Make No Bones About It ( a Dig Site Mystery--Book 2)

by Ann Charles

  “Sure,” she said and held her hands up, fingers spread wide, her palms about an inch from the wall. After a few seconds, she moved them around, down, over toward the corner.

  There!

  She grabbed her flashlight and aimed it in the corner.

  “Fernando, do you see that?”

  He leaned closer. “A crack.”

  It was too thin for a pencil to fit through, but twice as long. “Good news, boys. There’s more to this temple than meets the eye.”

  “What do you mean?” Maverick backed up, giving her space as she pushed to her feet.

  “I felt cool air coming through that crack.”

  “You think there’s another room like this?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked over at Fernando, who was still frowning down at the crack. “If it were only another chamber sealed within the temple, we probably wouldn’t feel cooler air.”

  “It’s breathing.” Fernando’s tone made it clear that the fact didn’t please him.

  “If we were farther north on the peninsula,” she told Maverick, “I’d guess that we were standing over a cenote.”

  “Cenote? That’s one of those holes in the limestone shelf filled with water, right?”

  “Bingo. Cenotes are usually linked via underground tunnels to other cenotes.”

  “So air would be moving through them,” he finished.

  “But we’re not up north. Cenotes are few and far between here.” She thought of the limestone mine and the wall someone had built to block it. Maybe there was a connection between it and the temple. The mine’s entrance was about fifty yards away. A tunnel could have been dug between the two.

  “Maybe there’s a ventilation shaft,” Fernando suggested.

  “That’s a possibility.” She’d witnessed such airways in other temples around the Yucatán. “The Maya were brilliant architects. Just ask my father.”

  “He’s told me a thing or two.” Maverick wiped his forehead. “And then he proceeded to scare the shit out of me by removing what he said was a key bridge stone in an arch back in the Baatz’ Temple.”

  Fernando grumbled under his breath in Spanish about her father’s practical jokes.

  Angélica chuckled. “My dad loves to perform archaeology magic tricks that make the crowd ooh and ahh.”

  “More like run screaming in terror out of the temple,” Maverick said with a small smile. “He’d make quite a character in one of my books.”

  “He is muy loco,” Fernando added.

  The sound of Bernard’s footfalls coming their way made the three of them turn toward the chamber’s entrance. The young Brit ducked and stepped inside the chamber with them, his wide-toothed smile making him look even younger than his twenty-one years. “The helicopter is back.”

  Great, Pedro and Teodoro had returned. Angélica hoped the shaman had gathered everything they needed to deal with the snakes this afternoon. She didn’t think Jane was going to be able to keep working at this end of the site much longer if they didn’t try to relocate the den soon. The girl was growing more skittish by the day.

  “Now what do we do?” Bernard asked in his English accent, his teeth looking even whiter thanks to his sunburned face. “Shall I bring a dustpan and brush to tidy up? Maybe we could serve tea and biscuits in here later this afternoon.”

  “In this heat, your biscuits would go stale as soon you took them out of the package,” Maverick said.

  That reminded her … “It’s time for lunch.” Angélica pointed at Bernard. “You need to ask Teodoro for some of his sunburn salve before you start to blister. I told you hats are a necessity down here for someone as pale as you and Gertrude.”

  Although the German girl seemed to have amazingly sunburn-resistant skin. She looked as pale as the day she’d arrived, even though Angélica had seen her walking around without a hat several times. Those bright blue streaks in Gertrude’s hair were hard to miss even from across the plaza.

  “Are you coming?” Fernando asked. “You know your father likes to make sure you eat enough while working.”

  She sighed, not understanding why her dad worried so much about food and her. Thanks to María’s cooking, she could afford to skip a meal or ten. “How about you bring me back something.”

  “You sure?”

  Glancing around at the freshly cleared room, she rubbed her hands together. Who had time for food when this chamber was finally all hers for the studying? Now she understood why Fernando had been recruiting crew members to come help him. He’d promised her that he’d have the temple cleared by afternoon, and Fernando always delivered on his promises.

