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

by Ann Charles

  “What the hell just happened?” he asked Maverick.

  “A snake came down out of the tree and lunged for Angélica. Teodoro sliced its head off before it reached her. It happened so fast that all I could do was watch.”

  “Quick reflexes.”

  “The man isn’t human, I swear. I’ve been catching flies with my mouth all day watching him work his magic.”

  Quint looked over at Angélica. “You okay?”

  She nodded, frowning. “I should have looked up before moving in for the tail grab, but that damned snake kept wiggling off my hook.”

  “Es muy peligroso ahora.” Teodoro wiped the blood off his machete on a leaf and then picked up his hook again.

  “What did he say?” Maverick asked.

  “It’s more dangerous now.” She pulled out her machete and inched forward along with Teodoro. “We’ll have to keep a spotter until we clear the den of the rest.”

  No other snakes were injured in the removal process, but Quint lost a gallon of sweat … or three.

  Finally, they emptied the den. With the last snake bagged, Angélica didn’t waste time celebrating. She dropped down onto her hands and knees and started to crawl through the hole into the den.

  “Oh no you don’t, woman,” Quint said, grabbing her by the hips as she started inside. He tailed her and dragged her backward, not even bothering with hooking her first.

  “Quint!” She rolled over onto her back, glaring up at him. “What are you doing? I’m the smallest. I’ll fit in the hole best.”

  “You’re not going in there. I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m stronger, that’s why. You can’t drag that big chunk of stone out on your own, but I can.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “And you’re better with a machete.” He pulled her to her feet, dusting off her backside for her. “You and Teodoro watch for snakes coming back to the den. I’ll get the damned rock.”

  Before she could argue further, he was down on his stomach, belly crawling into the den.

  The inside reeked with a stench that made him gag. His eyes watered. He didn’t even want to think about how much snake shit and animal remains he was crawling through. Where was that damned mask Juan had made him wear in the mine? He grabbed the chunk of stone and tugged on it. The sucker had to weigh sixty to seventy pounds. He dragged it through the dirt, backing out of the den slowly.

  Once Quint was back in the hot jungle air, Maverick held out a hand to help him up while Angélica knelt to inspect the stone.

  “What’s it say?” Quint stood, brushing off his shirt.

  “I can’t read it yet. It’s coated with dirt and mud. I need to clean it off.”

  “Uh, Dr. García,” Maverick said, bending over and shining his flashlight into the den. “I hate to interrupt your Indiana Jones moment, but I think I figured out the reason that piece of stone was in the den.”

  “What do you mean?” Angélica asked. She pulled out her paintbrush and began to clear off dirt.

  “Take a look for yourself.”

  Quint leaned down, peering in next to Maverick. Teodoro joined them.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Quint whispered.

  “What?” Angélica said, joining them finally. “Is that …” she trailed off. “Crap.”

  Inside of the den, there were now two rattlesnakes writhing around while three more slithered out of a hole in the back wall that Quint had exposed when he removed the rock.

  “It was a plug,” she said.

  “What the hell?” Quint asked as the hole filled with more snakes, like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

  Maverick leaned closer, aiming his beam deeper into the exposed hole. “Jesus! Look at all of them back there. Where are they coming from?”

  Teodoro said something in Mayan, stepping back, his face pale. He made a quick sign in the air with his fingers and chanted something up at the sky.

  “What did he say?” Quint asked Angélica.

  “He said the snakes are coming from the Maya Underworld.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Quint lifted the piece of stela with a grunt and stepped back, keeping Angélica behind him as a snake that had been slithering their way coiled up. Its rattle began to shake. “We’ve stumbled onto a portal to hell.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Balche Tree: A tree whose bark is used, along with other ingredients such as honey and sugar, to produce wine for traditional ceremonies.

  Goddamned rattlesnakes!

  It was bad enough that Quint’s afternoon had been spent avoiding their fangs one burlap bag after another, but now the assholes were screwing up his plans for an evening alone with the boss lady.

