Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

those cartoon characters from my childhood. I sighed, wishing him teleported to my side, right now. I so missed my whatever he is.
     
    I was tacking an overall jobsite plot plan to the wall when my computer dinged and I saw Jenks was awake and online.
    He'd been on the go for days, ever since we'd crossed the Sea of Cortez from San Carlos on the Mexican mainland. He took a day to help me settle my boat, Raymond Johnson , into a slip at the marina, and then he took off.
    About my boat's name, one might think Raymond Johnson a little odd, but my dearly departed dog would have liked it just fine. He was given that name by Jan, my bestest friend, after I'd been calling my new pound hound Dawg for a several weeks. Jan felt that maybe if I showed the pooch a little more respect, gave him a real name, he might act better.
    She had loved the Redd Foxx Show and we both watched reruns of Sandford and Son sitcoms whenever we got the chance. Both had this character, Raymond J. Johnson, who did a schtick: "My name is Raymond J. Johnson, Jr. Now you can call me Ray, or you can call me J, or you can call me Johnny, or you can call me Sonny, or you can call me Junie, or you can call me Junior; now you can call me Ray J, or you can call me RJ, or you can call me RJJ, or you can call me RJJ Jr., but you doesn't hasta call me Johnson!" Anyhow, Raymond Johnson it was, and we called him RJ. Naming him did nothing to improve his incorrigible nature, which Jan said was because he took after me. Maybe that's why there was still a hole in my heart he used to fill.
    In his photo on my new desk, RJ sported one of those goofy yellow lab grin-shots, stick in mouth, dripping wet. A placid Russian River lazed in the background. I snapped the picture, a canoe floated into sight, the people calling, "Oh, look at that cute dog."
    RJ still answered to Dawg.
    He perked, turned and rushed back into the river while I yelled warnings neither he nor the canoeists heeded. A strong swimmer, he was on them in seconds. Launching his sixty-pound heft from the water, he hooked his paws over a gunwale. Screams, woofs and curses ensued as people and coolers hit the chilly drink. By the time they righted the boat and climbed back in, they were quite a bit downstream, and had given him a few new names, none of which were, cute .
    It was losing RJ that launched me into the boating world. I'd been looking around to change my life, and when he died my need for a house no longer existed. I sold my lovingly renovated three-story, hundred-year-old Bay Area home and moved aboard Raymond Johnson . Well, at the time it was named Sea Cock , but that name had to go.
    A forty-five foot Californian motor yacht, she is basically a three-level, two-bedroom floating condo. Carpeted throughout in a rich marine blue, the furniture—real furniture, not built-ins like I’d seen on so many boats—was upholstered in ivory. Had anyone told me back when I was in my snobby decorator mode at my home in Oakland—where almost anything worth covering was done up in buttery soft leather—that I would learn to love pleather, I would've un-friended them on Facebook. On a boat, however, it is ever so practical.
    My large aft master suite has a queen-sized bed, tons of closet (locker) and storage (locker again) space, and an en suite head, or bathroom. In the bow there is a two-bunk guest room with its own shower and toilet. Jan's quarters, for the most part.
    There is a well-equipped galley with a full-sized AC/DC stainless refrigerator, three-burner stove, oven, microwave, and built-in banquette for informal dining.
    In the main cabin, or saloon (pronounced salon, as in beauty shop, not a shoot-em-up western bar), there's a small office area and upholstered sofas and chairs, plus a navigation station for driving from inside the boat. This comes in handy when the flying bridge is being inundated by rain and wind, or in my case, when bad guys are shooting at you.
    She (all boats are she, no matter the