Just Deserts (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 4) (16 page)

The day after our daunting ride over the back roads of the Rio Sonora Valley, and my VW going walkabout, Ted mustered a posse and set off looking for Rosa, my car, and the winery van it turned out Rosa must have taken. At first there was speculation Rosa left a day early for her weekly shopping trip to Cananea, but she’d never done so in the past. Winery employees went to both Arizpe and Cananea, questioned Rosa’s friends, and even the grocer she favored. No one had seen her since the week before.

Ted took to the air, then stomped in just at dusk, having flown a search pattern with no sightings. Rosa’s disappearance, coupled with Lupe's weeks before, called for drastic measures, Ted told us. They were going to call the police. While this might seem logical in the States, cops are a last resort in Mexico.

“What about Sonrisa?” I asked my fellow diners. “Isn’t she friends with Rosa? Maybe Rosa told her something that she thinks is unimportant, but isn’t.”

Ted looked at his head foreman, who said he’d questioned Sonrisa, and all other employees, at length, but no one knew anything. As if on cue, Sonrisa herself glided in with a fresh pitcher of ice water.

She circled the table, refilling glasses. When she got to me, I noticed her tense slightly. Never one to sit by and let the chance to annoy someone who annoys me go by, I asked, “Say, Sonrisa, seen your black buddies lately?” Her only reaction to my mention of her hitchhike with the Xer’s was a noticeable straightening of her spine.

“She doesn’t speak English,” Nanci reminded me.

“Oh, right, I forgot. I was just wondering—”

Jan pretended to drop her napkin, leaned down, pinched my leg, and whispered,  “Later. Let it go.”

I did, but watched Sonrisa closely the rest of the evening. Her bland facial expression set my teeth on edge. Rosa, her supposedly new BFF and mentor, had vanished, so shouldn’t she at least look worried? Or was I being too hard on her? After all, Nanci told me Sonrisa came from an area where not drawing attention to yourself is a matter of self-preservation. I wouldn’t do well there.

After dinner, I cornered Ted about my own missing person:  Jenks. He’d emailed and called Jenks, as I had, but gotten nowhere. The only thing we knew for sure was that Jenks was still registered at his hotel suite in Kuwait City, and Lars, his brother, was too. Neither, however, was in residence. We checked my home answering machine for messages, hoping Jenks left one, but only Craig called to say he was with Chino at the whale camp.

We all retired to our rooms early, worn down from a combination of concern and frustration. Jan came to my room and we popped a cork on Ted’s finest.

“So, did, uh, Craig say anything else?” she asked casually, like she wasn’t fishing for info.

“Oh, you mean, did Craig say something like, ‘Chino says he simply cannot live without Jan and is contemplating throwing himself upon a sharpened whale bone’?”

She slapped my wrist. “Yeah, okay, I guess I was hoping for something like that.”

“Sorry, all he said was Chino met him at the ferry in Santa  Rosalia, and he was enjoying the beach. Besides, I thought you didn’t care what Chino thought anymore.”

“He could pretend to miss me. Oh, well, at least I know where he is. Not like Jenks.”

“Jenks isn’t being like Jenks. He’s sorta disappeared before, but not for this long. I have a horrible feeling that something bad has happened. I can’t help it, what with stories of contractors being beheaded and all.”

“Surely CNN would have gotten wind of a kidnapped contractor. Besides, I don’t recall anyone ever being nabbed in Kuwait City.”

“How do we even know he isn’t in Iraq? Ted told me himself that he and Jenks were no strangers to clandestine ops.”

“Ops? You been reading Clancy again?”

I laughed, despite a hollow feeling in my gut.

Jan poured more wine. “I’ve got it!” she suddenly screeched, scaring the crap out of me. “Let’s call the prince.” Sometimes Jan is a friggin’ genius. Why hadn’t I thought of bringing Prince Faoud into the loop? He’d given us his private phone number after we’d weathered a hurricane together in Baja’s Magdalena Bay, and he even contacted Jenks in Kuwait several months before, then lent him an airplane when Jan and I found ourselves up to our ears in bad guys down on the Baja.

“Brilliant, Jan. Think he’s in Saudi Arabia?”

“I doubt it, since his relatives apparently pay him to stay away. Doesn’t matter though, we have his cell number.”

“We’ll have to use Ted’s house phone, my cell won’t work here.” I dug out my address book, thankful I hadn’t left my stuff in the VW when she conked out on us. I also dug out a small flashlight and we tiptoed down the dark hall and stairs, into Ted’s den. I eased the heavy French doors closed, then found a light switch.

