Just Add Trouble (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 3)) (27 page)

The agents looked at Martinez, who gave them an, “I told you so” look, but when I opened my mouth to speak again, Martinez shot me a signal that said, “Shut up before you bury yourself.”

Amazing how communicative the man can get with his eyebrows. I took his silent advice and clammed up.

Customs man took over. “Okay, let’s start over. Miss Coffey, we have a witness who, in his own words, indicates you have lied to federal officers, and have committed a criminal offense. We are, however, ready to hear your side of the story.”

Witness? Who? Only Jan and Nacho were there. Nacho is in jail, Jan wouldn’t rat on me and besides, they were both guilty of running the border. Hell, at least I had a valid passport. These guys had to be bluffing.

“I’d like to hear your alleged witness’s testimony first.”

Martinez actually looked impressed and the corners of his mouth twitched. After all, he’d taught me everything I knew about being obtuse.

Customs rose and left the room, only to return with a large cage in hand. Trouble saw me, fluffed his feathers, blushed and chanted, “Hetta, Hetta, she’s our gal, if she can’t do it, no one shall.”

Busted.

“Do you still maintain that you’ve never seen this bird before, as you told these officers when you were apprehended crossing the border illegally?”

“Hey, I’m a ninth-generation Texan. How long have you been here?”

“But Texas is a whole ‘nother country,” he quipped, using the Texas Tourist Bureau’s catch phrase.

“Very funny. You,” I looked at one of the BP guys, “saw my passport.”

He nodded.

“See?”

“And the bird?” The officer wanted to know.

“He’s crossed the border so many times he has frequent crosser miles.” I then told them the rest of the story, including Trouble’s Texas beginnings, me giving him to Oberto, and his obvious escape to chase me across the border. I concluded with, “So, as you can see, he’s not my bird, he’s a bird of the world. A veritable feathered jet setter. A—”

Martinez interrupted, just when I was getting warmed up. “How are we doing here? You guys satisfied that my client is not into smuggling birds?”

Customs shrugged. “I guess. But here’s the rub. We have to destroy the parrot.”

Jan and I squawked in tandem, which set Trouble off. His screeches sent men scrambling from the room with their hands over their ears. The wildlife guy waved me out, as well. I slammed the door behind me, muffling somewhat the ear-piercing screeches.

“Look, ” I told him, “I can calm him down if you’ll let me go back in. Besides, I’d like a minute to say goodbye. ”

He looked at Customs, who shrugged. “Okay, why not.”

“Jan, stay here. You’re so upset, Trouble will know something’s wrong. I’ll be right back.”

I opened the condemned’s cage and he immediately shut up and hopped onto my finger. I gave him a kiss. “Sorry, little guy, but I gave you a home and a job and you just couldn’t stay put. I’ll try my best to get you out of this, but for now, you gotta stay here.”

I started to put him back on his perch, but spotted a wadded up net in the bottom of his cage. Furious, I snatched it out, stuffed it into my pocket, then put Trouble onto his perch. He protested quietly when I shut the door, but I draped my sweatshirt over the cage and he quieted down. I took a last look, and left the room.

Confronting the wildlife man, I shook the net in his face. “What was this doing in Trouble’s cage? He could get caught in it  and break a wing or leg.”

Wildlife scowled at the others. “What’s with the net?”

One guy looked sheepish. “Only way we could get him. He was swooping around like a hawk, so we netted him. Sorry, guess we shoulda taken it out of the cage, but that bird is a menace.”

I stuffed the net in my pocket again lest they terrorize some other poor unsuspecting creature. “Never mind. He’s settled down now, but the best thing to do is just leave him alone until…you do what you have to do.”

Jan gasped. “Hetta, you can’t mean…we love Trouble. He’s…” She broke into tears, which sent all the men scrambling for tissues.

I put my arm around her. “I’m sorry Jan, but it looks like there’s nothing more we can do.”

Her chin trembled. “Nuh, nuh, nothing?” Shifting her focus on the customs agent, she asked, “How will you do it? I mean, Trouble won’t, like, hurt, will he?”

The man shifted on his feet, visibly uncomfortable. “I really don’t know. We’ve called Animal Control. They handle these things.” Then, he brightened and added. “Of course, right now they’re up in the Huachuca mountains tracking a bear that broke into a home, probably thinking it looked like a good place to hibernate. They’ll be awhile.”

Jan refused to be cheered up by a temporary stay of execution. “Can’t we just put Trouble in quarantine or something?” she wailed. “He’s just a little green bird. He can’t hurt anyone.”

Unless that anyone happens to be a Mexican male
. I spoke up. “Martinez, we’re obviously spinning our wheels here, and since we can’t stop the inevitable, let's take Jan back to the hotel now?”

He looked at the various agents, who nodded somberly.

We rode back to the hotel in silence, then headed for the bar to begin Trouble’s wake. Granted, a little prematurely.

Martinez passed on the wake, preferring to get a nap since he’d been on the road for hours on end. I’d grill him later on how he managed to become my lawyer. As he headed for his room, he tossed me the keys to his pickup. “I’m parked in a four hour zone. Before you get sloshed, will you move me somewhere legal? I was on the road most of the night and I’m flat bushed. I don’t even want dinner.”

“Sure, no problem. Night-night. See you in the morning, unless something comes up. I’ll probably skip dinner, as well. Too tired.”

I found another parking space for Marty's truck, this time in a paid parking area, then rejoined Jan. We’d both ordered Jack Black on the rocks and she was blubbering into her second when I returned. Whiskey, straight, on an empty stomach, is a really bad idea, but neither of us were hungry, for different reasons.

Jan was mourning Trouble’s loss, and I was dreading what I had to do next.

Chapter 35

After three fast doubles in the hotel bar, Jan was slurring her consonants.

