navy, but playing against him had honed my skills tremendously, so I was hell on wheels with regular players.

We said our goodbyes and I longed to be beamed up and over to Dubai instead of spending a lonely night on the boat. At least maybe I didn't have to worry about Dickless Richard skulking around. That didn't keep me from activating my alarm and locking all doors.

Even with Jenks's reassurances, I tossed and turned all night, jumping up on occasion to jot down things like the name on the tour bus. Then I remembered the couple whose campsite Po Thang invaded saying they were staying there another week, and made a note to call one of Chino's cousins and ask him to locate the campers on the dunes and get a name and address. I also had one ear tuned for the sound of
federales
swooping down on the boat.

I finally drifted off, only to sit straight up in bed. Pictures! I'd given everyone at the marina a photo of Lujàn and told them to be on the lookout for him. Crap! So much for no one in the area being able to connect me to the dead guy, should it come up. Once again, lack of a local newspaper might prove useful. 

Any chance of going back to sleep was long gone, so I decided to go to work at first light.

I'd cleared it with the head dude, Bert, to bring Po Thang with me to work this week, so long as I didn't try to put
him
on the payroll. It had crossed my mind; that dawg can
eat
.

A wildly thumping tail told me Safety had arrived at the office before he even entered the building. Po Thang's second favorite thing, food being first, seemed to be Safety. I had to admit that even though the man was still on my suspect list for the attempted murder of Rosario, those Robert Redford looks put the occasional wag in my own tail, as well. His obvious admiration of the lovely Jan, however vexing to the old ego, was probably a good thing considering Jenks was halfway around the world.

"Hiya, Hetta. How was your weekend?"

"Okay."
Except for some guy getting offed with me as a possible suspect
.

"Just okay? I thought you and Jan had grand plans."

"Jan had grand plans. I went along for the ride. What'd you do?"

"Went fishing."

"Get lucky?"

"Hetta, shame on you. A gentleman never discusses his dalliances."

"You dallied? You dog."

"Ha! You jealous? That sounded jealous to me."

"Safety, I'm taken, remember? How can I be jealous? Anyhow, get on with your story. Sounds like a good one."

"Since the fish weren't biting, I went ashore for some food and ended up at a dance on the beach. Great band, cold beer."

"Hot dames?"

"Some. Danced my "Boot Scootin' Boogie" off."

"Next time maybe I'll go with you. I love to scoot. Unfortunately, with Jenks, not so much."

"Your Jenks can't dance?"

"It's not that he doesn't, he thinks he
can
. It ain't pretty, but very endearing."

Safety found this highly amusing and when he quit laughing he said, "Can't wait to meet Jenks and tell him how lucky he is."

"That he thinks he can dance?"

"No, that he found you before I did. Wish you'd been at that do at Santispac Saturday night. We'd a cut a rug."

He winked and left me with my jaw resting on my boobs.

I'm not so sure what surprised me the most, that Safety said he wished he found me before Jenks did, or that Safety was at Conception Bay Saturday night, right down the beach from where that body was found.

Po Thang and I spent a blessedly quiet week together at the office, he sleeping most of the day under my desk between ball-throwing sessions with various mine employees on their breaks, and emptying the company fridge. Having an office dog boosted my popularity and gave me an opportunity to talk with employees I normally wouldn't, gleaning bits and pieces of job related gossip.

When I needed a break I took Po Thang with me on the hunt for treasures around the jobsite. I come from a long line of beachcombers, rock hounds and dumpster divers. When the personal metal detector first became available, my father was ecstatic, and he still always has the latest, snazziest model. When I was a kid he took me with him on various beaches and jobsites, looking for shark's teeth, old bottles, and anything else excavated by large construction equipment. One of our greatest finds was in a phosphate pit in North Carolina where we unearthed a nine-inch shark tooth that we later learned was from a megalodon about the size of a city bus. That tooth has had a profound effect on my snorkeling activities ever since.

I'd heard Geary mention he'd found Boleite in these hills when he was roaring around in his dune buggy, so I was on the search a couple of days a week. Boleite is a very rare silver species that is found only in this area, and was discovered in the late 1800's by a French mining engineer named Eduoard Cumenge who also found another mineral named after him, cumengite.

Boleite, even though it is technically a form of silver, is clear indigo in color and very rare and can, if you get the right one, be cut into a gemstone. Okay, so it is mostly found in a mine location nearer to Santa Rosalia and my chance of finding any of the little square rocks was nil to none, but then again, I still buy lottery tickets. At least I got some exercise and found other nice rocks, so it wasn't all for naught.

These little rock hunting excursions unfortunately emboldened Po Thang, who wandered off for his own dumpster dive into the mess hall garbage bin and returned smelling like old beans. After that I made him stay inside the office building with me unless someone was watching him. He sulked a little, but Safety took him for a pickup ride which somewhat restored his good nature.

Po Thang charmed everyone he met, even taking a liking to that turd in Purchasing, Osvaldo "Ozzie" Sanchez, which I thought at first was a lack of good judgment, then I realized that this dog doesn't give doodly-squat about who anyone is as long as they speak kindly and hand out treats.

I'm kind of like that myself.

While I looked for clues as to who was robbing the company store, Jan and Rosario did likewise from Camp Chino. Neither said a word in their emails about how Jan was coping with that little green streak she'd developed where Dr. Di was concerned, so I surmised peace reigned.

The Posada/Café Olé incident hung heavy over my head. It was a damned if you do, damned if you don't, situation. If the dead guy wasn't Dickless, I had to worry he'd come looking for me again, and if it was, the police might do the same.

I scanned the Mexican news agencies every night, both hoping to see something and fearing I would. After all, if Lujàn's ugly mug turned up on national television, someone working at the marina could see it and make a connection back to me. Of course, the Mexico City television stations were not exactly the best source for local stuff, but I worried that a murder (if that is what is was) of a local so-called big shot might get a mention.

We were nowhere nearer figuring out who dumped Rosario in the drink, either. Again, if that is what happened. Rosario was certain someone tried to kill him, but I wasn't a hundred percent convinced. I still held on to my cover-up theory, which in itself was bad enough.

Po Thang's popularity enhanced my chances for questioning my fellow workers about the incident, but although there was speculation galore, no one really knew anything. His position had not been refilled, probably due to budgeting problems, which brought me full circle: Follow the money and probably the entire mystery will solve itself.

Frustrated at my lack of progress and unanswered questions, I decided to make a job tour. I signed out a truck and grabbed our orange vests and hard hats as company policy required. Po Thang looked quite jaunty in his vest and hard hat, but keeping the hat on him proved a losing battle. Safety had issued Po Thang's gear. His hat read: I BRAKE FOR ORES AND BARS