Just a Happy Camper Read online

  Just a Happy Camper

  Hetta Coffey Series #11

  Jinx Schwartz

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  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  From the Author

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Books by Jinx Schwartz

  Copyright © 2019 Jinx Schwartz

  Chapter One

  Something rocked the bed, rousing me from a deep sleep.

  My internal clock and pitch-black surroundings told me it was way too early to get up, so I waited, listened, and finally convinced myself a distant fishing panga threw a wake that traveled into the anchorage.

  Pulling a pillow over my head, I tried to pick up on a great dream I was enjoying before being rudely interrupted. It was gone, and the more I tried to remember the gist of it, the more it faded. I turned over on my side, hoping to at least get more sleep.

  As I rolled over, Po Thang, my golden retriever, grumped and cuddled closer, so I dislodged an arm and hugged his warm body. He sighed and we both dozed off.

  Annoying shouts jarred us both awake, sending Po Thang into full-on guard dog mode. He leapt from the bed, his ominous growls and furious barks sending my heart into overdrive. I threw off the covers, and groped for my flashlight and ditch kit I keep at the ready next to the bed, in case we have to abandon ship. They weren’t there.

  Confusion muddied my thought processes, and fearing we were in a sudden blow and dragging anchor toward shore, I cursed myself for falling asleep unprepared for emergencies.

  And why was I hearing voices? Were other boaters trying to warn me?

  After living aboard my forty-five-foot motor yacht for several years, I knew every inch of her, so when I banged into a wall as I rushed forward, I wondered if my previous dream was actually a nightmare, and I was still in it. Feeling my way along a wall, I found a switch and flipped it.

  Light flooded the room.

  I wasn’t on Raymond Johnson at all.

  We were on land.

  In an RV.

  Which was being rocked by my fellow workers.

  I pocketed my .380 before letting Po Thang loose on them.

  It was high time I educated a bunch of Dutch dudes about the inherent danger of messing with Texas.

  Chapter Two

  My new, and hopefully short-term, life as a CLOD—Cruiser Living On Dirt—wasn’t exactly in my plans when, just a couple of weeks before, I was happily afloat in Mexican waters.

  I love living aboard my yacht, Raymond Johnson, in the Sea of Cortez, but a gal’s gotta do what a gal’s gotta do; I take work where I find it.

  I am Hetta Coffey, CEO, CFO, president, and chief deck hand at Hetta Coffey, SI, LLC. The SI stands for Civil Engineer, a phonetical jest evidently only I find amusing.

  A vagabond by nature, I’m an engineer by degree and single by choice: not mine, mind you, I just have a lifelong history of making men cut and run. And now that I’ve rolled past the dreaded forty, any silly or fleeting whimsy I’ve ever entertained of a normal life involving a white picket fence and cute kids? That ship has sailed.

  However, right after I bought Raymond Johnson, I spotted Jenks Jenkins playing liar’s dice at a San Francisco Bay area yacht club, and we clicked.

  Okay, so I clicked. He, on the other hand, was a little hard to run to ground, but I can be persistent. My best friend Jan says I’m stubborn. Persistent, stubborn: same thing, right?

  Anyway after wearing Jenks down, we (okay, I) decided to cohabitate on my boat, and then he upped and took a job offer he couldn’t refuse in the Middle East. Jeez, I’ve had men go POOF! out of my life many times before, but luckily he stayed around long enough to be deemed a boyfriend. Kind of a silly term for two people our age, but “significant other” sounds even more ridiculous, in my opinion. Jan also says I have plenty of those.

  Jenks’s work as a security specialist—so he says, but I personally think he might run a black op or two on occasion—takes him all over hell and back. Most recently he's been headquartered in Dubai. Which is why Jan swears we remain a couple; he’s not around me long enough at one time to send him bolting for the proverbial barn full of my exes. Yet.

  The time Jenks and I spend together is like serial honeymooning. Then he leaves me on my own, and that is when I teeter on the brink of screwing up the closest thing to a normal relationship I've ever had. And, according to my equally highly opinionated friend, Jan, that’s due to the fact that Jenks is, unlike me, even-tempered and easy-going. I thought about bopping her one for that little jab, but she’s right. I am not the easiest person to live with, and as is glaringly obvious, Jan is kinda my mine canary as well as BFF.

  I will say, though, my roommates seem to like me, but a spoiled dog and a bird might not qualify as viable character witnesses.

  The three of us were happily afloat aboard Raymond Johnson when my mentor, the Trob, fortuitously called with a job offer on the very day I learned my boat needed costly engine work requiring a trip into rehab at the boatyard.

  Po Thang, my golden, and Trouble, my aptly-named Monk parrot, and I were out on deck enjoying yet another beautiful La Paz sunset, when the phone rang, offering a welcome respite from my obsessing over the crappy news my mecánico hit me with that morning.

  I checked caller ID and saw it was Fidel Wontrobski, a.k.a. the Trob. He is my go-to guy for gainful employment and appreciates my willingness—some say downright eagerness—to engage in sometimes unorthodox undertakings, so long as they pay top dollar.

