“Let me talk to Jenks about that. I don’t want to put you in danger.”
“Never stopped you before. Gotta get on the plane, I’ll call from Loreto.”
❋
I called Jenks back and told him, “I find it hard to believe Nacho would stay at the dock for the night in a stolen boat, but on the other hand, he has the cojones of a Brangus stud bull.”
“And you know this, how?” Jenks teased. Nacho made no secret that if it weren’t for Jenks he’d be all over me like habanero sauce on a taco, but Jenks took it all in stride.
“Figure of speech. Anyhow, Jan should be at the marina in a little less than four hours.”
“Wow, what luck. Let’s put our thinking caps on and decide what we want her to do, just in case she does find them still at the marina. The last thing we want is for her to tip them off that we’re tracking Raymond Johnson. And if Nacho is on to something big enough to swipe your boat, we sure as hell don’t want to screw it up for him.”
“What?” My voice rose a few octaves. “He steals my boat and you’re worried about him? Besides, why didn’t he take his own damned boat? Sure a lot faster.”
“And smaller and flashier. Until we’re certain what’s up with this mess, we just don’t want to do anything rash. Calm down, Red.”
Evidently Jenks never heard the saying, “Telling an upset Texas woman to calm down is about as effective as trying to baptize a cat.”
“Hetta, you there?”
“Yes,” I said, a little curtly. “I’ll call you when I hear from Jan.”
I hung up and screamed, scaring the hell out of Po Thang.
❋
On pins and needles waiting for Jan’s call, I packed up Trouble’s and Po Thang’s stuff in my parents’ house and moved it to the RV. After helping Mother and Daddy load their own RV, we moved most of their furniture into the one area that wasn’t being renovated while they were gone: the garage.
Dad had hired a couple of guys to help move the big stuff earlier in the day, but we had our hands full with the rest. By the time Jan called from Loreto, I was so tired I’d almost forgotten she was going to.
“I saw them from the plane! Two guys on board,” she said, excitement in her voice, “and I’m pretty sure one of them was Nacho!”
I was suddenly reinvigorated. “In Santa Rosalia?”
“Yep, at the fuel dock, no less.”
“Wow, didn’t know the plane got that close.”
“Well, I sorta got the pilot to let me in the cockpit, told him I was looking for friends at the marina, and he sorta changed his flight pattern a little.”
“How did you…oh never mind.” Why bother asking how a tall, drop-dead gorgeous blonde got herself sorta invited into the cockpit of a Mexican airliner.
“I’m walking out to get my Jeep from the airport parking lot right now, and I should be in Santa Rosalia in a little over two hours.”
“I’d say watch your speed, but you won’t listen. You never do.”
“There’s the pot callin’ the kettle black.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll call Jenks and discuss what comes next. Call me from Mulege when you pick up cell service there. But don’t do anything about my boat until you hear back from us.”
“Roger that, Boss.”
❋
Before I could talk to Jenks, Antoine called.
“Hi Mom,”
“You got the results.”
“Yes. Ninety-nine point nine percent certain. I am your son.”
“Antoine, I knew it all along, but I am glad you now have proof positive. I’m happy for both of us.”
When I hung up with Antoine I delayed calling Jenks, instead rushing to Mom and Dad’s RV, where they were loading it with food, clothes, and every imaginable tool known to exist.
“It’s official! You have a grandson!”
“Oh, Hetta, that is great news. He is such a wonderful young man. Is he coming back soon so you can celebrate together?”
“No, he’s tied up at the university. And we have one more DNA test to run. We’ve only established for certain that I am his birth mother. Since that first test didn’t turn up anything obvious on the paternal side, we have to dig deeper. Antoine is being tested professionally to delve into his father’s roots.”
“Hetta, why don’t you just call his father and tell him?” my mother wanted to know.
“I don’t want Antoine hurt. I have no idea what Jean Luc will think or say, so I want to be able to show him absolute proof when I tell him.”