The generator powering the entire complex shut down at ten, so the household was now running off battery power and inverter. I hoped the satellite system was connected to the battery grid, as it is on my boat. A series of blue lights on the router told me the good news. “We’re in bidness, looks like. I’ll call, you talk.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because, Miz Jan, old princey-poo has the hots for you.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t let me have anything to do with him, remember? You said I’d probably end up getting unveiled in his harem.”

“Yeah, but that was before we needed him.”

“Let me get this straight. It’s okay if I end up in a harem, so long as you get what you want?”

“That about sums it up. Dialing.”

As soon as I heard a ring I shoved the phone at Jan. She snatched it with a petulant huff. After a short while, she said, “Uh, Hetta, I don’t thi—Prince Faoud? Oh, hi, this is Jan, I was on Hetta’s boat at Mag Bay when we…fine, fine, and you?”

She listened, a crooked smile twitching one side of her mouth, and then cooed, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m sure you’ll work it out. Say, the reason we called, Hetta and I, is we have a problem you might be able to help us with.” She explained how Jenks was missing, we were worried, and was there anything he could do?

I waited impatiently until she gushed, “Oh, thank you. You still have his cell phone number?” She waited, mouthed, “Checking,” to me, then into the phone she said, “Yes, that’s it. He and Lars are registered at the Mövenpick, because Jenks likes the food. The front desk won’t give us any information, so maybe you can pull strings. Hang on a minute, Hetta wants to talk to you.”

With a feeling of overwhelming gratitude, I said, “Thank you, thank you, Prince Faoud. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. We’re a little lost over here. My next move was to catch a plane to Kuwait City.”

“No need for that. It is my pleasure to help. I trust you and the lovely Jan have been well?”

“Actually, the lovely Jan had a bad case of the
tourista
, but she is much better now.” I ducked as Jan launched a couch pillow at me. “Matter of fact, she’s downright feisty. Let me give you the number here, and my new home number. We’re in Mexico right now, but we’ll be in Arizona tomorrow. Uh, I have another favor. No big deal, but I thought maybe you could help.”

“Anything within my power for ladies in distress.”

Prince of a fella, that prince. “There is this Mexican guy with a family name of Hayat Racón,” I spelled it. “He has hinted he’s somehow related to the Carlos Slim clan of Mexico, and I would like to learn more about him.”

“He is an Arab?”

“Lebanese, I think, like Slim.”

“I guess, to you Americans, we all look alike.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to—"

“I was jollying you, Hetta. I do not take offense.”

“And none meant. More like I figure all you rich guys know each other, no matter what your ethnic origins, and since Slim is reportedly the richest man in the world these days, he qualifies for your exclusive club.”

“I’ll see what I can find out. What else do you know about Racón.”

I didn’t know much, but I told the prince how old I thought the Rat was, and that he worked for the mining group, sort of. Faoud then assured me he would find my Mr. Jenkins forthwith and get back to me. Just knowing someone with power and resources was on the job gave me a great deal of comfort.

We said our goodbyes, then I asked Jan, “So, what’s the prince up to that you commiserated with when you first talked?”

“What’s a prince to do? He’s commissioned a new mega-yacht and his designer informed him that an on-board stable for his beloved Arabians is so much horse hockey.”

For some reason this sent me into hysterics, something that happens often when Jan and I are together. We were trying to stifle giggles as we made our way upstairs, but not successfully, because we met Sonrisa checking us out. That impassive countenance, which normally drives me so nuts, only made me laugh harder.

Jan followed me into my room, reassuring me that all would be well with Jenks.

“I hope you’re right. I’m to the point of, if he is alive and well, ending it all. I can’t take this kind of relationship much longer. Maybe I’ll cut him loose and let him go after some young, gorgeous type.”

“Oh, Hetta don’t be so dramatic. Jenks doesn’t want someone young and gorgeous, he wants you.”

After the phone conversation with Prince Fauod I slept through the night for the first time in a week, perhaps because I now knew the prince’s far-reaching feelers were in action, tracking down Jenks. I actually awoke to a moment of peace until I remembered with dismay that Jenks was not yet found. So many missing people and cars, and nothing I could do but wait.

Even a hot shower didn’t help diminish a deep malaise that I finally identified as powerlessness. A self-admitted control freak, I am not one to normally let her boat drift with the tide, and I was adrift. Instead of doing things my way, I had somehow let others put me out to sea. This simply would not do.