  “Yes,” she said, eyeing his backpack. “I think I’m going to sit a spell in here with the snakeskins and jot down some notes, maybe do some rubbings.” This morning, Fernando had filled the backpack with rice paper, charcoal, brushes, and more before leaving the supply tent and heading for the temple with Bernard.

  “You sure it’s safe to stay in here alone?” Maverick asked.

  “She likes to be alone,” Fernando told him.

  That was true until Quint had come along and messed with her head, damn it.

  “We could stay and help you with the rubbings,” Bernard offered.

  “No, go eat. It’s going to take me awhile to survey the walls. You’ll be breathing down my neck to hurry up if you stay.”

  “Survey?” Maverick paused in the room’s entryway. “You mean architecturally? I thought that was your father’s specialty.”

  “I’m not talking about architecture. That crack has me wondering about something that the glyphs or carvings in here may explain. With closer examination, I hope to figure out if this chamber is merely another burial tomb of the site’s previous nobility, or if it’s something else.”

  Bernard’s forehead creased. “Like what?”

  She looked at the carving of Yum Cimil. “Maybe a gateway to the Maya Underworld.”

  Chapter Nine

  El Perro (the Spanish word for dog):

  Throughout the Maya world, a dog was considered an invaluable companion for the dead, guiding their spirits along on the harrowing journey through the nine levels of the Underworld.

  Quint was one of the first of Angélica’s non-INAH crew to arrive at the mess tent that evening. He debated on waiting for Angélica, but he wasn’t sure she’d even show up after skipping lunch. His stomach was growling loud enough to scare off the noisy howler monkeys, so he grabbed a plate and dished up some of María’s usual-but-delicious chicken panucho covered with her drool-inspiring spicy sauce. He nodded at the college crew and Lorenzo, on his way to the table where Angélica and her father usually sat.

  A few bites into Quint’s meal, Pedro stormed into the mess tent. After scanning the place, he marched straight to Quint and slid onto the bench seat next to him.

  His shoulder bumped Quint’s as he leaned in close and spoke quietly. “I need to tell you something.”

  Quint swallowed a bite. “And here I thought you were sitting so close to me because you had a crush on me.”

  When Pedro didn’t laugh or joke back, Quint glanced over at him. The anxious lines on Pedro’s face gave him pause. “Is Angélica okay?”

  “She’s fine. So is her father.” Pedro laced his fingers together, resting his hands on top of the table. “But before either of them arrive, I need to tell you what I learned while hanging out in Coba, waiting for Teodoro to take care of business.”

  Considering Pedro’s willingness to hold off on eating María’s panuchos in order to tell his tale, Quint suspected Pedro’s news wasn’t going to make him feel like forming a conga line and snaking his way around the room.

  “You better hurry then,” he told Pedro, setting his fork down. “Juan’s probably not far behind me.” Angélica’s father had turned toward the showers with his towel in hand when Quint made a beeline for the mess tent.

  Pedro continued in a low voice for Quint’s ears only. “I had cell phone service in Coba and time on my h
ands, so I made a few calls, trying to learn more about the pilot who’d been flying the helicopter that crashed with Marianne inside. It took five calls, but I finally got the number of the pilot’s old girlfriend.” Pedro glanced toward the entrance, which remained empty for the moment. “I called her. She still lives in Cancun, a few blocks from the airport. Still works in the cantina where they first met.”

  “That’s kind of sad for her.”

  “Such is life in Mexico.” Pedro scratched at the wooden table. “I asked her if the pilot had mentioned anything odd happening at one of the dig sites where he transported goods and people, anything that might have made the pilot think his life was in danger.” Pedro’s brown eyes locked onto Quint’s. “Her answer gave me a goose rash.”

  Quint was too interested in what the pilot’s girlfriend had said to correct his friend. He leaned in closer. “And?”

  “He told her a couple of weeks before his last flight that the archaeologist in charge of a site at the edge of the Calakmul Biosphere Reserve had received several warnings to stop digging there from a few of the locals he’d hired.”

  “They threatened him?”

