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

JUST ADD TROUBLE

by

Jinx Schwartz

Hetta Coffey Mystery 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 her 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 picking up a few pesos 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.

What people are saying about
Just Add Trouble

and Jinx Schwartz

To me, Jinx Schwartz’s
Just Add Trouble
hits a home run right out of the park. From the very first page, the language was so creative and well-phrased, I knew this was going to be a fine read. And talk about a great heroine! Part Sam Spade, part Mae West, one cannot help but fall in love with Hetta Coffey. No plot spoilers here; just hear me out––Ya gotta get this book! S.R. Mallory, author Unexpected Gifts.

Schwartz’s writing is caustically funny in a politically incorrect wicked way.—
GRINGO GAZETTE
Review by Alisabeth Dobesh

"Hetta Coffey is a woman with a yacht and she's not afraid to use it."
I was reading a couple of books when all of sudden I realized there was a new Hetta Coffey book out: Just Add Trouble (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 3 by Jinx Schwartz. I dropped everything I was doing and started reading. I love Mexico and the Sea of Cortez fascinates me. Hetta bought a yacht and sailed it to Mexico with her friend Jan, who is lonely and wants a man in the worst way. Jan's beautiful, but not too discerning in the man department. That can get the two in trouble.

The book involves a pesky parrot who lives up to his name: Trouble. Hetta tries to help a drunken aunt, and meets a shadowy figure who is handsome in a "criminal sort of way." Schwartz writes about a woman who is independent, but over emphasizes her abilities, that get her into serious situations. I give "Just Add Trouble" five stars! Mike D. Landfair "Mover Mike" reviews

BOOKS BY JINX SCHWARTZ

The Hetta Coffey Series

Just Add Water
(Book1)

Just Add Salt
(Book 2)

Just Add Trouble
(Book 3)

Just Deserts
(Book4)

Just the Pits
(Book 5)

Other Books

The Texicans

Troubled Sea

Land of Mountains

J
ust Add Trouble Book 3 Hetta Coffey Mystery Series

Copyright © 2007 Jinx Schwartz

All rights reserved.

First edition e-book first published 2007

Second e-book edition published 2011 by Jinx Schwartz

The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to persons, whether living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning to a computer disk, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without express permission in writing from the publisher.

Acknowledgements

As always, Holly Whitman is my first line of defense. Holly not only edits my work for the usual stuff, like misspelled words, she also puts me back on the road when I’ve written myself into a ditch. Thank you, thank you, Holly.

I’d like to thank Dorothy and Art Oberto for the use of their brand name, Oh Boy! Oberto. Their generous contribution to a charitable cause in exchange for using their name in my book was greatly appreciated by the community.

Many ideas in my books come from tales told by friends. I have blatantly stolen tall tales from: David Gray, Geary Ritchie, Jane Stris, Garth Jones, and others who shall remain anonymous, as they are still incarcerated.

And many heartfelt thanks to my very supportive hubby, Robert (Mad Dog) Schwartz.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to Russ “Chingo” Madden, my
numero uno
fan, and to my wonderful husband, Robert “Mad Dog” Schwartz.

Chingo and Mad Dog, a pair to draw to.

And to the loving memory of Dorothy Oberto, one of the best people on planet earth...and now in Heaven.

JUST ADD TROUBLE

Trouble comes from too much talk

—Chinese proverb

Prologue

Paco itched.

Checking to make sure Nacho watched the scenery instead of him, he shifted forward on the hard bench seat of the panga and squirmed. What he really wanted was to let go of the outboard’s steering arm and claw at the thousands of spiders racing under his skin. They had names, he knew. Meth mites, crank bugs. He also feared he was on the verge of tweaking like some lowlife crankhead.

How many times had he and his homeboys busted a gut over the twitchy, skinny-assed suckers who bought their stuff? With their rotten teeth and scabby sores, his customers might as well wear signs reading, Kick Me, I’m a Methhead.

He’d been careful, didn‘t smoke or shoot it, like some stupid loser. Smoking meth leaves your teeth black, and no way he’d shoot, he hated needles. All he’d done was parachute a small amount wrapped in a torn corner off a paper napkin when he was really dragging ass. Was it his fault the boss drove him past exhaustion on that killer schedule of his? Okay, so he’d added a little more to the ’chute now and then, but only when he really needed it. He’d lost some weight, but hell, with everyone in the gang working long hours, they all looked like hell. Up until today, though, he’d never, ever, felt the bugs. Until today, he thought he was golden.

When the boss sent him to pick up a new man in La Paz, he hadn’t given it much thought, but something about this guy set him on edge. Maybe it was the way this Nacho dude raised his eyebrows when he spotted two liters of Mountain Dew in the panga. Paco meant to buy bottled water, but meth craved the heavy sweetness of the Dew. He should be more careful. Was it too late? Was the boss on to him? Sent this guy as a spy? Or was Nacho just another LA type, down here checking out their operation?