  Quint lowered himself onto a log acting as a bench next to the fire Teodoro had built. The rest of the crew lounged around the fire as well, minus Angélica and Daisy, who were helping María prepare large thick tortillas called nohua, a ritual bread for the Lolcatali ceremony.

  After finding that snake hole, Teodoro had insisted on having the ceremony to petition the spirits to protect the camp from evil spirits ASAP—as in tonight, which scratched Quint’s opportunity to get Angélica alone off the calendar.

  It turned out that a hole into the Maya Underworld was really bad juju in the shaman’s eyes. Angélica must have understood the significance of that hole, because she didn’t argue at all when Teodoro had announced after wrapping up with the snake den that he was going to start the ceremony when the sun was setting.

  And now, here Quint sat along with most of the crew. A few yards away on the other side of the fire, Teodoro played his traditional part at an altar made of arched branches and wood planks. Lit candles stood next to gourd bowls, two filled with cacao and two with wine made from a balche tree. Each bowl sat at a corner of the altar, representing four of something in the Maya world that Quint couldn’t remember at the moment.

  The low rumbling sound of Teodoro’s voice filled the evening, lulling Quint, along with the crackle of flames. Incense and wood smoke blended in the heavy humidity to create a sweet, light scent in the still air. If he closed his eyes he might fall asleep …

  What are you? A voice whispered in the darkness.

  Quint opened his eyes with a start. Who said that? He looked behind him toward the dark forest but found only shadows. He could swear someone had spoken right next to him.

  He turned back, frowning into the flames. He must have been dreaming, but damn, that was …

  Do you know what you are doing?

  What the fuck? He looked around again. Who was talking? Was Angélica messing with him?

  His scalp prickled.

  Someone was watching him.

  Quint looked up from the flames, scanning faces.

  The boys were still helping Teodoro.

  Juan was busy talking to Jane, pointing down at her injured leg while she nodded.

  Gertrude was … Gertrude was staring at him.

  He stared back through the fire, trying to figure out if she was dazed from the wine and chanting or if she was actually focused on him. In the flickering light, her skin looked almost luminescent.

  “Any trouble at the shower, Quint?” Juan called.

  Shaking out of what felt like a trance, Quint answered, “Trouble? You mean with snakes?”

  “I mean trouble with rinsing that pesky soap off this time.” Juan’s face split into a shit-eating grin.

  Angélica’s father was too damned observant for Quint’s good. Thankfully, Pedro joined them before Juan had a chance to further harass him. He sat down next to Quint on the log.

  Across the fire, Jane and Gertrude both began to question Juan about the purpose of the Lolcatali ceremony and what would happen next.

  Quint watched the three of them for a moment, especially Gertrude. He waited to see if she looked back his way again, but she didn’t.

  Pedro leaned in close. “I heard from my friend in Cancun,” he whispered, his gaze locked on the flames.


  Quint glanced his way. “How? Via the monkey hotline? Are you part of the Jungle VIP?”

  “I checked my messages on my phone when I was up in the air earlier, moving those snakes.”

  “You checked your messages while you were operating a helicopter?”

  Pedro shrugged. “I just push a few buttons and the helicopter does the rest of the work.”

  Quint was pretty positive there was a lot more to flying a helicopter than pushing a few buttons. “What did you hear?”

  Lines formed on Pedro’s forehead. “Not good news.” He paused while Lorenzo offered several small gourd bowls full of balche wine around the fire. Pedro took one for himself.

  Quint followed suit, ready for some of Teodoro’s homemade honey-sweetened wine after a day filled with hissing snakes. “Gracias,” he told Lorenzo. As soon as the boy was out of earshot, he bumped his knee once against Pedro’s. “Spit it out.”

  “No way. I like this wine.”

  “The news, smartass.”

  Pedro waited for Juan to continue his tour guide translation of the ceremony before speaking. “The Mexican government has a policy that states in the event of an aircraft-related fatality, pilots must have a forensic toxicology test done in addition to an autopsy. They test for all sorts of chemicals in the blood, including alcohol, drugs, and more.”

