Just Add Salt (2) by Jinx Schwartz Page B

before our scheduled departure, Fabio, who was staying with his cousin, arrived to get the boat secured for leaving the dock. I’d already gotten rid of a lot of clutter, which I left in the dock box. Jan was making her third trip to her place to get clothes. God forbid we should be unfashionable on the high seas.
    “Miss Café,” Fabio called from outside, “why have you put the anchor into the water?”
    Oh no, not again. Heart tripping, I rushed to the bow and found my anchor chain once again dangling into the estuary. I shrugged at Fabio, feigning unfelt nonchalance. “Uh, I’ll bring it up.”
    And I did, but with much trepidation. Little by little I tapped the foot control until I could see something white below the water. Great. Taking a gulp of air, I stomped the switch and closed my eyes until I heard Fabio say, “What is this?”
    A white plastic box was attached to the anchor. Better than a white body, I guess, but ominous nonetheless. Fabio left the boat, grappled the chain and pulled the box onto the dock while I held my breath. Before I could warn him, Fabio stripped off the tape, opened the package and laughed. “It is for you, Miss Café.” He held up a sign that read, Hasta La Bye-Bye!
    At that moment, the yacht club windows flew open and a chorus yelled, “Surprise!”
     
    Jan and I, still sporting huge sombreros and resplendent black mustaches we’d found in the box marked Hasta La Bye-Bye! , left while the party was still in full swing. I don’t think they even noticed the guests of honor were missing.
    It was a themed party, the theme being “Raiders of Mexico,” in honor of our upcoming invasion. Someone had done their historical homework: Conquistador, pirate, and padre costumes abounded. Ernesto and Fabio, decked out fittingly as an illegal and a border patrol agent, won first prize.
    Unfortunately, Garrison showed up.
    Garrison had lived on my boat both before—and even after—I bought the vessel out from under him. Using a degree of subterfuge and deception I would normally admire if it were not aimed at me, he’d managed to convince me I should turn over the care and feeding of my vessel to, who else? Him, of course. Anyhow, I finally found him out, gave him the heave ho and, in retribution for lying to and stealing from me, dumped his car into the estuary. Of course, he could never prove it was me, but from his nasty attitude at the party, it was obvious he carried a grudge. I ignored his annoying self and enjoyed the party.
    Fabio, since he was our designated driver, left the party early after politely refusing any beverage containing alcohol, Jan and I, the designated drinkers, were still far from sober when the engines roared to life at two, only a couple of hours after we’d passed out. We came to and stumbled up help him get underway, but Fabio sent us back to our bunks. The party at the yacht club was still going, so he had plenty of help, albeit some of it a little shaky, untying the lines.
    I woke up again a couple of hours later when I felt the boat, which had been moving smoothly along the bay, began to plow into rolling swells. Even on a calm day, the Pacific lets you know you’re in her territory.
    “Hey, Fabio,” I said, joining him on the flying bridge, “got any coffee left in that thermos?”
    He nodded and I grabbed a travel cup from a drawer. Jenks, bless his heart, had taught me all about keeping stuff handy, like caffeine and cups. Jan dragged herself up to join us, expecting to enjoy the city and bridge lights, but she was sorely disappointed. Dense fog plagued us as we crossed the bay and then under the Golden Gate Bridge.
    Tension mounted by the minute as the three of us stared at the radar screen and listened for warning blasts from large vessels capable of turning us into so much flotsam. Stationary foghorns on hazards to navigation, beguiling when one is tucked in one’s bunk in safe harbor, wracked our nerves. I was having second thoughts about