While dressing, I jotted items on a list that I make out on those all too frequent occasions when my life heads for the rocks. These TO DO lists help me organize my feelings and identify those problems I need to get a handle on.

TO DO—AND I MEAN IT—LIST

1. Call daily for a progress report on
Raymond Johnson
, and demand those reports be backed up with photos.

Just getting that task on the list made me feel a little better, so I put on mascara.

2. Find my car.

Realistically, that was a tough one. Locating a stolen car in Mexico is damned near impossible, but I stubbornly refused to count my VW out. Yep, I would find that car. Thinking I looked a little piqued, I added a dollop of blush to my cheeks.

3. Job?

Actually that was one thing I seemed to be on top of, and now that the prince had agreed to look into El Ratón’s background, maybe I’d dig up sufficient dirt to move him out of my way.

4. Trap the Rat.

I smiled, picturing him hightailing it to Mexico City, tail between his legs, chased after by Mexican secretaries armed with carving knives. This happy thought prompted me to put on a dab of lipstick.

5. Jenks. Decide if worth it, make pro vs. con list.

Just how long could we, should we, sustain pissing each other off from afar? When we were together, crazy in lust, we rarely argued, he treated me like a princess, and I treated him like…well, better than I treat anyone else. There are those who would argue I should work on my people skills, but Jenks actually seems to enjoy me, warts and all.

However, the longer we’re apart, and the more he tells me what is good and bad for me, the more I resent him for being gone. My emotional status being dependant on actions of others makes me insecure, and when I’m unhappy, I like lots of company. Like moldy apples love spreading gunk.

I tried  to remember my happiness scale, pre-Jenks. One thing for sure, I didn’t need another to foist emotional distress upon me, I am a master of doing that to myself.

I was captain of my own fate when I met Jenks, but I was then operating under the Edna Ferber theory: Being an old maid is like death by drowning—a really delightful sensation after you have ceased struggling.

Simply put, before Jenks I had ceased struggling, and now here I was, treading water again. Jenks had to come home, or else.

6. Quit drinking, lose ten pounds.

Of course, this ain’t gonna happen, but it always leaves me with something to strive for.

Somehow all this list and decision making empowered me. Or was it the hoarded Valium (I am not allowed to have more than one or two in my possession at a time, due to a terrible lack of self-control where these wonderful pills are concerned) I downed in anticipation of a bumpy small plane ride? Whatever it was, I descended, practically floated, to breakfast, suitcase in hand, smile on my face, ready to head home and tackle the world on my own terms.

Maybe, I rationalized, in some convoluted teaching moment, I owe those guys who took my car more than a swift kick in the balls. I mean, after being chased all over a Mexican highway, then having my car stolen, how much worse can things get?

But then again, as Humphrey Bogart once said, “Things are never so bad they can’t be made worse.”

Everyone was already seated around the breakfast table when I breezed in. From their glum looks, they were not in a state of grace such as I.

“Hetta, have you been into the wine already? It’s a tad early, ya know,” Jan said, after taking in the glide in my step and glow of contentment on my face.

“I am at peace.”

“You found those guys who took your car, and dismembered them? Gosh, you have been a busy bee this morning.”

That lightened the mood and brought smiles.

“
Au contraire
,” I said airily. “I have forgiven them.”

Jan dropped her fork. “No way.”

“It’s simple. I have decided not to let these offenses get under my skin. I can get another car.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with the real Hetta Coffey?”

I beamed her a saintly smile and absolved her impudence. As Sonrisa filled my water glass, I greeted her warmly.

She scooted for the kitchen, obviously leery of the crazy Gringa’s sudden benevolence toward her.

“Hetta may be onto something,” Nanci said.

“More like
on
something,” Jan mumbled.

“I mean it,” Nanci said. “We have all worked ourselves into a froth here, and we don’t know for sure any harm has come to either Lupe or Rosa. Maybe we’re overreacting.”

Jan, who had been watching me closely, smiled and mouthed, “Valium?”

I whispered, “Only a half.”

Ted, not noticing our little exchange, answered Nanci by shaking his head. “We are right to worry. Rosa would never walk off the job, especially now. She removed the old rods a couple of days ago, and the new ones are ready to go in. We need to energize the system and not just anyone can do it. Rosa had Lupe trained before she vanished into thin air, but Sonrisa is nowhere near ready.”

“You can’t do it, Nanci?” Jan asked.

“Unfortunately, I inherited an arthritic condition.” She held out her hands for us to see the noticeable swelling of her finger joints. “I don’t think anyone around here wants me handling cobalt.”