  There was only one reason Pedro would be bringing this up now. “What did they find?”

  “Poison. Neurotoxin from snake venom was listed in the report.”

  “Snake venom?”

  He nodded. “After the toxicology report came back, the pictures of the body were re-examined. The multiple puncture wounds on the pilot’s legs were then determined to be snake bites.”

  Quint had a feeling he knew what kind of snake did the damage. “Rattlesnakes. What the fuck?”

  “So, he was either bit before liftoff or during the flight.”

  “Not after the crash?”

  “The chances of his being bit after the accident are not good. Snakes aren’t going to rush to a crash scene to bite a dead man.”

  “So, he was dead upon landing?”

  Pedro nodded. “At least that’s what the coroner’s report says based on the time of death determined from the autopsy. We know for certain that the pilot was dead when the rescue team arrived.”

  “What size helicopter are we talking?

  “A Robinson R-44 Raven, 4-seater.”

  “What’s the typical payload on those?”

  “Around 750 pounds.”

  “So if it were a 4-seater, Marianne could have been sitting in front with the pilot or in the back. Was there any evidence of Marianne being bitten?”

  Pedro shrugged. “I don’t remember anything else being mentioned about bites. Marianne’s wounds were pretty extensive, though. The crash threw her from the helicopter. I don’t know that the doctors were looking for bites. They were just trying to keep her alive long enough for Juan and Angélica to get to the hospital and say good-bye.” Pedro paused, clearing his throat. “I’m beginning to wonder if Marianne was the murder victim, or if the pilot was the objective and Marianne was killed because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  They both sat in silence for a moment, drinking balche, letting Pedro’s announcement settle in the warm air.

  Quint listened to the popping and sizzling of the fire as Teodoro’s humming rose and fell. Across the flames, Juan continued to answer Jane’s and Gertrude’s questions in a low voice. The evening light had faded, leaving the night’s dark cloak draped over them. The jungle sounds were louder now; the party in the trees was really rocking. Occasionally piercing the racket was a howl or two from a monkey.

  Glancing around into the shadows, Quint wondered what was keeping Angélica. How long did it take to make enough ceremonial bread for tonight’s event?

  Pedro finished his bowl of wine and set it down on the ground next to his boots. “Where do we go from here?”

  “Did they do an autopsy on Marianne?”

  “I don’t think so. I could ask Juan, but I’m not sure how to bring it up without inspiring a lot of questions in return.”

  “True.” Quint blew out a breath of frustration. He was going to have enough of a problem with Angélica. He had a feeling that before anything was going to happen involving nakedness the next time they were alone, she was going to hold out on him until he answered questions about what secret Pedro was keeping from her.

  How much to tell her still had Quint scratching his jaw. How would she feel about Pedro and him looking into her mother’s death, raising all sorts of questions about the accident?

  A second gourd of wine later, Quint was beginning to feel light on his feet, even though he hadn’t moved from the log. Pedro went back for more balche and refilled Quint’s small gourd bowl again as well. The girls across the way had quieted down, their eyes growing glassier with each swallow of wine. Bernard was now helping Teodoro alongside Fernando, Lorenzo, and Esteban. Maverick sat next to Juan, sharing an occasional comment as they watched Teodoro move about behind the altar.

  A hand touched his shoulder. He looked up. Angélica smiled at him, her dark auburn hair free for once, cascading over her shoulders. Maybe it was a side effect of the wine, but he couldn’t stop staring at her. She was drop-dead gorgeous in the flickering light. Quint cursed those damned snakes and their hole to hell again.

  “How are things going?” she asked, lowering herself onto the log next to him. She took his bowl of wine from him and tipped it up to her mouth. “Ummmm, delicious.” She licked her lips, flames reflecting in her eyes. “How much wine has Pedro poured down your throat?” She handed the gourd back to him.

  “This is my third,” he said, his focus locked onto her lips. They glistened in the firelight. He’d like to lean in and taste the sweet wine on them, but he held back. Barely.