Neither of my parents voiced the question that had to be lurking in their thoughts: why was I so reluctant to call Jean Luc with my news? Was it because maybe I wasn’t certain Jean Luc was Antoine’s father?
“Is…” my mother, able to put things more delicately, was hesitant, “…Jean Luc the type of man who would question you?”
“No, I don’t think so. But, he has two very spoiled children and the family is prominent, so I want to be able to give him the proof he might need when he breaks the news to them. His ex-wife is going to be pissed once she does the math, but I’m sure he can handle the fallout. I’d just like to be able to give him proof positive as ammo before he drops the Antoine bomb.”
As soon as I said, bomb, I was reminded of Jan’s quip about dropping a Margarita bomb on Nacho. “Oh, hell, I have to call Jenks. Sorry,” I told my parents as I rushed from their RV. There was no way in hell I was going to tell them about my boat being heisted.
“Jenks, Jan spotted the boat in Santa Rosalia when she flew over. She just landed in Loreto and wants to know what to do about Raymond Johnson when she drives by.”
“My guess is that she wants to ride in like a Texas Ranger, lasso at the ready, and hog-tie Nacho and Jeff, right?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ve been thinking about how we can keep the advantage without screwing something up for Nacho—”
I let out a huff.
“—I know, Red, it’s frustrating, but the truth is, we’ve known Nacho long enough by now that he wouldn’t have taken your boat unless something big was up. And on top of that, he’s headed north with this Jeff onboard? I suspect Jeff is some kind of undercover dude, and the fact that he once worked for a big-time arms dealer? Put it all together.”
Taking a moment to ponder, I reluctantly had to agree. “So, I tell her to drive on by?”
“Well, if the boat is still at the Santa Rosalia Marina, it seems to me she might be about to get useful information. Do you think Nacho has any idea that Jan has just been in Texas, or that she even knows Jeff’s girlfriend, Becky?”
“Fiancée. Becky’s his bride-to-be, unless he pulls one too many disappearing acts like this one. I met Jeff in La Paz last year when he and Becky were on a run for the border, and they got off to a rocky start, but he’s been living with her for some time now, and although he travels for work, this is the first time he’s dropped off the radar. No contact for over two weeks now and that’s why she called me for help in the first place. She thought I was still in La Paz and wanted me to try and find him for her.”
“You should call Becky immediately and tell her that, should Jeff contact her, not to let him know she’s seen you or Jan in Texas.”
“Sure, but why is that so important?”
“Because, if it works out, Jan can visit Raymond Johnson in person and play the dumb blonde.”
“Oh, no problem there. That gal can do that for all she’s worth.”
I told him how she wormed her way into the airliner cockpit and left him laughing.
❋
Jan phoned me from behind the Santa Rosalia marina office, out of sight from where Raymond Johnson was docked. “Jeff and Nacho are on board, and it looks like they’re getting ready to leave. You want me to stop them?”
“Not exactly,” I said, but I then told her Jenks’s idea, but warned her if she sees anyone else on the boat, or watching her, to say hi, bye, and hightail it out of there.
“Leave your phone on speaker so I can hear everything. And don’t be a hero!”
“What fun is that?”
“Jan, I mean it.”
“Shhhhh.”
I heard the sound of diesel engines, then Jan calling, “Hetta? Hetta?”
“Uh, no, she’s not on board,” a male voice answered. Not Nacho.
“Oh. Hi there, I’m Jan. And you are?”
Shuffling noises. “Jeff. A friend of hers from back home.”
“Great. I’ve been out of town. Just where is Hetta, anyhow?”
“She made a run into Mulege with my wife. I’m just warming up the engines for her so we can push off when they get back.”
I rolled my eyes. Lame.
“Dang it. Mind if I leave her a note? I’m going on a long kayak trip and probably won’t have cell service. Since you’re up this way, I’ll jot down our float plan so maybe we can meet up somewhere. How long will you be out and where are you headed?”
I swear, Jan is a freaking genius.
“Couple of weeks, nowhere in particular.”