I bestowed upon her a beatific beam.

Jan rolled her eyes and asked Ted, “Rosa’s training Sonrisa in the lab? I thought Sonrisa worked in the kitchen.”

Nanci answered. “Rosa took her under her wing, grooming her for backup. I mean, it ain’t rocket science, but it is somewhat delicate, and realistically takes two people, preferably three. With Rosa gone, now it’ll be Ted and Sonrisa, with me as watchdog.”

“Are you sure you have the time to fly us home?” Jan asked Ted. “We can take a bus, you know.”

“I have to go north today for a meeting with the bank I can’t miss. I was planning on staying over in Sierra Vista, but now I’ll have to fly back so we can work into the night. And they might not show it much, but Rosa’s disappearance has put a real strain on the entire staff, so I need to backtrack, pronto. If she’s not here by the time I return, I’ll  make a police report. Not that it’ll do any good.”

“Love will overcome,” I said, spreading my aura with wiggly fingers.

“Yeah,  Maharishi  Valium-hesh  Hetta,”  Jan  drawled. “Let’s just do a little Hari Krishna conga line around the room, chant a few oms, and all will be well with the world.”

“Cynic.”

Ranch hands had already rolled Ted’s plane, a twin engine Beech Baron, from its hangar when we arrived at the runway. While we chatted with Nanci, Ted bustled about the aircraft, checking this and that, hopefully very thoroughly.

As much as I hate to admit it, small planes make me nervous, thus the early morning Valium. I prefer my air transport complete with drink service and bathrooms, but getting home in a flash today held a great deal of appeal, especially after being pursued by shady characters on the roads of Mexico.

We were to land first at Douglas, where Ted made arrangements with officials there to enter the country. He explained the required rigmarole to us, said it was just part of flying these days, especially when entering the U.S. from Mexico. Once checked in and legal, he’d hop over to Bisbee Municipal, dump us off before heading for Sierra Vista.

“We better get to it,” Ted told us. “Normally Rosa goes with me, we split up at the airport, she heads into town in a taxi and does the Walmart, Staples, that kind of shopping while I knock out the commissary list.”

I asked, “So, Rosa has a green card?”

“Oh, yes. She’s an employee of our corporation, and even though we’re located in Mexico, we are also incorporated in the United States.”

Jan and I volunteered to go to Sierra Vista with him, run Rosa’s errands, but he said no thanks, he would have frozen food with him on his return, and since he had to check into Mexico at Nogales, he didn’t want to backtrack in order to drop us off.

We waved goodbye to Nanci and strapped in while Ted taxied to  the end of his runway. He handed us earphones with built-in microphones so we could hear and talk to each other over the engine noise.

When stopped at the end of the runway, he gave us a running commentary on what he was doing. “I have to do a runup. I’m cycling both engines to check the magnetos and props. Okay, now I’m setting the trim tabs, and here we go. Ready?”

No, I thought, but nodded a reluctant yes from the copilot’s seat.

My heart stepped up a beat as we picked up speed on the bumpy runway. Another thing I like about real airplanes is that they taxi on real runways. I’ve spent plenty of time on puddle jumpers while traveling to remote jobsites, bounce-landing on dirt and grass fields successfully each time, but I can’t say my confidence level has risen greatly just because I’ve survived.

We were rolling along at a pretty good clip when Ted suddenly cut the power and shouted, “What the hell?”

“My car!” I yelled, pointing as my VW caught up with, then passed us. “They’ve found her.”

“Finally, some good news. Okay, I guess this changes your  travel plans, so I’ll let you two…what is with those guys? Dammit.” He braked sharply.

My VW matched speed with the plane, keeping just far enough directly ahead in front of us to avoid pulverization by propellers. Now the brake lights pulsed on the car, making Ted follow suit.

My surprise and delight at seeing my car again quickly dried up, along with my mouth, when we damned near rear-ended her. It was thanks to Ted’s piloting skills that we managed to keep squared behind the car, our nose centered just feet away from the VW’s rear bumper. Jan and I let loose with a couple of wimpy eeeks, but Ted kept his cool.

He slowed us to a crawl so when the car abruptly stopped, Ted avoided hitting it, but just barely. We were all cursing the driver out in our own way when the car doors swung open and three men in black balaclavas and camouflage fatigues leapt out brandishing large weapons.

Ted muttered, “Crap, they’ve got automatics.”

Jan whispered, “Oh, shit. Oh, dear.”

“Urk,” I cleverly articulated.