  “That’s what she initially thought, too, but he told her he’d talked to the local boys and they were just repeating stories handed down from their ancestors about the dangers of waking up Ah Puch at this site.”

  “The death god? Same guy as Yum Cimil, right?”

  Pedro nodded. “Death, disaster, and destruction. He covers all three and then some.”

  “So why were they working here if they knew about these stories and warnings?”

  With a shrug, Pedro said, “They probably needed the money. Riches aren’t exactly abundant down here in the jungle, especially during the dry season when crops are struggling.”

  “So their stories were what? About the death god killing off any who woke him?”

  “All the pilot’s girlfriend remembered was that he had mentioned hearing the same warning several times from various workers—that continuing their work would end in releasing terror upon themselves.”

  “But Marianne and the pilot were the only ones who died.”

  Pedro’s black eyebrows lifted. “Are we sure about that?”

  “No, we are not. But wouldn’t Angélica have found out by now if the other archaeologist and his crew had been snuffed out?”

  “Snuffed out? That means killed, yes?” At Quint’s nod, Pedro continued, “Maybe. The archaeologist for sure, but not necessarily anyone on his crew. You need to ask her to be certain.”

  “Why me?”

  “You’re her lover.”

  Not lately. He was more like a frisky, frustrated roommate. “But you’re like a brother to her.”

  “A lover is closer than a brother. This is a job for you.”

  They both sat for a moment, exchanging frowns.

  “Has anyone here received warnings of any sort?” he asked Pedro. He figured he would have heard about it if so, but maybe someone was good at keeping secrets.

  “Not that I’ve heard, but remember, Angélica didn’t hire locals this time, she brought everyone in from the outside. Maybe we need to take a trip over to the reserve’s headquarters, ask the folks in charge if they know of any curses or stories about this site.”

  Before Quint could reply, Juan stepped into the tent with Angélica on his heels. They both came straight to the table, joining Quint and Pedro, curtailing any further discussion on the subject for the time being.

  After a questioning glance in Pedro’s direction, Angélica sat down on the bench opposite Quint. “You two look cozy. Did we interrupt your romantic dinner for two?”

  With a loud guffaw that sounded fake to Quint’s ears, Pedro clapped him on the back and rose from his seat. “What can I say, Angel, Quint is one hot piece of man flesh.”

  Juan snickered at Quint from across the table. “Oh, he’s hot, all right,” he said, playing along. “He’s practically melting before our eyes.”

  Stabbing another piece of his panucho, Quint grinned across at Angélica’s dad. “I prefer to be referred to as steamy.” He stuck the bite in his mouth and then scrubbed the gritty mixture of sweat and dirt off his face with his napkin. There was nothing like eating in a sauna.

  Angélica’s smile lit up her eyes. “It’s a good thing I like my men wet.”

  “How many men are we talking about?” Quint stabbed another piece.

  A wink from her was the only answer he received. She stood. “I’ll grab you a plate, Dad. You just sit there and ogle Quint for me.” She followed Pedro over to María, who was handing out platefuls of happiness by the ladleful.

  “I need your help tomorrow,” Juan told him, waving Daisy over to join them.

  “If you’re going to try to lure me inside that other sub chamber, you’re going to have to get me wasted off my ass first. I don’t like all of the cracks in that damned ceiling.”

  Inside the Baatz’ Temple just off the main entrance was what Juan guessed to be a small burial chamber. However, several stones and blocks had fallen from the ceiling, and it needed shoring before it was safe for the crew. Juan had told Quint of his plans to make it “mostly” sound structurally, and Quint had told Juan that being buried alive in a temple named after monkeys was not on his agenda for this trip.

  “I’ll have to see how much balche Teodoro has prepared,” Juan said. “A few cups of that potent nectar and you’re all mine.” He let out a fake evil laugh that quieted when Daisy sat down next to him. After exchanging a quick greeting with her, Juan returned his focus to Quint. “I actually need you to go with me into the critter-free limestone mine Angélica was telling me about on the walk here.”

  Quint shook his head. “What is it with you and tight spaces under massive amounts of rock or earth?”

