"Hey!" Jan made a grab for his iPhone, but he deftly stepped aside.
"Oh, no. I must share this on my Facebook page for others to enjoy."
"Glad to be of service," I grumbled. "I need a beer."
Javier, looking way too pleased with our dishevelment, at least handed me a cold Tecate. I sank into a deck chair and examined my scraped knees. Lord only knows what my butt looked like.
Nacho, who hadn't said a word since our return and didn't seem to share Chino's glee at our muddy selves, moved into the chair next to me. "Hetta, we have had news." From his facial expression, I surmised it wasn't good news.
"What now?"
"Another body has been discovered east of here. Very torn up. And, he was wearing a kilt."
After Bubbles left and Po Thang, Jan, and I were cleaned up, we threw together lunch while the guys made calls and checked the Internet for any more details on this latest victim.
"Ya know, Hetta, it might not even be Mac."
"Yeah, right. I hear kilts are all the rage in the Sea of Cortez."
"I guess the bright side is, whatever was up is over. We can go back to La Paz, and Chino and I'll head back to camp and get ready for the whale season. And you?"
"I don't really know. I'll call Jenks and—" I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Oh, hell, you think Nacho will want a refund?"
"Hadn't thought about that. Lemme think. We've been working on this cruise of his for…thirteen days. I'd say the most he could ask for is less than half. Which is still a pretty penny."
"Ain't happening. Just for starters, he got me kidnapped, and forced me to try to flee the country, incurring extra costs in fuel and…upset."
"Upset? Think that'll hold up in court?"
"Matter of fact, now that I think about it, he owes me more money."
"I love the way you can turn any crappy event to suit your bank account."
"It's what I do."
We high-fived. "Anyhow," she said, "if Nacho's still working with Javier and Mac—make that was working with Mac—to investigate the Red Devil thing, I guess he'll stay on the case, and he'll want to do so on your boat. I can hang on for a little longer if you like, but I want to get paid up front, just in case you go and get yourself kilt."
Chapter Forty
We were hooting over Jan's extremely irreverent, inappropriate, tasteless, and just plain bad, kilt line when I caught a movement in my peripheral vision and Javier materialized behind us. "Can I be of help?"
Startled, Jan, who was multitasking as a standup comic and master chef, whirled on him, paring knife raised in threat. In one deft move, the knife was in Javier's hand.
"Don't do that!" Jan screamed.
Po Thang, who had been hanging around hoping for a dropped quart of ice cream or something, tucked tail and took a powder just as Chino rushed to the galley and put his arms around Jan. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
Jan, her cheeks flushed, shook off a combination of chagrin and embarrassment. "Nothin'. Javier startled me, that's all."
Chino turned on Javier and saw the knife in his hand. "What did you do to my darling Jan?"
Javier was speechless, so I jumped to his defense. "Your darling Jan pulled a knife on a federal officer, and he disarmed her. Pretty danged slick move there, Javier. Can you teach me how to do that sometime?"
Nacho joined us. "What's going on? Po Thang jumped into my lap and almost knocked me from my chair."
Po Thang who had slinked back behind Nacho, leaned up against my leg. I scratched his ears. "Jan yelled at Javier, and this poor dog thought she was scolding him. Everyone just calm down and grab a dish. Lunch is ready."
Jan, carrying a bag of potato chips in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, growled, "Gee, thanks for your unflagging support."
"Well, you did look like you were about to filet him."
"He shouldn't sneak up on people holding knives."
"Did anyone bring the Valium?"
Jan pouted throughout most of our lunch, only un-pooching that bottom lip when the conversation turned to Mac.
"I am very confused," Chino said. "Mac told me he and Johnnie might visit the whale camp again soon, but I did not know they were already in La Paz. And Hetta, how did you meet him?"
Nacho spoke up, sidestepping Chino's question. "I think we need a timeline here. I will start it; divers began to be killed by what appeared to be diablos rojas attacks. So, let us start with those Red Devils, and the deaths attributed to them."
