by Ann Charles
“You wouldn’t! You promised.”
“And that it was you who started the rumor about his being a red devil from the Underworld.”
“She always fights dirty,” Pedro said to Quint. “Remember that if you value your hide.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Quint replied, smiling wide about how she’d played dirty, too, in the tent moments ago, taking advantage of his inebriated state. He grunted when Angélica poked him in the ribs.
Snickering, Pedro patted his shoulder. “Grab a machete, Don Juan, and meet me at the fire.” He left them, heading back to the ceremony.
Angélica touched Quint’s arm. “I don’t like you two going out there in the jungle at night.”
He didn’t either. “It’s Rover.”
“I know. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“If I didn’t know better, boss lady, I’d say you’re sweet on me.”
“Don’t let it go to your drunken brain, Parker.” She patted his butt. “Grab Dad’s machete and let’s go.”
Quint stepped inside the tent long enough to grab Juan’s machete and shoot a longing look at his cot. Next time, maybe they’d have more time to enjoy a second round.
Angélica waited for him under the pale half-moon. “You ready?” she asked after he’d zipped the tent closed.
Ready to walk through a jungle full of deadly predators in the dark looking for an ornery javelina? Fuck, no. The thought of what waited out there for Pedro and him made him sweaty.
He gripped the machete. “If I don’t make it back alive tonight, siren, promise me you’ll bury me somewhere cool and snake-free.”
Chapter Fourteen
Syllabary: A set of written symbols representing the syllables that make up words.
Due to the hundreds of unique Maya glyphs in the form of animals, humans, supernatural beings, and objects, the Maya writing system has an extensive set of phonetic signs that represent syllables rather than individual sounds like in alphabetic systems. These signs (or glyphs) are used to write words, phrases, and sentences.
The next morning, Angélica stood inside the corbel-vaulted entrance of the Chakmo’ol Temple with Quint and Daisy. Sweat trailed down her forehead. The relief from the sun’s hot rays was debatable when pitted against the heavy warm blanket of humidity inside the structure.
Luckily, Rover had returned to camp last night when Angélica called for him, saving Quint and Pedro a dark trek into the jungle to look for him. She led the javelina back to the makeshift pen behind Teodoro’s tent while the Lolcatali ceremony continued. With Quint’s and Pedro’s help, they secured Rover inside again and calmed him down with a bowlful of vegetable scraps from María’s kitchen.
Unlike Rover, her father hadn’t been so easy to pacify now that the cat was out of the bag—or rather the javelina was out of the tent. Once they were in private, Juan had spent fifteen minutes berating her, spelling out the dangers of having a javelina in the camp while predators were on the hunt. Rather than argue, she let him rant until the balche wine had worked its magic and put him to sleep.
Morning light hadn’t changed her dad’s disposition much. However, in spite of his growling during breakfast about Angélica dragging Daisy along with Quint to the Chakmo’ol temple, both were going to be spending the day at this end of the dig site helping her. Maverick would be joining them soon, too, although he and Quint were going to take up where Gertrude and Jane had left off on the platform outside of the temple, rattlesnakes be damned. She’d left them the hooks used on the hunt the day before and a few burlap bags.
She looked around at the temple walls, breathing in the musty air. Her gut told her this structure was hiding a treasure trove of Maya history, which would translate into more money from archaeological tourism. More money equaled more government funding. While she wasn’t a big advocate of turning the Maya ruins into a theme park, her mother had died trying to help solve a mystery at this site. For her mom’s sake, Angélica was going to make sure it had a place on the map along with the other well-known Central American Maya sites.
Daisy walked up next to her. “Wow.”
Angélica couldn’t tell if the wide-eyed expression on the woman’s face was one of wonderment or awe, or maybe a mixture of the two. “What do you see?”
“I don’t think I can describe it with mere words,” Daisy answered.