I, on the other hand, slowly—what a concept—sipped one drink and chased it with water. We hadn’t eaten anything except stale bar popcorn and a greasy donut or two in almost two days, so Jan’s drinks hit her hard, and we barely returned back to the room when she crashed.

While she snored, I packed up, then wrote a letter outlining Trouble’s dire straits to the
Sierra Vista Observer
. I was picking up a WIFI signal, so I sent the letter via e-mail, then, just in case the somewhat dubious plot I’d hatched failed, I copied both CNNI and Oberto headquarters. All that done, I stole a pillowcase from my bed, and slipped out the door.

In the hotel bar, I bought a couple of bottles of water to go, and stuffed popcorn into my jacket pockets. After a short pause in the park in front of the hotel, I reclaimed Martinez’s Mazda pickup and headed south.

One stop more and I was ready to rumble.

By late afternoon I was lurking in Naco, Arizona, slumped down in my car seat and munching on the best damned gyro I’d eaten since a brief stint on Mykonos. Who knew that Gus the Greek’s Pizzarama in the San Jose district of Bisbee would turn out such a fine gyro? I’d ordered extra tzadsiki sauce and was having trouble corralling the tangy mixture of shredded cucumbers, garlic and yogurt in its fresh baked pita bread wrapper. I regretted not ordering two.

While eating, I took in the comings and goings on the American side of the border. There were few people about, none of them interested in me.

With my hair tucked under a scarf I’d lifted from Jan’s suitcase, and a baseball cap pulled low over my sunglasses, I walked toward the crossing gate, near enough so I could see there was no Animal Control paddy wagon in the border station parking lot. That, and the unearthly screeches emanating from the BP station, convinced me that Trouble was still alive and well and causing an Excedrin kind of day for all the agents. If he didn’t shut up, one of the BP guys just might get tired of waiting for Animal Control and carry out the execution himself.

Back at the Mazda, I started the motor and pulled as close to the building as I dared. Still, no one paid me any mind. So far, so good. Turning on the prepaid cell phone I’d purchased at a local Dollar Store next to Pizzarama twenty minutes earlier, I dialed the number on the customs agent’s card. Someone else answered, I told them who I was. After being transferred three times, Mr. Customs Man answered. I had my fingers crossed that he was still at the border station.

“Agent Charles Riley here.”

“Oh, hi, Charles. Hetta Coffey here.”

“What can I do for you?”

I could hear screeching in the background. Good.

“I lost my ring. It was left to me by my grandmother, and I think I lost it when we were with Trouble this morning. Jan and I were so upset when we left, I didn’t realize the ring was gone. Uh,” I managed a voice tremble, “they haven’t come for him yet, have they?”
Like I couldn’t hear him raising all Billy hell in the background
.

“Oh, take my word for it, he’s still here. He’s not happy. As soon as you left, he set up a racket and hasn’t piped down since. Look, I’m sorry about all this, I really am. He’s a cute little bird, if a bit noisy. Do you want me to see if I can find your ring?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much bother.”

“Under the circumstances, it’s the least I can do. You want to hang on while I plug my ears and take a look?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

I turned off the phone, rolled down the window and pulled the purloined hotel pillowcase into my lap. Now all I could do was wait. And pray.

The agent walked into my line of vision, making for the door behind which Trouble was raising Cain. Holding my breath, crossing my fingers, promising promises toward Heaven that I probably wouldn’t keep, I drove slowly toward the Mexican border crossing, letting other cars pass me by. Doing my best to look like a lost and bewildered tourist, I stopped just short of the Mexico
entrada
, in a sort of no-man’s land, and pulled out a map.

Still, no one paid me any mind.

Suddenly, there was a yell and a loud screech. I opened the pillowcase, let the two hapless pigeons I’d snagged in the park out, then joined the short line waiting to cross the Mexican border. Once in line, I whistled repeatedly as loud as I could.

As the line of cars inched forward, I held my breath. The car in front of me was given a green light, and moved on. There was no one behind me, and no one on the Mexican side seemed to care that I had stopped altogether. As luck would have it though, a uniformed man looked up, pushed away from the official looking pickup he was leaning against, and began walking my way.

I had to make a move.

Rolling forward, hands clenched on the steering wheel, my hopes began to dwindle. Then, miracle of miracles, he was called back to his truck. The second his back was turned, Trouble sailed through my window and landed on my head. Sliding on the slick scarf, he ended up on my shoulder and squalled into my ear, “Oh, boy! Oberto.”

“What took you so long? Never mind, just shut up, bird, we’re almost home free.”

To let me know he was not pleased with the day’s events, he pulled out a few strands of my hair before hopping onto the passenger side seatback. As he  roosted, another bout of yelling and cursing broke out on the US side, with what sounded like shots fired.

“Oops, look like we’d better be heading…Oh, crap.” I’d drawn a red light that said
Alto
and a loud bell rang, whatever that meant. And, evidently roused by the brouhaha on the US side, two Mexican feds stood directly in my path with their hands held out in an unmistakable “halt” position.

I grabbed Trouble and stuffed him into the glove compartment, where, luckily, I’d also stashed some jerky from that handy Dollar Store. After one loud squawk, he discovered the jerky bag. I turned up the radio to muffle the sound of shredding plastic.

While one officer leaned on my hood, the other strolled up to my window.

I sat in silence, leaving the ball in their court.

“
Buenas tardes, señora
. Do you have anything to declare?”

I do declare that I am scared pee-less
. “I only have my clothes.”

“And this is your truck?”

“Yes.” My bladder constricted, like it always does when I lie. I suffer from guilty bladder syndrome.

“And where are you going?”

“San Carlos.”

“On vacation?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Ye…well, I am meeting my boyfriend there.” No use asking for unwanted attention.