  Fidel—his dad was a Polish communist, thus the name—still works for Baxter Brothers Engineering and remains my friend despite my less than stellar record when in their employ. He’s a skinny, tall, engineering savant who, with his coal black topknot of electrified hair and hooked nose, resembles a buzzard. The fact that he married one of my best friends, a black, drop-dead gorgeous lawyer, is still a puzzlement to me. They now have a kid (who, as a newborn, favored the Trob, much to his wife’s dismay, but now, thank the Lord, photos confirm that Felicity has a hefty dollop of Allison’s beauty gene) and have moved to Dubai, where the company we mutually worked for relocated its headquarters.

  My long-distance amour, Jenks Jenkins, and I sometimes both end up contracted out to Baxter Brothers, but his employment is steadier, and more legal. I think.

  “Yo Trob, how’s Allison and the little Trobette?”

  “You want a job?”

  The Trob’s social skills suck, and small talk is something he just can’t grasp.

  “Yes.”

  “Email. Secure.”
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  “I’m fine, thank you for asking,” I said to a dial tone.

  Before I could get to my computer and turn on the satellite communications system I use to send and receive secure email, the phone rang again.

  “Hiya, Hetta. What’s the haps? Got your message. I was out in the boat with Chino.”

  “Isn’t whale season just about over, Miz Jan?”

  “Yep, just a few stragglers. Chino is logging in the locals, as he calls the ones that stay the summer here instead of migrating north like the rest of the pods. He asked me to help him since his bionerd volunteers have already split to follow the migration.”

  I sighed. “I got some bad news this morning.”

  “Not from home, I hope?” Her mother, and my parents, still live in Texas and stay in touch with each other, mainly to keep track of us. Either Jan or I can easily be out of pocket, but we try to send updates when possible when out of cell phone range.

  “Nah. From my mechanic. Raymond Johnson is headed for the boatyard for an overhaul and a facelift.” I told her what it was estimated to cost me, and how long I’d be homeless.

  “Dang. That’s a lot of pesos. Wanna come up here while she’s in dry dock?”

  “Not sure yet. I just got a call from the Trob, so I might have a new project.”

  “COUNT. ME. OUT!”

  I laughed. As my best friend and often cohort in some of my shenanigans, Jan swears my tendency to take the lucrative low road will, no doubt, land us in the clink one of these days. It would be difficult to debate that point, since we’ve already been deemed “persons of interest” in three countries.

  We met in Texas over twenty years earlier and have remained fast friends and sometimes partners in crime. She gave up her career as a Certified Public Accountant and now lives on the Pacific side of the Baja with Doctor Brigido Comacho, a.k.a Chino.

  “You are officially counted out. Matter of fact, Chica, I had no intention of sharing my extraordinarily exorbitant bounty with you this time,” I insisted.

  “So you say. You always drag me into whatever you get yourself involved in, sooner or later. And mostly for free, I might add.”

  “What if he offers me another gig in France?”

  “COUNT! ME! IN!”

  The woman is soooo easy.

  Chapter Three

  After I hung up with Jan, I told Trouble and Po Thang, “Hoo-kay, gang. Let’s see what new and wonderous adventure your Uncle Trob has in store for us.”

  “Woof!”

  “Ack! Oberto!” Trouble flew from the top of his cage and landed on my shoulder.

  “Not right now, bird. No jerky. I gotta read our future.”

  “Ack! Bad Hetta.”

  “Cool your tailfeathers.”

  I opened the secured email and smiled. “Okay, this is interesting. The Trob wants to know if I’m up for a six-week gig in Texas! Yeehaw! I’m ready to saddle up and ride.”

  Po Thang cocked his head in that endearing golden retriever way, worry lines in his forehead. “Woof?”

  “Don’t know yet, Podner, but we can probably find a way for you to ride along. The Trob’s not clear about the assignment, but since it deals with dams, I’m definitely interested. And, we might get to visit your grandparents, how about that?”

  He grinned.

  I called Jan back.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Texas.”

  “Rats. That sounds good, but I can’t go right now.”

  “I thought you wanted to be counted out, Chica.”

  “Yabbut, Texas? I should visit Mom. Where you gonna be in our home state?”

  “Hill Country. Right in our parents’ backyards, it seems. Something to do with dams along the Colorado.”

  “Didn’t your granddaddy have somethin’ to do with building most of those dams?”

  “Sure did. And my daddy even worked on some of them when he was young. That’s why he built their house above the high-water mark at Lake Buchanan after he retired. He’s always making dire predictions when he sees new houses going up in the hundred-year flood zone. Says their ninety-nine and a half years are about up.”

  “He’s such a pessimist. Probably never got over the fact that you weren’t a boy.”

  “Couldn’t prove it by me. If he’d have had anything to do with it my baby clothes wudda been steel-toed boots and a hard hat.”

  “No wonder you’re so screwed up.”