“I can,” Quint said, joining them inside the temple’s entryway. “It’s a big, stone death trap.” He wiped his grinning face with the sleeve of his T-shirt. “A rather elaborate one with all of the fancy paintings, carvings, glyphs, and door lintels, but definitely a booby trap waiting to crash down around our heads.”
Daisy laughed and moved deeper into the temple, focusing on one of the partially flaked off paintings further along the stone-walled hallway.
Angélica backhanded Quint playfully in the stomach. “I was talking to Daisy, you big chicken.”
“As I told … I say as I told your father,” he imitated Foghorn Leghorn’s voice from the old Looney Tunes show, puffing out his chest as the big rooster always had. “I’m no chicken, sister. I’m a … I say I’m a rooster.” He winked at her. “Cock-a-doodle-doo, Miss Prissy.”
She laughed. “You watched too much TV as a kid, Parker.”
Sitting in front of the television had been a sporadic pleasure for her as a child due to growing up in the jungle on dig sites for part of each year. However, her father had been a big fan of the small screen whenever they were home on the ranch, especially old westerns and Twilight Zone episodes.
“Hush those lovely lips, boss lady.” His eyes lowered to her mouth, his gaze heated when it returned to hers. “I learned a lot about life from the ol’ boob tube.”
Angélica glanced in Daisy’s direction. Flirting in front of the hired crew was a new experience for her, making her squirm. She could either nix this right now or …
“We’ll be right back, Daisy,” she said and took Quint’s hand, dragging him outside. She stopped in the shade of the temple wall, looking around to make sure they were alone. “Okay, I’ll bite. What did you learn?”
He leaned against the wall, still holding her hand. “I can’t give away my secrets, but I can show you one or two tricks sometime when you have another ten minutes to waste in our tent.”
“Was it actually ten minutes last night?” she joked. “I don’t remember it taking very long.”
One of his eyebrows lifted. “If memory serves me right, sweetheart, you didn’t take long at all.” He tugged her closer. “Not the first time,” he said, kissing her knuckles. “Or the second.”
“Touché, heartbreaker.”
It was a wonder she’d even lasted that long once he’d started kissing her. Hell, she’d been ready for him ever since he’d stepped foot on the dig site that first day. A month was way too long to go without him in her bed.
How long would he be gone next time?
A cold shadow gripped her at the thought of him leaving again.
Go away, dammit! She shook off the angst and returned to the present. Today, right here and now, Quint was with her. She needed to enjoy him while she could. When he left again, she’d pick up the pieces and go on alone, as she’d done for years.
“Angélica, what’s wrong?” His eyes narrowed, searching.
“Nothing.” Shit, he’d seen too much. “I was just thinking about Rover’s escapades last night and worrying that next time he might not come back at just the sound of my voice.”
“Teodoro mentioned something at breakfast about building a better pen today.”
“Good, because Rover could give Houdini and his chains a run for his money given enough time.” She squeezed Quint’s hand, hiding her worries behind a smile. “Come on, Parker.” She adopted Foghorn’s voice. “Quit drag … I say quit dragging your tail feathers and help me with these blocks so you can get the hell out of this death trap.”
His eyes crinkled in the corners. “You need to work on
that impression, boss lady.”
“You can kiss my tail feathers.”
She led him back inside, releasing his hand as they drew near Daisy, who had moved deeper into the temple.
“Follow me, Daisy. I’ll take you to the chamber I was telling you about last night when we were helping María.” She clicked on her flashlight and treaded deeper into the temple. Quint motioned for Daisy to walk in front of him while he brought up the rear.
Seconds later, Angélica ducked inside the chamber she’d worked in yesterday morning. Had it been only yesterday? Damn. Between chopping her way through the forest on that old trail and then hunting snakes all afternoon, not to mention her private party with Quint in their tent last night, she felt like a week had passed since she’d been there last.
“Amazing,” Daisy said, her voice breathy. She walked to the wall that had blocks of glyphs carved into it mixed with several full-sized images. “Can you read all of this?”