We all nodded, but no one spoke up, so Nacho continued. "Javier, your group contacted me to hang out with the cruising fleet and keep my ears open for clues, since some of the men who died were on foreign boats. I also came up with the Grahams to help with investigating what was going on with the squid from a scientific viewpoint."
"Yes, that is so," Javier agreed.
"Who did Mac report to?" I asked.
"To me," Nacho admitted.
"Did you know Mac had helped me free a dolphin from a fishing net?" I wanted to know. "And if so, was he already on your payroll at the time?"
"Ah," Chino said, "it was Art who helped you. Good for him."
"Yes, it was," Nacho continued. "He was actually looking for the dolphin. It had already been reported that an animal in distress was spotted near San Francisco Island, and he went out to find it. But the dolphin came to Hetta for help." Nacho said this with a crooked grin, as if to question the dolphin's judgment. "However, at the time Mac did not know you and I were acquainted."
"But, when he told you we'd met, and how, you then decided to hire my boat to infiltrate the cruising community?"
"It seemed reasonable. At the time."
"Was his wife with him then?"
"No, she was already gone, but we did not know why, or where to. However, when he returned to La Paz right after the dolphin rescue and, instead of returning to his slip at Marina Palmyra, he ended up next to your boat at Marina de la Paz, we became curious as to what he wanted from you."
Jan perked up. "Oh, you know how men flock after Hetta, what with her fatal charm. But then when he kidn—yahhh! Hetta, what the hell?"
I dabbed iced tea from her face, muffling her mouth in the process. "So sorry, Jan, I tripped." I hauled her out of her chair and herded her down into the main cabin. "Let's get you into some dry clothes."
Over my shoulder, I said, "We'll be right back."
At the bottom of the steps Jan balled her fists and attempted to swing on me, but the heavy towel over her head threw off her aim.
"Jan," I hissed, "ix-nay on the earls-pay. There are two men out there we cannot entirely trust."
"Oh, orry-say. Okay, I got it." She dried her hair on the towel. "At least you don't use sugar."
"Let's go back up. No pearls, no guns. No nothing, let them talk."
Jan wrapped the towel into a turban, which on her looked great, and pasted a big smile on her face. "We're back. No harm, no foul. Hetta's clumsy."
Po Thang, always leery of shouts and unscheduled liquids, was hunkered down between Nacho and Chino, who both had that look of discomfort men get when women act up. Javier, on the other hand, was the picture of suspicion.
"Now, where were we?" I asked cheerfully.
"Jan was saying something about Mac?"
"It was not important. Let's stay with the timeline. Nacho, who contacted the Trob in order to charter Raymond Johnson?"
"It was arranged through the Mexican justice department. At my suggestion."
"So now that you and Javier were in cahoots, investigating the diver deaths, you were also still working with Mac, whom you suspected may have offed his wife?"
They both nodded.
"Why were you at the bajo? What is out there?"
"Actually, he didn't know he did it, but Mac led us there. We had him under surveillance, because we were suspicious that he was covering something up. Maybe the death of his wife, but we were also beginning to wonder if he was trying to protect the squid."
"Pr
otect the squid? How nuts is that?" I blurted.
Chino shook his head. "Not so nuts. I, too, was reluctant to blame the squid in an attack reported near Loreto, and that story has since been proved a hoax. Unfortunately, I was one of the scientists who caught a poor innocent squid for testing. It has to be the low point of my career."
Jan patted his shoulder. "You didn't know. By the way, did you ever discuss this incident with Mac?"
"Not personally, but I addressed the situation in an article in the MarineBio Newsletter, and he probably read it."
"So," I looked at Javier, "you hired the Graham team to get the truth about the squid attacks, and something went awry?"
He was clearly not understanding the word, awry, so Chino quickly translated.
"Yes." He scowled, as though unhappy with Mac's findings. "He seemed certain the squid were not to blame, but we disagree. Since the Tourista Bureau," his emphasis on tourista, almost spitting it, made clear his feelings for one of the most powerful offices in Mexico, "never wants bad, uh, publicidad they prefer to bury the truth. We have made no progress and divers still die."