  “I like to live dangerously.”

  Snorting, Quint cut the last bit of his panucho in half. “I like to live. Period.”

  After everyone finished eating, each member checked in and shared finds and frustrations with Angélica.

  Quint sat across from her, sipping from his drink, distracted by the thoughts racing through his mind.

  Did Angélica have any clue what she’d gotten herself into at this site? What she’d possibly gotten them all into? He glanced her way, watching her as she talked to her father, her hands animated.

  She’d found something in the Chakmo’ol Temple that had her sparkling with excitement. As she talked to her father about needing his guidance on the safest method to break through an interior wall, one that would cause the least amount of damage to the glyphs and overlying structure, Quint felt a tap on his leg.

  Under the table, Pedro set a small square of folded paper on his thigh.

  What was that? Was Pedro passing notes? When Quint looked up, Pedro mimed zipping his lips.

  Quint fingered the paper, trying to decide if it was a good idea to open it now or later. In the end, curiosity got the best of him. He drained his water and stood with the empty cup, heading over to the jug of fresh drinking water. He refilled his cup, keeping his back to Angélica. He pulled the note from his pocket and quickly unwrapped it. The words Pedro had written on the page made no sense.

  El perro regresa

  What the hell did that mean? He pocketed the paper.

  The first part was about a dog, but what did regresa mean? He set the cup down and turned around, finding Angélica’s attention on him, watchful, studying.

  He returned a quick smile. They needed to talk, but not here. He had questions that only she could answer, but he needed to be careful how he asked since they centered on her mom’s death.

  Her eyes stayed locked on him as he returned to the table.

  “You about done?” he asked her.

  She nodded, stabbing the last bite of her panucho.

  “I’m going back to the tent. I’ll wait for you there.” With a quick glance at Pedro, whose usual good humor had been absent throughout the meal, Quint left the mess tent.


  The moon lit the way, the mosquitoes escorting him through the dry grass. The forest seemed louder tonight, or maybe he was more on edge than before. An owl hooted in a nearby tree. He frowned, thinking of Ah Puch and his screech owl pal. That was just fucking great. A hoot-a-gram from a harbinger of death was exactly what Quint needed tonight after Pedro’s tale about the previous crew’s warnings of impending doom.

  He unzipped the tent flap and turned on the battery-powered lamp. Pulling out Pedro’s note, he frowned at it again, repeating the last word. What did that mean? Was “the dog” some weird reference to the possible dangers at this site? The locals’ warnings he’d heard about from the pilot’s ex-girlfriend? There were no wild dogs in the Mexican jungle, at least not the sort you’d find in the Australian outback or the African savannah.

  Stuffing the note in his duffel bag, he grabbed some fresh clothes and his shower bag. After spending the afternoon sweating his ass off while clearing the brush and trees from along the northern side of the Baatz’ Temple, he could use a scrub down with a wire brush and a bar of lye soap.

  He flexed his right hand, frowning at the soreness he’d acquired from wielding a machete for hours on end. It was a wonder Angélica didn’t have Popeye forearms after all of the machete swinging she’d done since arriving here.

  The sound of the tent zipper made him look toward the mesh flap.

  Angélica stepped inside. She held his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “You’ve been quiet since I arrived at supper.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “And you keep watching me when you think I’m not looking.”

  “What can I say? I’m smitten.”

  “No games, Parker.” She grabbed clothes and shower supplies. “Did something happen with Dad at the temple this afternoon? Something he doesn’t want me to know about his leg?”

  “Your father is fine. You’d hardly even know his leg was broken months ago.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He tried to come up with a casual way to ask if she’d heard about any death threats delivered to the previous archaeology crew, but he hesitated. With Angélica’s level-headedness, she’d probably shrug off any verbal threats that may or may not have actually occurred in the past. She’d figure it was just local agitators trying to keep the Mexican government from invading their lives down here in the jungle. Besides, Pedro’s source for this information wasn’t the most reliable. For Angélica to take this seriously, they needed something more substantial than a gossip-based story told over the phone by an old girlfriend of a dead pilot.