  “Teodoro has to be exhausted,” she said, scooting closer to Quint until their thighs touched. He poured more wine down his throat, trying to deaden his lust. “After all of those snakes he caught and released today, a Lolcatali ceremony is going to wear him out.”

  “How are you doing?” he asked her. She’d caught quite a few snakes herself this afternoon.

  “Frustrated. From what I can tell, that stela you pulled out of the snake den only lists information about one of the kings, nothing about the warning Mom wrote about.”

  “I meant how are you doing physically, sweetheart. You had a snake-filled afternoon, too.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder, sighing. “Sleepy around the edges.”

  “Trust me, sweetheart, you have no edges, only curves.” He leaned down and breathed in the scent of her hair, the light citrusy smell made his head float more than Teodoro’s wine.

  “Gatita,” Juan said, seeming to suddenly realize his daughter had joined them. “Where’s Daisy?”

  “She was worn out and went back to her tent.”

  “She needs to be here for this. Teodoro wanted all of us to be here for protection purposes.”

  “Dad, she was practically asleep on her feet. I didn’t want to drag her here and force her to sit on a log for hours. Besides, her tent is right there,” she said, pointing to the one closest to them, which was about thirty feet away. “She’s near enough to be included in the protection ritual.”

  Juan stood and dragged his chair closer, planting it at the end of the log Quint was using as a bench.

  “Where’s Pedro?” Angélica asked.

  “He’s watering the trees.” Quint tilted his head toward the jungle behind them where Pedro had gone to take care of business.

  “We need to shut down the Chakmo’ol Temple,” Juan said, keeping his voice low.

  “I don’t want to talk about this right now, Dad.”

  “You didn’t want to talk about it earlier, either.” Juan leaned forward to speak around Quint. “You can’t avoid the reality of the situation. Those snakes are dangerous.”

  “Qu
int plugged the hole,” she said. “Remember?”

  Yes, Quint did, still shuddering from the experience. It had taken the four of them working as a team to get the snakes cleared out enough for Quint to maneuver another large stone into the den. After he’d crawled back out, he and Maverick had used long branches to jam it into the hole that kept leaking snakes. Finally, they were left with the rattling of only those snakes that had made it through before they’d wedged the stone in tight.

  “That’s only a temporary fix and you know it,” Juan whispered. “I’m sure that piece of stela was wedged in there, too, at one point. The snakes will find a way around it like they did before.”

  “I need to keep working in the Chakmo’ol Temple, Dad.”

  “Fine, you continue working in there, but you need to move the college kids to the other end of the site. Let them focus on the ballcourt and the Baatz’ Temple.”

  “Okay, but you’ll have to stay down there and help Fernando supervise them in my place.”

  Juan nodded, looking unhappy about it. “What about Quint?”

  “What about me?” he asked.

  “Where are you going to work?”

  Quint looked at Angélica. “Where am I going to work?”

  “He can help me. Maverick, too, since he doesn’t mind the snakes so much.” She stared over at Teodoro, who was drinking from one of the gourds.

  Pedro returned, sitting on the log again between Quint and Juan’s chair.

  “Has he positioned the tancazche wood and obsidian in the four corners to protect us yet?” Angélica asked.

  “No.” Pedro picked up his wine gourd. “He’s been praying to the alux.”

  “Why must you continue to work in the Chakmo’ol Temple?” Juan leaned forward to speak around Pedro and Quint this time. “We’ve cleared it out for now and can seal it up and leave it for a future crew.”

  Angélica huffed, shaking her head. “Absolutely not, Dad. My job is to clean up sites, make them safe and ready for archaeology crews and the public. Sealing up the temple is not accomplishing any of my objectives. This site currently has three things going for it in the archaeotourism world—the ballcourt, the Baatz’ Temple, and the Chakmo’ol Temple. We have a few more weeks to get all three prepped for the next archaeology crew the Mexican government allows to come here and dig, and I’m going to make sure that happens.”