Without asking, I heard what was probably Jan noisily boarding, stomping the deck as she did so. “Jeff, you go on ahead and do what you gotta do. I’ll just grab some paper and a pen from Hetta’s desk so I can leave that note. I’m kinda in a hurry.”
“Well, I uh—”
“I’m in,” Jan, whispered. “At the desk. Hitting button. Done.”
Paper rattled, a desk drawer slammed shut, and Jan said, “Hey, Jeff. I left that note for Hetta. Nice meeting you.”
“Yeah, well, you too. Bye.”
I listened as Jan walked for a few minutes, then I heard her Jeep door slam. “Done and done,” she said. “Never saw Nacho. Betcha a peso he was hiding in one of the cabins or the engine room. Okay, Chica, gotta saddle up and ride outta town before he recovers and maybe comes after me. I’ll call when I get to the whale camp.”
Chapter Seventeen
“You got a signal yet?” I asked Jenks a few minutes after Jan called and told me she’d flipped a hidden switch under my desk, activating both my satellite communication and SeaCurity systems.
“Yes, we’ve got them,” Jenks said. “I can’t wait to hear how Jan got the job done.”
“Slick as a seal. Jeff was out on deck when she showed up. She said he looked a little flustered, but she pushed her way on board so she could purportedly leave a note for me, then poof! She was gone. The whole thing took about two minutes flat.”
“Good work.”
“We think Jan caught them just in time. Jeff made up some lame story about his wife and Hetta going shopping in Mulege and he was warming up the engines for her. Jan thinks she heard a noise in the guest cabin, so maybe Nacho was hiding in there after he heard her talking to Jeff.”
“I can just picture the scene. You’re sure Nacho doesn’t know about your systems?”
“He knows about the communications satellite, but I never told him about your SeaCurity system. Only Jan knows about that, per your orders.”
“So, what did Jan write in her note?”
“Some crap about going kayaking, sorry she missed me.”
“Right now they’re headed north out of Santa Rosalia. Nacho knows Jan is famous for planting bugs, so I’d guess he and Jeff are doing any talking outside. Doesn’t matter anyway, we’re obligated by law not to listen to our clients unless they ask us to.”
“Rats. Too bad Jan didn’t have a bug with her.”
“You two always amaze me. I don’t always condone your tactics, but I can’t argue with your success. I’ll send updates as I figure out where they’re headed.”
“Cool beans. Meanwhile, I’m loading up my menagerie and heading west. Once we figure out where in the hell in the Sea of Cortez they’ll end up, I can get there in a hurry.”
“Hetta, I don’t—”
“Jenks, my boat, my call.”
He blew a breath of controlled frustration.
❋
After one last visit to an H-E-B, (the king of all grocery stores, in my humble opinion) in the Texas Hill Country the next morning, I drove west.
A few hours later I entered I-10 with a great deal of temerity. I’d only driven the RV on Texas state highways and back roads up until then, and even a fairly brisk wind had not been a problem. However, the Class-A has a lot of windage, as we call it in boat speak. After being broadsided by a gust or two that blew me out of my lane, I slowed to forty miles an hour.
In an eighty-mile-an hour speed limit zone.
Even at that low speed, I fought the steering wheel while enduring the wrath of frustrated drivers running up my tail pipe and then shooting around while waving middle-finger salutes. I noted those jerks were not sporting Texas plates, by the way. And the truckers were pretty cool, cuz they knew I was handling the heavy wind the best I could. I later learned that gusts of over sixty miles an hour had been reported.
By the time I’d driven a measly hundred-and-fifty miles in four-and-a-half hours, I pulled into a roadside rest area to take a break and walk Po Thang. It was then that I realized how tense I was. After shutting off the motor, I had to sit for a few minutes before I could uncramp clenched fingers and do a few seated leg and foot crunches before daring to push to standing.
Po Thang, on the other hand, bounded from the passenger seat, picked up his leash, and whined his “I really gotta go” demand, so I opened the door and willed my legs down the steps. My neck hurt, my arms felt like I’d been lifting heavy weights, and my knees quaked.