  “Hey! Who says so?”

  “Like, everyone.”

  ❋

  I called Jenks in Dubai, knowing full well he’d already heard about the Trob’s offer. They do, after all, work together. “So, what do you think?” I asked.

  “Hello to you, too, Red. Sounds like a win-win to me. It’s familiar territory, you always wanted to build dams, and maybe this will be right up your alley.”

  “They’re already built, damnit.”

  “Pun intended?”

  “Yep, y’all.”

  “But the entire string of dams along the Colorado River are showing their age. And what with the climate changing, they are having to work overtime to control flooding.”

  “And not doing a great job of it. Anyhow, Jenks, thanks. I know you convinced the Trob I was right for the job.”

  “Didn’t have to. Project was tailor-made for you. And the timing is perfect. You hate living on the boat while it’s in the yard, and central Texas is your old stomping grounds. You’ve been saying you felt guilty that you didn’t get back to see friends and relatives often enough. What’s not to like?”

  “Trouble.”

  On hearing his name, my bird screeched an ear-splitting demand for jerky. Even though I knew better than to reward bad behavior, I grabbed a piece of Oberto Turkey Jerky, broke it in half and gave my roomies each a piece.

  “Bribing the animals again?” Jenks asked.

  “Yep. It’s easier on the ears.”

  “So, trouble seems to be your operative word. You could probably manage to get yourself into some in Texas. Seems to me you’re fond of it,” he teased.

  “Do I detect a pattern here? Jan says I’m a screwball and you call me a troublemaker.”

  He laughed. “I plead the fifth.”

  “It’s Tr…uh, a certain feathered beast. If I have to cross the border, what will I do with him?”

  “Can’t you farm him out to Jan and Chino?”

  “Nope. They’re closing down the whale camp for the year, and he’s signed up to lead a bionerd kayak expedition down the entire length of the Sea of Cortez. They have twenty-five or thirty kayaks involved, and Jan is in charge of the chase team, base camps, meals and the like along the way. It’s quite an undertaking, as you can imagine. They wanted Raymond Johnson as their mothership, gratis of course, but now my boat is broke. As I will be soon.”

  “You are such a worry wart. You’re hardly impoverished.”

  “You know my worst fear is ending up a bag lady.”

  “Chill, Red. Raymond Johnson is well overdue for all this deferred maintenance, especially the engines. By the way, I found your new manifolds on an after-market site, and figured it was time to replace the risers, so they’re already on the way to La Paz. And while we’re at it, we might as well have the bottom painted, and—”

  “Stop! Jeez, are you getting a kickback from the boatyard? You’re giving my bank account heartburn.”

  “How about we split the cost? After I finish up over here we’re going to cruise for months, so I have a vested interest in keeping that boat seaworthy.”

  When Jenks makes future plans with me it’s like a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. “You are such a romantic,” I teased.

  “You know what I mean, Red. I can’t have you and your little tribe running around in an unreliable vessel. I want you safe and sound.”

  Again, his words assuaged my building stress. “So, I guess going to Texas is a blessing dropped straight from Heaven?”

  “Not everyone equates Texas with Heaven,” Jenks sai
d with a chuckle.

  “Belay that blasphemous parley, Yankee boy!”

  “Hey, I’m a convert.”

  “Okay, recovering Yankee.”

  “That’s better. What else do I need to know about this gig besides having to show up on a certain date?”

  “For one thing, I’ve advised Wontrobski you’ll require an RUV and maybe a toad.”

  “Of course I will. Uh, just what in the hell are those?”

  “Where are you thinking of living while you’re in Texas?”

  “Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it yet. I usually stay with my parents.”

  “Don’t think that’ll suit you. You’ll be working at several lake parks during the week, so unless you want to commute or stay in a spider-infested fishing camp cabin, I think you’ll be happier if you have your own digs.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ve stayed in enough of those musty cabins.”

  “I know you have, so I did some legwork for you and found a recreational utility vehicle that’s perfect for you to live in.”

  “An RV? Those things scare me.” Mental pictures sprang to mind of motorized behemoths coming at me on Mex One, the drivers’ eyes crazed with terror as they hogged more than their fair share of the narrow pavement.

  “Hetta, let me get this straight. You have no problem operating a forty-five-foot yacht alone, but you’re worried about driving a twenty-five foot RV?”

  “I’ve never driven one. They look so…unwieldy. And why do I need a frog?”

  “Toad. Like a dinghy for RV’s.”

  “Lemme think about that. Won’t hooking up and unhooking a car make moving around that much harder? As I recall, you can’t back up with one attached.”

  “Good point but decide later. You can always unhook it and leave it at your dad’s.”

  “Okay, I guess, but I’m on the fence about the RV thing.”

  “Hetta, consider this: RVs have two huge advantages over boats.”

  “Like?”

  “They don’t sink, and they have brakes.”

  ❋

  When I hung up with Jenks, overwhelmment washed over me, leaving me near tears and on the verge of a mini panic attack.