Jan and I exchanged a grin at his use of tourista, a euphemism in Mexico for Montezuma's Revenge.
I looked to Nacho for the story to continue, but he tilted his head, cut his eyes skyward and lifted his palms in a ¿quien sabe? gesture. Who knows?
"Okay, then, Nacho. Answer this. What next?"
Javier spoke up. "I suggest we all return to La Paz."
I shook my head. "Not for a few days. I have, uh, things to do out here." There was no way I was telling this fed I'd made Mac a promise I'd stay put. "Anyone who wants to leave better go with Javier."
My loyal crew and friends all said they were staying with the ship, so Javier gathered his things and left.
As soon as he was out of the anchorage, Jan asked, "Okay, tell me again why we aren't heading for port."
"I told Mac, as part of the deal I made with him, I would stay here a few days. He kept his end and returned Nacho to us, or at least I think he did, so I'm staying put."
"Hetta, he's probably dead."
"Doesn't matter. I said I would, and I will. If you don't want to stay, Nacho can take you in when you're ready. Right Nacho?"
"No."
"No?"
"I think we must all stay to protect you from yourself. It is surely more than I can do on my own."
Chapter Forty-One
I was still stuck sleeping on the settee, but I had to admit I was soothed some by Jan, Chino, and Nacho remaining on board. There were still too many unanswered questions, and possibilities for trouble, for me to feel totally at ease hanging out for no apparent reason, waiting for heaven only knew what.
But, a deal is a deal.
And, Mac did mention making me rich. 'Course, him being dead might put a kink in that scenario, but hope springs eternal.
Going over the timeline, cast of characters, and possible reasons for the whole mess, didn't do much for my sleep patterns, and I found myself at all hours on the Internet, researching people, boats, agencies, and even giant squid rumors—anything at all connected to me for the past month.
When I did finally drift off, Po Thang invariably snored, twitched, and dream-yipped. At one time I let him have the settee and caught an hour or so on the floor. I awoke feeling like I'd slept on a floor. Go figure.
Back at the computer, I started to Google, for at least the fourth time, Doctor Artherrrr MacKenzie Gra-ham. This time, however, I left off the Doctor title and, on page four, hit pay dirt. Art Graham had competed in the 1996 Olympics in, of all things, long distance swimming. Hello? The guy who wanted me to think he was going to drown when I threw him off my boat? That Art Graham? I read more. Yep, that be he.
I added this interesting, but useless, information to my growing file, made a note that Dr. Graham is a sneaky devil, and went on to look into Javier's group, the PGR, and what the Justice Department in Mexico actually does. What a surprise: they investigate stuff.
"What are you looking for?" Nacho said over my shoulder, danged near scaring the pee out of me.
"For crying out loud, don't do that!" I screeched. Po Thang looked guilty, and Nacho backed away, hands up defensively. "I am sorry."
"You sure are. Make coffee, at least."
He hurried to the galley and, while loading the coffee pot, asked, "Did you know, Café, that the PGR is headed by a woman?"
"You were reading over my shoulder. Not nice. Isn't having a woman as the head cop a bit progressive for Mexico? And anyhow, what's that got to do with anything?"
"Many did not like it when she took over."
"Dissention in the ranks?"
"Yes. They think she is soft on crime."
"I'd say that wouldn't be one of the best qualifications for the head of the Justice Department. So, is she soft on all crime, or just the cartels?"
"Ha. Without the cartels, Mexico would just be a nation of petty criminals. I long for the days when all you had to worry about was your hub caps."
"Those guys all moved to East LA."
"Hey, I resemble that remark, Café."
"Speaking of that, just where are you from? Your fake drivers license says Los Angeles. But then again, that one has a fake name, as well."
"If I tell you, I will have to kill you."
Jan wandered in. "Thank goodness. Someone needs to."
"What did I do now?" I demanded.
"You ate all the ice cream."
"I did not!"
"Then where is it?"
I went to the galley and rummaged in the freezer. No ice cream.
Po Thang followed on my heels and I almost stepped on him when I turned back to Jan. "That rat, Mac. He ate it all! If he wasn't already dead, we'd have a case for justifiable homicide on our hands!"
