Jinx Schwartz
Smashwords
Amazon
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Jinx Schwartz
Type: Fiction
Pages: 306
ISBN-13: 9781932695625
A humorous adventure. Number 3 in the Hetta Coffey Series.
Hetta Coffey is a woman with a yacht and she s not afraid to use it. A globe-trotting engineer with adventure in her soul, Hetta is determined to solidify her relationship with her long-distance boyfriend, Jenks Jenkins. What better place for a romantic interlude than aboard a yacht in Mexico s hauntingly beautiful and solitary Sea of Cortez? But where Hetta goes, trouble follows, and chaos is sure to ensue. After a run-in with a couple of sea serpents that threaten to rock the boat, she nevertheless decides to take on a project in the port city of Guaymas. After all, Jenks is headed back to Kuwait, so why not cash in on the best of both worlds by making some dough while living aboard her boat in Mexico? Once again Hetta s indomitable spirit, stubborn independence and penchant for deceit will keep the reader in stitches as she launches herself and her best friend, Jan, into a sea of trouble. A pesky parrot, a drunken aunt and a shadowy figure who is handsome in a criminal sort of way lead to murder, mayhem, kidnapping, and run-ins with several federal agencies on both sides of the border.
Excerpt
The Sea of Cortez bestowed a magical Christmas Eve upon our little fleet. No wind. Flat seas. Almost balmy air. Mother Nature, according to Smith, who follows these things, was set to throw in a waxing gibbous moon, which meant more than half full. With a moon rising well before the sun set, we were to have excellent visibility.
Fifteen boats arrived by four that afternoon, all of them with at least a string or two of Christmas lights. When we paraded into Agua Fria, we were gonna make one hell of a target.
As the afternoon waned I became more and more anxious to hear from Nacho. He made it clear, before he left, that we were to wait until we heard from him before sailing within firing range of the village. We wanted to round the point just at dusk for maximum effect. In a place like Agua Fria, with no electricity and, therefore, no ambient light other than that promised moon, we would look like the city of New York cruising into their harbor.
I paced and fretted, tempted to call Nacho on channel seventeen, but he’d told me not to. My voice booming out of the radio, he said, might jeopardize everything. Too much was at stake for that kind of snafu.
Tension mounted on Raymond Johnson as the sun sank in the West. The animals picked up on the nervous strain, and became increasingly restless.
Aunt Lil, cranky by nature, unbearable in withdrawal, grated on my last nerve with her ceaseless bellyaching. She’d discovered my confiscation of her drug stash, and tried to convince me certain pills were necessary to sustain life. Like I care? In an attempt to shut her up, I fired up the Satfone and checked out her pharmaceutical’s names on the Internet, gave her back everything that did not contain a controlled substance. Didn’t work, of course. I considered popping a couple of the stronger ones myself, but vetoed the idea until this evening had passed, and we were all safe.
“Hetta?”
I dove for the mike. “Nacho, thank God. Are you all right?”
“Yes. It is comforting to know you care.”
“Yeah, well I don’t. I just want to get this night over with.”
“Chur you do. Are you ready?”
“You bet.”
“Okay, then, here goes,” and he sang: “Weeweechu a Merry Christmas; Weeweechu a Merry Christmas; Weeweechu a Merry Christmas; And a Happy New Year.”
Smith, myself and even Aunt Lil broke into laughter, theirs a little more enhanced than mine. I suspected they’d shared a joint when I wasn’t watching.
When I caught my breath, I answered, “Very clever. Okay, Operation Weeweechu is officially underway.”
I switched to channel sixteen and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines, please. And weeweechu a very Merry Christmas.”
I would like to say we sailed into the Agua Fria harbor, easily rescued the villagers, and saved the day without incident, and it actually looked that way for the first hour.
We rounded the point looking much like an electrified centipede. Elvis, his moanful crooning cranked to the max my speakers allow, lamented having a “Blue Christmas Without You.” People soon gathered on the beach, gawking as we formed a huge raft-up. To my mind, tying all of the boats together only made us a larger target, but that’s what Nacho wanted.
With our lights, and the moon’s glow, there was a fair amount of visibility on the beach. Smith dinghied to shore while I held my breath. When he wasn’t blown out of the water, he signaled for others from the boats to join him.
Dinghies were launched, and headed in, but no amount of cajoling or bribery enticed the villagers to leave. As long as those children remained hostages, they refused to budge. Of course, they didn’t know that I knew about the kids, and I had not shared that info with the other boaters. Nacho said he had a plan, and I had to trust him.
Smith returned empty, so I left him on the boat and went in myself. My plan was to ferret out Granny Yee, see if she had any influence over the others.
An ancient fisherman stood at the water’s edge as I eased the dinghy onto the sand. He made no move to help me pull the boat ashore, and for a moment I feared he was one of the guards Nacho had warned me about.
“Hola, y Feliz Navidad,” I offered.
He only nodded.
“Uh, por favor, señor, yo quiero…” I ran out of words. What is the verb for “to find”? Encontrar? Screw it, I’d stick with the basics. “¿Esta Señora Yee aqui?”
He only stared.
Frustrated, I brushed by him, but he reached out and grabbed my arm. Alarmed, I spun to do battle, only to meet a sweet, if toothless smile. He pointed to his ears and mouth, and I understood he was a deaf mute.
“Just great,” I muttered under my breath, “now what?”
He pulled me towards a group of others who had ventured out to watch our parade, and prompted me to ask the question again. A small, attractive woman stepped from the crowd and said, in perfect English. “I am Senora Yee.”
“Oh, good,” I said, trying to sound casual, even though I feared I was in someone’s gun sights. “I bring Christmas greetings from your grandson, Chino Yee. He is my friend.”
She looked alarmed and shot a furtive look back into the darkened village. “You must go.”
I ignored the warning, and blithely gushed, “Gosh, I just arrived. I’d like you to come out to the boat, so you can call Chino on my satellite phone. I know he’d love to hear from you.”
“Oh, no, I cannot do that.”
Others began nervously asking her what we were talking about, and whatever she said sent them skittering back towards their homes. With a quick bob of her head, she followed them. So much for saving the villagers.
Frustrated, I tailed Granny Yee. We had just reached her house, or what I assumed was her house, when something akin to a nuclear blast almost flattened us.
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