“Not without help from my research books and notes.” Angélica joined her, looking up at the ancient work of an incredibly talented artist. Having been protected by the temple all of these centuries, the carvings were still in excellent shape. “My mom could, though, with only a little help from the syllabary she kept in her notebook.” She lifted her flashlight and angled the light so that the shadows added contrast, defining the carvings. “She was a natural at reading the Maya glyphs. I doubt I’ll ever come close to her talent, but I’ll keep fumbling along.”
“You’re being extra critical of yourself,” Quint said from where he stood in the vaulted entryway, stooped over to fit. The Maya hadn’t built the chamber for someone of his height.
“Not really.” She shrugged off her backpack, extracting her rubbing equipment and a couple of paintbrushes. “I used to beat myself up about not being as knowledgeable as my mom, but since her death I’ve come to realize that reading glyphs will always be a challenge for me and that’s okay. We each have our own areas of expertise in life.”
Daisy took the paintbrush Angélica handed her, sticking it into her back pocket. “Like your father and his knowledge of architecture?”
Angélica nodded. “Exactly. He can look at a temple and see in his mind what its purpose was, where the weaknesses are structurally, and what is needed to shore it up.”
A chuckle came from Quint. “And which blocks or boards he can pull out without bringing it down while scaring the hell out of Pedro and me.”
“He’s very good at practical jokes, too.” Angélica set down her pack. “Dad’s specialty is architecture. Mom’s expertise was reading the glyphs. They made a good match since they were both in love with the Maya culture.”
“What’s your forte?” Daisy asked.
“Bossing people around.” Quint’s eyes sparkled when she hit him with a mock glare.
She turned back to Daisy and then lowered her gaze to her tools of the trade. She’d asked herself that question many, many times. “I’m more of a jack of all trades in the archaeology world. A master at nothing.”
Daisy touched her arm. “That’s not true, pik.”
Quint scoffed. “Are you forgetting what happened at the last site? What you found? Your successes were because of your bulldog tenacity. Once you sink your teeth into something, you won’t let go. Not to mention your ability to see and grasp the big picture instead of focusing on the details.”
He went on to tell Daisy about the shell and the king’s tomb at the last dig site, but Angélica wasn’t listening. She was watching Daisy, frozen with the cogs in her brain grinding and spitting sparks.
What did she call me?
Daisy laughed at something Quint said, and Angélica felt the blood drain from her face.
That laugh!
She touched her hand to her chest. Her heart rat-a-tat-tatted under her palm.
She knew that laugh. It wasn’t Daisy’s normal, light and airy titter. There was something different—different but familiar. The tone, maybe? No, it was the cadence. That was it! It was a throaty pulsing sound that reminded Angélica of …
No, that was silly. Impossible. She must be overheated or tired. Although she’d slept like a log last night.
“Are you okay, boss lady?” Quint asked, bringing her back to the moment.
The damned man was too perceptive for her own good. She nodded. “I need some water, that’s all.” She unscrewed the cap of her canteen, taking a sip.
Yeah, that had to be it. A little too much heat already this morning was the problem.
But it wasn’t any hotter than usual.
Was she losing her mind? Had all of the pressure to deliver and the day-after-day routine of hard labor warped her sanity? Or was it merely too many memories clouding her head because of her mother’s history at this site?
She decided to test if it was all in her head.
“Daisy,” she said, holding out a piece of rice paper and charcoal from her pack. “Will you please make a rubbing of this glyph here and show Quint how it’s done?”
Angélica cast Quint a silencing glance, fingers crossed that he’d take the hint to keep quiet about already having plenty of experience making rubbings after the last dig.
His gaze narrowed, but at her slight shake of the head, he shrugged. “Do you have to press hard or do you let the charcoal do the work?” He played along.