"We could dig out the ice cream maker, but I need cream to make French custard," Jan said, "and milk. I need fresh milk, not canned."
"Or," Nacho suggested, "we could do without ice cream for the next two or three days?"
"Blasphemy!" we shouted.
"Ooor," Jan pointed at Nacho, "one of us could make a run into La Paz. It's not like you have anything else to do. You can fish on the way and, quite frankly, we're tired of you hanging around here all day. Take Po Thang and Chino with you so Hetta and I can have some girl time. Maybe we'll take a nice beach walk."
He sighed in resignation. "Do you want fresh cream, canned crema, or milk?"
"All. One cannot be too penurious in such matters."
After our trio of guys left, one of them wagging his tail in glee at the prospect of a boat ride, Jan and I gathered up all the gear required for a day at the beach. It was easier without a dog to pack for, so I decided to do some fishing, maybe even catch something. Hey, it could happen.
"Okay, Hetta, we'll drag a line around for awhile, but, in the off-chance you catch something besides bottom, you clean it."
"Deal." I stuck my handy filet knife in my pocket. "I'll get us the bait. We have some squid in the fish freezer," I volunteered, even though the idea of squid was not all that appealing after all the horror stories of late. On the other hand, maybe there was a soupçon of justice there?
I dug down into the chest freezer, holding my breath because of the lingering scent of old seafood that no amount of cleaning gets rid of, searching for a bag of squid pieces. At the very bottom I found cartons of designer ice cream. What kind of idiot puts ice cream in the fish freezer? Especially when a pint of the stuff costs twelve dollars in Mexico?
"Hey, Jan, I found the ice cream. It's in the bait freezer."
"Well, yuck. Why on earth did you put it there?"
"I didn't." I took out the cartons, but they didn't feel right. "I'm almost afraid to open this. God knows what fishy ice cream smells like."
Jan grabbed one. "I'll do it, you chicken. Crimeny, Hetta. You eat kimchi, how much worse can this smell?"
She ripped off the top and almost choked.
"Ha! Tol
d you."
She gagged again and held out the carton. "Look!"
I held my nose and moved closer. Nestled in the carton were bits of previously rotted oyster that, even frozen, stank worse than, well, Po Thang's farts.
And there were pearls.
Lots and lots of pearls.
We completely forgot about going to the beach.
Chapter Forty-two
We soaked all those lovely pearls in a bucket of salt water, then cleaned them carefully, one by one, rubbing them with table salt and a towel to remove oyster yuck. Once they were dried, we put them into a good-sized plastic mixing bowl. It took a couple of hours to complete the job.
"Holy moly, Hetta, we gotta have several hundred pearls here. Maybe a thousand. Wanna count 'em?"
"I told you Mac said he'd make me rich. And the last time I saw him—" I had a flashback of Mac swimming away from the boat, and calling me a name. "Oh, my, God! He yelled at me and I thought he had come up with something more colorful than hoor. He shouted, 'Haggendass.' Haagen-Daz! As in, ice cream! Where are those cartons?"
"In zip-bags. I wrapped them in garbage bags, then in zip-bags, and they still stink, so I threw them into DawgHouse. I'm gonna take them to shore and burn them."
"We need to see if we missed anything. He knew if I found them, he was probably a goner. In that case, don't you think he'd leave a note of some kind?"
"Get out the rebreathers if we are to survive."
Even breathing oxygen, the rotten oyster smell sneaked through, but at least it wasn't as bad as first hand. On the bottom of the first carton we found written, with a black marker pen, the name, Johnnie, and a boat name, Pelicano. That shrimper again.
"You think he meant to tell us they have Johnnie?"
"That's my guess. It's all about pearls, Miz Jan. Pure and simple. Gathering pearls is illegal and, obviously, they are doing it on a grand scale. If this is only a smattering of the take, there's enough moola involved to make any lying, murdering, kidnapping, schmuck salivate."
"You're drooling, schmuck."
Just Different Devils Page 21