Just Needs Killin Read Free

opaque wrap. I couldn't do much, on such short notice, about the extra ten pounds—okay, fifteen—setting off my zaftig-ness. However, I'd just had my pixie-cut hair re-reddened and my toenails lacquered Dior 438, Mango, which Jan said set off my hair.
    We decided Ishi-san need not know about me bunking with Jan. I'd wander down during the luau and get myself invited to join the festivities, which shouldn't be much of a problem since my friends say I can talk myself past a Buckingham Palace guard. This way, if Ishi later tried storming Jan's door, so to speak, I'd be there to whack him one. Okay, that might be an unfortunate choice of words, but you get the gist. And if he later reneged on his promise of funding Chino's expedition to find a sunken Manila galleon in Magdalena Bay, I'd bear witness Jan kept her end of the deal.
    We turned off Mex 1 and immediately dove into a rocky wash.
    "Dirt?" Jan exclaimed as we bounced a couple of times. "They build a multi-million buck resort and don't pave the road into it? Look at this mess. If it rains they're gonna have to take their guests to the airport by boat, cuz this baby's going to flood."
    "For sure. They need themselves a bridge, but with the size of this arroyo, it'll cost mucho dinero , which is probably why they haven't done it yet. Hurricane season, or even a heavy rain, must pose a serious commute problem."
    Once through the vado , we climbed a wide gravel road, well-maintained, but still—gravel?
    A few dusty miles later, I was patting myself on the back for deciding to bring a vehicle with windows and A/C. We came around a curve and the resort loomed, like a Mexican Xanadu, from the surrounding lunar-like landscape. The turquoise waters of the Sea of Cortez sparkled in sharp surreal contrast to the barren desert. Palm trees and flowering greenery, obviously imported, swayed with the gentle afternoon breeze. I'd seen the hotel from the water, but it was even more impressive when arriving by land, because it was just suddenly there .
    Since most guests probably arrive via a shuttle from the Loreto airport, we parked right in front, one of the few private vehicles to do so. Three men dressed in light colored shirts and dark pants reminiscent of yacht crew dashed to greet us. While Jan was ushered to the front lobby desk, I dawdled at the pickup so as not to be seen by the office staff, then sauntered into a nearby gift shop. I was, however, close enough to hear her give her name to the clerk: Hetta Coffey. 
    We'd discuss that later.
     
    Our room was touted as a small suite, but was the size of a one-bedroom apartment back home. With a kitchen and dining area, queen sofa bed in the living room, and a king bed in the bedroom, we certainly weren't going to crowd each other. After living on the boat for so long, I was in heaven, space-wise. From the balcony we could have seen the entrance to Puerto Escondido harbor if I'd thought to bring my binoculars. 
    A large bouquet of flowers, a bowl of fruit, two iced-down bottles of Veuve Clicquot, and an envelope marked "Hetta" sat on the dining table. "So, Hetta , looks like you have mail," I snarled.
    "Seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, who knew you'd actually be here?"
    "Yeah, who knew?"'
    "I might remind you," Jan said, "of all the times you gave my business card out in bars to jerks you wanted to get rid of? And when you used my name to rent a car that got burned up? And—"
    "Okay, okay. What's the note say?"
    "Just a room number and a reminder the cocktail party is at six, which means I gotta get a move on. Will you help me put some of these flowers in my hair?"
    I picked out a few huge pink hibiscus blooms and we moved to the master bathroom. I rummaged in her makeup kit for something to fasten them with while she glommed mascara onto her long lashes, and applied a smidgen of blue shadow on those previously swollen eyelids we'd treated with chilled tea bags.
    "You know, Jan, I've been thinking. With all the