Trouble, who’d slept most of the day in his cage, wanted to go out with us, but I was simply too tired to deal with him, and then there was that howling wind. His screeches of dismay at being left behind had people giving my RV dirty looks.
My disapproval rating for the day was rising by the hour.
I was working myself into a pity party when I suddenly had a memory and laughed out loud, causing another dog walker to give me a worried look.
Smiling broadly, I recalled the first time I took Raymond Johnson from the dock by myself. Jenks had been schooling me on all things nautical, like docking, anchoring, and basic navigation. We’d drilled enough that I invited Jan over on a day when Jenks wasn’t around.
“What’s the haps, Hetta?” she asked when she boarded.
“It’s a surprise.” I strode to the console, started the engines and began to secure for sea.
“Er, Hetta, what are you doing?”
“Showing you what Jenks and I have been up to.”
I hopped off the boat, disconnected the shore power and all lines but the center spring, which I left looped around a cleat.
Jan, hot on my heels, yawped, “Can’t you, like, just tell me?”
“Nope. It’s Show-and-Tell time. Now, stay on deck and hold this line. When I tell you, unloose it from the cleat and yell ‘clear.’ Got that?”
“Oh, hell. I’ve got it alright, but are you sure about this?”
I ignored her, climbed to the flying bridge, and checked my instrument panel. “Okay sailor, cast off all lines.”
After a moment’s hesitation, probably to watch her life pass before her eyes, she took a deep breath, yelled, “clear,” and then mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like the Lord’s Prayer.
I blew one prolonged blast of my horn, followed by three shorts, backed slowly out of the slip, rotated Sea Cock, which was the name on the boat when I bought her—don’t ask—on her own length, threaded her down a narrow channel between other docked boats, blew another prolonged signal, and entered the Oakland estuary.
By the time we cleared the marina, Jan was all smiles and had joined me on the flying bridge. “Oh, this is sooo cool,” she gushed. Then she saluted and added, “Captain Coffey, ma’am, all fenders and lines secured. Hell, I haven’t been taking sailing lessons for nothing. I be good crew.”
“Well done, matey
. Where do you want to go?”
“Uh, gee, I dunno. How about Tahiti?”
“I think that’s a bit ambitious for my first solo. Let’s stay on this side of the bay for now.”
“Please tell me you didn’t just say first solo.”
“Technically I’m not solo cuz you’re here. I saved this just for you.”
“Jesus. Don’t do me any more favors, okay?”
“Relax. Jenks has had me practicing for weeks. Now, where to, ma’am?”
“Rusty Bucket?”
“Atta girl. Bucket, it is.”
Twenty minutes later, we made a pass at the Rusty Bucket’s guest dock.
As Jenks taught me, I lined up parallel to the dock, but a few boat widths’ off, and put the boat in neutral. Within seconds I could tell the current was with me, so we made a wide circle and lined up in the other direction. The current, plus a mild breeze, made it necessary for me to walk the boat sideways, using engines and rudders. I had practiced diligently for this moment and wasn’t disappointed with how smoothly it went. Not that I needed them, but by the time I maneuvered alongside, four men waited to take our lines.
Before we stepped triumphantly from Sea Cock, I gave Jan my best, “Told you so” look.
An hour later, we left the Bucket—six men helped us with the lines this time—and motored back to the yacht club.
I never told Jan how my knees were still shaking when I crawled on the yacht club’s barstool and ordered a much-needed beer.
❋
And now here I was a few years later, driving across Texas in a new toy. Jenks was right: piece of cake.
“Hetta, you’ve come a long way, baby,” I said to myself, causing Po Thang to stop and look at me. “Sorry, Thang, I was patting myself on the back. That there bucket of bolts,” I pointed back at the parked RV where Trouble still raised a ruckus, “is just another piece of machinery. And unlike our boat, it has brakes.”
“Woof.”
I so love a guy who agrees with everything I say.
Just a Happy Camper Page 10