Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 5) (22 page)

We made too many wrong mistakes.—Yogi Berra

Sweet Pea cove is named for a hapless sailboat that was caught on the lee shore when a hurricane passed and the wind suddenly changed direction. The gale was so fierce their small engine couldn't power into it enough to raise the anchor, and when they cut the anchor line to escape it wrapped the prop, sealing their fate. Fortunately for the people on board they jumped to safety when the boat hit the beach. Two other boats that did manage to move to the relative safety of the other side of an outcropping took in the wet, frightened sailors. Pieces of
Sweet Pea
can still be found on the beach.

Matter of fact, the shores of the Sea of Cortez are littered with wrecks, each one with its own sad story. In 2003 over a hundred boats and two marinas were destroyed by Hurricane Marty and many vessels can still be seen either in pieces or semi-submerged. Over the centuries hundreds, maybe thousands, of boats of all sizes have met a nasty end due to the freakish nature of the Sea's weather, but wrecks that pose a hazard are, for the most part, marked on charts. Once in awhile, though, a cruiser gets a nasty surprise when they hook a wreck and lose an anchor. It is for this reason that every time I anchor I mark the location in my GPS, so I can avoid snagging something the next time, but also so I can return to that anchorage in the dark.

And, as Jan and I had already learned the year before at a nearby anchorage, just because the weather is benign when you go to bed, it isn't guaranteed to stay that way. It was that harrowing middle of the night anchor drill that had Jan spooked about leaving a nice safe marina, but lobster always trumps worry.

We were the only cruising boat in the cove. Once anchored we took my panga,
Se Vende
, to shore and let Po Thang run wild while I scored a couple of sea bass, three lobsters and a half-kilo of illegal shrimp (the best kind) at the fish camp. I worried when Po Thang charged in and out of the water near the camp, afraid he'd pick up a fish hook or go after a stingray, but he was so happy I didn't have the heart to curb his joy.

Back at the boat I made him stay in
Se Vende
until we hosed him down with fresh water and then once we let him on deck, Jan gave him a shampoo. He took it all in stride, probably thinking this boat thing at anchor was a blast. I was thinking what a pain in the ass a large, hairy boat dog can be. Maybe I should convert
Se Vende
into a dog house?

We ate our dinner of broiled sea bass and lobster and were finishing the one glass of wine—albeit a large one—allowed while at anchor, when Po Thang's tail went into overdrive. Sure enough, rounding the point came
Lucifer
, bristling with fishing poles. The Gang of Four pulled alongside.

"Ahoy there," Safety hollered above the whaler's engine noise. "I wondered where you went. Looks like you two had the same idea as we did to get away for a night."

"Ya gonna sleep four guys on that little boat?" Jan asked.

"That an offer?"

"Nope."

"Shoot. In that case we'll stick to our original plan and head for the hotel at Café Olé in Conception Bay. Maybe hit that bar at Santispac for some beer and dancing on the way. Want to go?"

"No thanks, we'll hang here. You can speed down there in no time, but it would take us way too long," I told him. As if I'd even consider taking off with our four major suspects.

"Yeah, we gotta get on down the road if we want to make if before dark. Have fun."

"You too," I said with a wave. Then with a wink at Jan, I added, "Hey, you might want to try out that hot spring at Posada while you're there."

"Great idea. Thanks."

They sped south, their huge engines throwing a four-foot rooster tail in their wake.

Jan turned to me with an evil grin. "I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to be your friend."

We finished off our wine and moved into the galley to do the dishes that Po Thang had so kindly pre-cleaned.

In the middle of that chore, I had an epiphany.

"Jan, let's go back to the dock. We can still make it before dark if I put the pedal to the metal."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Nothing that a couple of turtlenecks, leggings and knit caps, all in black, of course, and a credit card won't fix."

Since it was Saturday night and Mexicans are notorious late nighters, we waited until three AM to make our foray up the hill and park a block away from Bert's house. At that hour Po Thang wasn't really miffed at being left on the boat.

We sat in the car with the windows down, listening and watching for anyone who may have noticed our arrival, but the neighborhood was as quiet as a cemetery. Even the hospital was dimly lit and the parking lot empty. Without street lights and only a few lit porches—thankfully not on our targets' houses—the going was slow as we crept up the street. When we were almost there, several dogs set up barking, freezing us in our tracks, but I've noticed that in Mexico dogs are always barking and no one pays any attention. For some reason Mexicans seem to have an enviable ability to tune them out. No lights came on so we continued on our mission.

Three company pickups were lined up in front of the darkened houses. We'd seen Safety's dually where he left it, in the marina parking lot.

I pointed out Bert's large Victorian for Jan, and the two smaller ones on either side that housed the other three men. "Which one should we hit first?" I whispered.

Jan didn't hesitate. "The big kahuna's. Bert has to be the gang leader."