Whatever, Paco decided he was finished with ice. Done.
Termino
. Wasn’t worth it. He just wished he felt as good as he had a few hours ago.

Racing northward, he steered the fiberglass fishing boat over a glassy Sea of Cortez, speculating why Nacho was here, and why he didn’t fly into Loreto, or on one of their runner planes. Why La Paz and a long boat ride that would take hours—Oh, shit! He looked at the needle pegged at HALF on the fuel tank. How could he have forgotten to top it off? Slowing the engine, he glided to a stop.

Nacho turned around. “¿
Que paso, hermano
?”

Paco felt like screaming, “I’m friggin’ on fire here, that’s waatsappenin’, and I ain’t your stinkin’ brother,” but he didn’t. Instead he whined, “Fuggin’ guy at the fuel dock. I jes’ realized he didn’t fill up the fuggin’ tank.”

Nacho seemed to buy it. “So, what do we do? How far to the next gas station?”

Paco snorted. “Ain’t none.”

“No? So what are we gonna do? Turn around?”

Paco wanted to off the
cabrón
right here and now for asking so many questions when he was, literally, itching out of his skin. Reaching deep into what little self-control he had left, stuffing the flash of white-hot anger, Paco answered Nacho in what he believed to be a casual tone, but actually held an edge of panic. “We’ll get some somewhere. All these fishermen, they got gas.”
That we can steal
.

Nacho nodded slowly and turned back toward the bow, a frisson of unease running up his spine. Was this Paco character sampling the goods? If so, the boss sure as hell wouldn’t be happy to hear it. Using their own product broke a cardinal rule, and guys who broke code met a violent end.

All Paco could think of was putting the boat on a beach, somehow getting away from Nacho long enough for a fix. His last. There was enough stuff in his pocket to get him through this day, and back to camp, then he’d quit for good. Shifting the engine into gear, he sped northward until, as they neared an island, he changed direction so suddenly he nearly launched Nacho overboard.

Nacho, catching himself before flying ass over teakettle into the sea, or worse, cracking a rib against the side of the boat, shot a dark look backward that wiped the smirk from Paco’s face.

Paco gulped, and yelled, “Sorry, man. Gotta piss.”

Recognizing all the signs now, realizing he had a tweaking cranker on his hands, Nacho didn’t challenge Paco. Not here, not now. He knew from experience how to handle a tweaker. He’d keep his distance, slow his speech, keep Paco talking, and for God’s sake not piss him off. “Okay by me,” he yelled over the engine noise, “then you can show me how to drive this boat. I’d like to try it out, if you don’t mind.”

Paco’s eyes narrowed, then he shrugged. “Chur. No problem,
hermano
.” Looking past Nacho, at the looming anchorage ahead, his blood raced with a burst of murderous exhilaration. Glancing into the fish well behind him, making certain his razor sharp machete was handy, he repressed an hysterical giggle, and thought,
Now I’ll show homeboy how it’s done down here. Jes’ like your friendly neighborhood am/pm Mini Mart, hermano. One stop shopping. A hit, a piss, and a full gas tank, all for the taking
.

He increased their speed.

Chapter 1

“John Steinbeck was a sissy.”

Jenks gave me a look from under his golf cap brim, smiled a tolerant smile at this outrageous challenge of the legendary author’s manliness, and went back to varnishing my rails. Well, not my rails, my boat’s rails.

Not one to accept mere tolerance, I shook my book at him. “He writes here, in his
Log From the Sea of Cortez
, that the Sea of Cortez is a dangerous body of water and is prone to sudden and violent storms.” Waggling my fingers at the calm cove we were anchored in, I vamped, “Ooooh, I’m skeered. Save me, my hero!”

“Sorry, Hetta, I have to finish this varnish. It’s drying as fast as it hits the teak. I’ll save you later. For the record, though, we’ve only been here three weeks, and I’m sure Steinbeck wrote from experience. A totally different experience than we’ve had so far.”

“Ya think?” I launched myself from the step I was perched on, and padded through a side door leading into the main saloon and galley. I made us both an iced tea, and returned to the sundeck. The fiberglass was a tad toasty on my bare soles, so I did a tiptoed quickstep into the shade.

Jenks noticed and teased, “Cool moves, Red. The Texas tenderfoot two-step?”

“Watch it, Yankee boy.”

He ignored my warning and went back to his bright work—that’s nautical-speak for making wood bright with varnish—thereby ignoring my precious self, so I rose and threw back over my shoulder, “I shall retire to the verandah, and I’m taking your tea with me as hostage. It'll make you work faster.”