Free Just Add Salt (2) by Jinx Schwartz

not fast enough to save me and Jan from an unscheduled shower. Shaking water from my hair, I handed Jan the hose, went back inside and flipped on the anchor windlass switch.
    Jan turned the nozzle back on high and aimed it at the chain while I tapped the footswitch next to the anchor windlass. I hit it a couple of times to straighten the chain, and saw a red chain link clear the water’s surface. Ten feet of chain was still in the water. Since my slip depth was about twelve feet, the anchor still rested on the yucky bottom.
    “I’m gonna bring it up slowly, Jan, so you can knock off as much salt water and crud as you can on the way up. Otherwise I’ll have to swab the decks. Ready?”
    Jan gave me the go-ahead and I slowly raised the chain while she gave it a liberal rinse. Rosemary watched from a safe distance, probably to make sure no bottom muck dripped onto her precious dock. I was more interested in preventing the anchor, when raised, from swinging into my hull.
    A yellow chain link let me know we had five feet to go. Rosemary moved to the dock in front of the bow. “When you get her up, I’ll watch she’s headin’ right into the chock. But like I said, you’ll get some ugly stuff on the end.”
    “Thanks, Ro. Here she comes.” I hit the foot control again. It was a good thing I only had yogurt for breakfast, for the dock mistress was dead right; there was something really ugly on the anchor. Rosemary, Jan and I screeched in unison.
     
    The rest of the day was a blur of coasties and cops. All kinds of cops: harbor patrol, sheriff’s department and the OPD. I couldn’t blame the Oakland Police for their obvious suspicion.
    It isn’t every day that one ends up with a body on one’s anchor.

Chapter 7
     
    “I already told you,” I told the umpteenth cop for the umpteenth time, “I don’t recognize him and I did hear something last night, but I was too sleepy to check it out.”
    The detective’s phone beeped, he listened for a while, jotting notes. After he hung up, he had a sardonic smile on his face. “Miss Coffey, headquarters tells me you have an interesting file.”
    Crap. Jan, who had been moping on the settee, piped up. “She never did anything really illegal. Right, Hetta?”
    “Of course I haven’t.” I tried to sound confidently indignant, but wondered how much of my past the detective knew about. Jan was right, though, I’d done nothing too illegal.
    Detective Norquist consulted his notes. “A shooting incident?”
    “Which one?” I stupidly blurted.
    He raised his eyebrows. “A few years back.”
    “Oh, that. I did shoot a humongous wharf rat that stowed away in my furniture when I moved back to Oakland from Japan.”
    “Uh-huh. Your dog carjacked a post office jeep?”
    “He was acquitted.”
    “And how about that body in your hot tub?”
    “Some guy killed Hudson, my ex-boyfriend. I had nothing to do with it. Your office has a copy of Alan, the murderer’s, confession. It was recorded on my boat's security camera. He killed Hudson and then tried to kill me. It’s all on record.”
    “And so is Alan’s disappearance, after you shot him.”
    “ At him. I was suffering from blood loss, so my aim was off.”
    Norquist shook his head and actually chuckled. “I see you know our Detective Martinez. He left a note or two in your file before he retired.”
    “Hey,” Jan asked, “do you have his phone number in Mexico? We want to call him, maybe see him soon.”
    I shot her a dirty look, but it was too late.
    “You’re planning a little trip south of the border?”
    “Uh, yes,” I told him. “I have a consulting job in Mexico coming up.”
    “I wouldn’t make any reservations just yet, if I were you.”
    “Oh, we aren’t gonna fly. We’re gonna take Hetta’s boat.”
    Was there no way to shut the woman up?
    Norquist gave us both an incredulous look, muttered something like, “Martinez was right,” under his breath, and folded up his pocket notebook. “Ladies, do