“This old thing?” I said, fingering the ruby. “A garnet, actually. Family heirloom. Had it for years. Say, could you gather everyone on the foredeck? It’s almost time.”
“Only if you’ll tell me what’s under that drape over the transom.”
“You’ll find out when everyone else does. Did you put your hard earned bucks in the name pool?”
“Yep. Put my money on Coffee Break. Was I right?”
“Gee, you’re the detective, why don’t you tell me?”
“Smart ass,” he said, and left to round everyone up.
I took RJ’s urn from the coffee table and worked my way forward. I was glad the breeze had dropped to nil so RJ would scatter over the water, not my decks. Convention called for throwing ashes from the transom, but I didn’t want to confuse my duck. RJ, I’m sure, would understand. Food, or the promise of food, is nothing to muck about with. Jan scattered an entire bowl of popcorn aft to distract Eco before she joined us on the bow.
Craigosaurus did the honors, first with a toast to a grand mutt, then he began reading a little ceremonial speech that sounded suspiciously like the one used at my grandmother’s funeral. “Those of us who loved RJ knew what a great contribution he made to society,” he began, but then he grinned, put down the book and adlibbed a glowing tribute. When he finished, we all had tears in our eyes. Even the poodle looked a little misty, but I think that was because Raoul wouldn’t let him go after Eco.
The talking done, there was nothing left but for me to open the urn and dump the ashes. Which I did. Only, at the very moment I upended the urn, a strong gust blew all the ashes right back at us, covering the entire party in a fine dusting of RJ. After a stunned silence, we all began to laugh and I could swear I got a whiff of dog fart.
After a light lunch it was time for my unveiling.
For this, we moved to the dock and offloaded our guests. Eco refused to leave the dive platform, stubbornly maintaining his position in case a couple of hors d’oeuvres escaped a tray.
I stood on the aft deck and loosened the strings holding the tarp covering the transom. Hoisting a glass of bubbly on high, I doused the duck, let go the tarp and announced, “I christen this ship the motor vessel Raymond Johnson.”
I know I smelled a dog fart.
We lose sight of what we really need and want—someone to love and a good boat that will stick with us through our lives—Ferenc Máté
Chic, alors!—Hetta Coffey
The end
Raised in the jungles of Haiti and Thailand, with returns to Texas in-between, Jinx followed her father's steel-toed footsteps into the Construction and Engineering industry in hopes of building dams. Finding all the good rivers taken, she traveled the world defacing other landscapes with mega-projects in Alaska, Japan, New Zealand, Puerto Rico and Mexico.
Like the protagonist in her mystery series, Hetta Coffey, Jinx was a woman with a yacht—and she's not afraid to use it—when she met her husband, Mad Dog Schwartz. They opted to become cash-poor cruisers rather than continue chasing the rat, sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge, turned left, and headed for Mexico. They now divide their time between Arizona and Mexico's Sea of Cortez.
Jinx's seventh book in her award-winning series, Just Deserts: Book Four of the Hetta Coffey mystery series, was recently released.
Her other books include a YA fictography of her childhood in Haiti (Land of Mountains), an adventure in the Sea of Cortez (Troubled Sea) and an epic novel of the thirty years leading to the fall of the Alamo (The Texicans).
For more on Jinx and her books go to: www.jinxschwartz.com
Just Add Water (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 1)) Page 32