“I’d be happy to show you. I don’t often get to be a teacher anymore.” Daisy took the paper and charcoal. Holding the paper against the wall with her right hand, she rubbed with charcoal over it with her left.
As she rubbed, she explained to Quint how to line up the paper, which direction worked best for rubbing the charcoal, and how to double-check that he’d recorded all of the finer details before removing the paper.
Angélica watched with her pulse pounding in her ears.
No fucking way!
She gaped at Daisy’s profile, her brain swirling with a dust devil of memories.
“Did I do it right?” Daisy asked, smiling at Angélica after lowering the paper.
“Uhhh,” Angélica coughed, trying to form a smile on her shaky lips. “You did great, thanks. Do you mind continuing with the other glyphs on this carving while I show Quint what I need his help with in another chamber before sending him on his way?”
“Sure.” Daisy lifted another piece of rice paper and got to work, humming under her breath.
As she started to walk toward the arched entryway, Angélica’s ears perked up. She paused mid-step and glanced back. “What’s that song you’re humming?”
“ ‘Poor, Poor Pitiful Me.’ “
“Linda Ronstadt. That’s what I thought.”
Leading the way back out into the hallway, she moved deeper into the temple on trembling legs, slipping into a small, low-ceilinged burial chamber that the looters had cleared of small trinkets but left otherwise intact.
“There’s a lot of ceiling on the floor in here,” Quint said when he joined her.
Angélica had to stoop to walk inside the chamber, which meant Quint had to bend over almost halfway. “It’s stable enough.”
“You sound like your father.”
How ironic! A high-pitched cackle escaped her lips before she could seal it inside.
Quint did a double take. “That was kind of weird.”
He didn’t know the half of it.
“What was this altar used for?” he asked, knocking on the stone surface.
“I don’t know, probably sacrifices.” She pulled him inside a few more steps, glancing behind him to make sure Daisy didn’t follow.
“What are we doing in here besides risking our lives?” Quint aimed his flashlight at the ceiling. His brow had wrinkles on top of wrinkles as he inspected the cracks road-mapping the overhead stones.
“I needed a moment of privacy with you.”
“You want some privacy in here?” He shook his head. “I’ll be honest, sweetheart, I’m not going to be on my game right now. This place feels too much like a
tomb.”
“It is a tomb, Quint. And when I say privacy, that’s not code for having sex in a dead king’s burial chamber.”
“Just for the record, and for my morbid sense of curiosity, what would be the code word for having sex in a dead guy’s tomb?”
She nailed him with a squint. “I’m going to sacrifice you to the Maya gods.”
“What? Why?”
“No, that would be the code word.”
“That’s multiple words. A code sentence to be more accurate.”
“Parker,” she warned, holding up her fist between them.
He chuckled, “Okay, boss lady. What’s going on? You’re acting skittish as hell. It’s not like you.”
She moved closer to him, worried about her voice carrying along the stone walls. “Did you hear what Daisy called me?”
“No,” he whispered back.
“She called me pik.”
“Okay, I did hear that, but I didn’t think much about it. What’s it mean?”
“It’s the Mayan word for ‘bedbug.’ “
“That’s sort of sweet.”
“No, it’s eerie.”
“Well, I’ve heard more bizarre nicknames. At least she didn’t call you ‘The Flatulent One.’ “
“You’ve been listening to my dad’s stories.” That was her father’s favorite name for the lord of death.
“I try not to, especially in tombs like this one, but your father has his sights set on me.”
“He likes you. You make him laugh.”
“He wants me to produce his heirs.”
Damn her dad for his heavy-handed attempts at getting grandchildren. “It takes two to make that happen.”
“Does it?” Quint’s eyes teased. “Maybe you need to give me a hands-on demonstration on how that works.”
“You’re full of it this morning, Parker.” She waved that whole pothole-filled topic of children off for the time being. They had a bigger problem. “Pik is a nickname that only one other person in my life has called me—my mom.”
“Your mom called you ‘bedbug’?”