We went right through the front door, using a credit card to open the simple lock. Once in, I exhaled loudly, letting go a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and asked, "So, what are we looking for?'

"You're asking me? This was your bright idea."

Now that I thought about it, what exactly did I expect to find? Surely he wouldn't leave incriminating evidence laying around in plain sight. "I dunno. Maybe get a feel for his contacts outside of work. I mean, if he's making off with money, it must be going somewhere."

"So, ya wanna check under the mattress?"

"Sarcasm has it's place, and this is not it."

"I wasn't being sarcastic. I mean it."

We headed for the bedroom.

I put my penlight in my mouth, like in the movies, and felt on one side of the bed while Jan did likewise on the other.

"I've got something," Jan said, so I joined her. She fished out a handful of envelopes and laid them on the bed. One was from a Canadian bank showing deposits of paychecks. "Jeez, this guy is pulling in the dough. Maybe I should try to get his job when he gets the boot."

"Yeah, Hetta, you're certainly qualified. You said project managers should be ass-kicking meanies."

I hit her on the head with the envelope. There were a few pieces of personal correspondence: a birthday card to the best uncle ever, a nasty letter from the soon-to-be ex and an equally devastating letter from her lawyer.

As I was sorting through them, Jan spit out her penlight and said, "Paydirt."

"Whatcha got?"

"Exactly what everyone tells you not to have: a list of his passwords and PINs. Uh, did we bring anything to write on?"

"Crap."

While Jan replaced everything except her big find back under the mattress, I made my way into the kitchen and found a drawer containing ballpoints and note pads. There was also a phone number list. We sat at the kitchen table and while Jan copied one list, I did the other. We carefully replaced everything and were almost to the exit door when we heard a noise and hit the floor.

Turning off the penlights, we lay still, ears pricked. Nothing. After what seemed an eternity but was probably five minutes, Jan said, "Let's go."

I agreed, and was pushing myself onto my knees when something hit me in the head and let out a horrifying screech. Or maybe that was me.

The emergency room reception area was dark, but since the front door was unlocked, we figured someone must be around. While I cradled my swelling hand and neck, Jan went in search of anyone who could help.

She returned dragging a sleepy looking guy by his white coat sleeve.

Luckily for me epinephrine is
epinefrina
in Spanish.

Did I mention that I am highly allergic to cats?

It was almost dawn when we dragged ourselves back onto the boat. I was jazzed by the shot that jangled my nerves and sent my blood pressure soaring but thankfully opened my bronchial tubes.

Po Thang sniffed me suspiciously, probably thinking I'd been unfaithful. Jan, in an ill-timed attempt at humor, said I indeed looked like something the cat dragged in.

"Not at all funny. Who the hell ever heard of an attack cat? And how come he didn't savage you instead of me?"

"Gee thanks."

"Sorry, what I mean is, you aren't allergic. Boy, I could really use a glass of wine before we turn in."

"I'm sure gonna have one, but I don't know if you should, Hetta, what with that shot and all."

"You get the wine, I'll Google it."

WARNING: Using chlorpheniramine (epinephrine) together with ethanol (booze) can increase nervous system side effects such as dizziness, drowsiness and difficulty concentrating. Some people may also experience impairment in thinking and  judgment.

Jan returned with two glasses and bottle of chilled white wine. "What'd you find out."

"Wine shouldn't have any effect at all on my normal state of being."

Where there's smoke, there's fire.

I didn't wake until noon, and even then it was a struggle to pull myself from what was probably a self-induced near epinedrine/wine coma.

Jan sat on the edge of the bed and Po Thang stood over me, licking my face.

"Phuhh, dawg! Get off me."

"He's just concerned. I was gonna get a mirror to see if you had enough breath to fog it up."

"Speaking of breath, what in the hell did you feed this dog this morning?"

"Raccoon shit."

"What?"

"Well, I'm not certain, but I caught him chewing something that looked like it."

I shoved Po Thang off the bed and was reaching to throttle Jan when she deftly avoided my intended choke hold and sashayed to the door. "Your breakfast is ready," she cooed over her shoulder. "Po Thang left you some."

"Why are you being so crappy?" I asked Jan when I managed to get out of bed and haul myself up to the main saloon.

"I saw that Google search you did last night. Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Busted. "I really wanted a glass of wine and figured it wouldn't hurt anything."

"In spite of what you read."

"Oh, come on Jan. Everyone knows you can't believe anything you see on the Internet."

Coffee and eggs helped my recovery. Jan dosed the cat scratches on my neck and hands with peroxide and antibiotic cream as instructed. Luckily there were no bite wounds, but just in case the intern gave me a prescription for antibiotics. Jan had gone into town, found an open
farmacia
and filled it for me. A good thing, too. Heaven knows what bacteria lurk in raccoon scat.

She called Chino and I called Jenks.

"Hetta, you don't look so hot," Jenks said. "Are you okay?"

"Rough night. Po Thang ate raccoon poop and then licked my face."

"Oh, sure, blame it on the poor dog. How's your investigation going?"

I brought him up to date, naturally leaving out the boat trip, breaking and entering, and cat attack. "So, to summarize, our friend Rosario isn't what he seems. We had six suspects, but now we're down to five after talking with the Trob. That comptroller we figured was dirty turns out to be the one who hired us. It's all giving me a giant headache."

"It sounds to me like you two may be in over your head. Have you called Nacho yet?"

Jan had sauntered up and was listening in. Skype calls do have privacy issues when you have nosy friends. But then again, she learned from me.

"Hi, Jenks," she said with a wave.

I glared at Jan and shooed her away. "Jenks, I'll call you back when we can talk
privately
. But to answer your question, the Lujàn thing is over. He's still alive, dang it, but has relocated after Nacho evidently strongly suggested he do so. And the guy in the hot spring died of natural causes, so no one is looking for me anymore."

That was a simplified explanation of a complicated plot, but so far as Jenks is concerned, all he really need know.

Jan returned as soon as I hung up. "I still cannot believe Jenks told you to contact Nacho. I mean, what with you lusting after his criminally gorgeous bod and all. How come you didn't tell me you'd called him?"

"Because, Miss Meddles, not all of my bidness is your bidness. And I do not lust, I simply...admire. Anyhow, when I saw him—"

"You saw Nacho? Like in person? And you didn't tell me? Spit it out."

"Only if you'll make an apple pie. And get Topaz's cabin ready."

"No prob, Chica. Matter of fact, I've already cleaned the guest cabin. All I have to do tomorrow morning is change the linens."

"And give me a pedicure."

"It's apple pie or nothing."

"Po Thang, your Auntie Jan drives a hard bargain."

"Woof."

Jan made two apple pies, saying that was the only way there was a snowball's chance in hell there would be any left for Topaz, what with the likes of me and Po Thang onboard. While the pies baked I told Jan about Nacho materializing and what he said about the boiled dude. I skipped his sexy cheek-stroke farewell.

"Did you discuss the Gang of Four?"

"No, but I emailed him a list of characters and what we suspect, just in case he has any input, but haven't heard back yet. I don't think white collar crime is his thing."

"Doncha just wish we knew what his thing
is
?"

We sighed a collective sigh and then got back to work.

While I was comatose she'd started tapping into Bert's information we'd lifted the night before, and we hit the computers so she could show me her findings. The Gang of Four still hadn't returned, but we still worked behind closed blinds and locked doors.

We did take our hot pie and iced tea out on the sundeck later. The fresh air felt wonderful, but a north wind was piping up.
Lucifer
was still not back in her slip and I commented on how they were going to take a pounding on the way home.

"Couldn't happen to a nicer group of guys."

Po Thang sprang alive from an apple pie coma of his own, and started to howl. I'd never heard him do that and it was eerie and chilling, like he was in mourning. Jan and I surrounded him and stroked his ears and back, risking major hearing loss in the process.

"What the hell?" Jan asked, and then we heard the sirens.

From my flying bridge we saw a huge plume of black smoke on the hill. Right by the hospital.

We couldn't get up the hill, as the police blocked our way. Turning around, I took the back road to Cha Cha's house and managed to get within three blocks. Putting Po Thang on a leash, we walked the rest of the way. It looked as though the smoke had diminished some, but was still significant.

I knew the town of Santa Rosalia had fallen victim to a few devastating fires over the years, but nothing had changed in the way of fire prevention except for the trucks. Water is the biggest problem, as there is no reservoir backing up the few fire hydrants in existence. The city water system is simply not sufficient to put down a serious fire, so they have a water truck. I'd heard that during one outbreak the truck ran dry and rushed to a large tank where people could wash cars and fill water jugs. Unfortunately there was a long line where they were forced to wait their turn.

Po Thang had stopped his howling, but still quivered. ChaCha, despite her concerns for her carpet, welcomed Po Thang into the house. I think when he lifted his leg on her faulty dirt hauler, he made a friend forever.

Since the wind had switched and now blew toward their house ChaCha and her neighbors were frantically throwing everything that would fit in their pickup, and other cars her husband was working on, so Jan and I pitched in. Jan drove an ancient Ford packed to the hilt with ChaCha's belongings, then hiked back up the hill. I continued to pack the next vehicle until it was full, then drove it to safety.

Dark fell as we were shuttling cars and belongings. We had just finished when we learned the fire was out. Not fond of the idea of hauling everything back up the hill, Jan and I said we had important business to attend to—not a total lie—and skedaddled.

I left Po Thang in my pickup and went to survey the fire damage. Bert's home was in ashes, as were the adjoining houses, and three company pickups. Safety was lucky his was at the marina.

Across the street, a bewildered little girl stood leaning against her mother. Her arms were wrapped around a singed cat.

He hissed at me.