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

by Ann Charles

“She called me pik.”

  “Which means ‘bedbug.’ “

  “Parker, why are we circling this? Aren’t you listening to what I’m saying?”

  “Between the heat and this low ceiling full of stress fractures, boss lady, I’m having trouble following your rather abstract train of thought. Maybe you could line up the rail cars for me, because the sooner we can go back to standing upright under the big open sky, the happier I’ll be.”

  She slid down the wall, sitting on the floor with bent knees. “What are the chances that Daisy would know my mom’s childhood nickname for me?”

  “I don’t know. I was never very good with statistics. All of those numbers and possibilities make me sleepy.”

  “Either Daisy learned my nickname from my father or …” she trailed off, frowning at her kneecaps. Saying the words aloud would make it official—she might be losing her marbles.

  Quint’s knees popped as he squatted in front of her. “Or what?”

  “Or she’s channeling my mom’s ghost.”

  Quint cocked his head, rubbing his jaw. “I could swear you just said that the woman in the other room is channeling Dr. Marianne García.”

  “You heard me right.” She started to chew on her thumb but tasted dirt and stopped, wiping her thumb on her pants. How could this be possible? Was she dreaming?

  “You know last night when I said you were crazy?” Quint asked, tipping her chin up so she could meet his gaze. “I was just joking. You are actually the most level-headed woman I’ve ever met. So when you say something as kooky sounding as that, you can understand why I’m concerned about your mental health, considering how hard you’ve been overworking yourself lately.”

  “I thought you believed in the supernatural.”

  “I believe odd things happen. Things that science can’t always explain, several of which I’ve experienced myself, but you’re talking about the ghost of your mother inhabiting a stranger in a Maya temple.”

  “How do you explain Daisy using her left hand when she made that rubbing?”

  “She’s left-handed.”

  “I’ve watched Daisy dig with a trowel out in the ballcourt. She’s right-handed.”

  “Maybe she’s ambidextrous.”

  That could explain her choice of hand to hold the charcoal. “But I’ve never had her do a rubbing for me before, and yet she trained you the same way my mom trained me when I was young. The same technique.”

  “Daisy might have learned how to do rubbings at a past site similar to your mom’s technique. Think about it, Angélica. How many ways can there be to rub charcoal on paper? We’re not creating portraits with oil paints.”

  “Daisy laughed like Mom, too.” When he continued to frown at her, she added, “And she was humming Linda Ronstadt.”

  “Linda is special because why?”

  “She was one of my mom’s favorite singers.”

  “Maybe she’s Daisy’s favorite, too. Linda used to be a huge star years ago. Daisy would be about your mom’s age, right?”

  Angélica growled at him. “Dammit, Quint. If you’re going to explain away each piece of evidence that shows my mom’s ghost is temporarily possessing that woman in the other room, I’m going to punch you.”

  He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. But come on, Angélica. Think about what you’re suggesting. You, of all people, would never for a minute believe me if I told you a story like that. Your father, however, is a different story.”

  “I’m telling you, Quint, there is something odd about Daisy. From the start, I’ve felt totally at ease with her, like I’ve known her all of my life. I keep finding myself opening up to her, sharing thoughts and memories that I usually keep buried.”

  “You? At ease with someone? Well, that does it. She must be possessed. Or she’s an alien from one of Saturn’s moons. You probably shouldn’t bend over to pick up any soap while she’s around. I hear ass-probing is all the rage for those green folks from outer space.”

  She pinched his forearm. “Next time, I’ll aim lower.”

  Rubbing his arm, he frowned at her. “I thought you didn’t believe in the supernatural, sweetheart. You told me so yourself at the last dig.”

  “But then I kind of changed my mind. Remember, that night on the beach when we talked about the curse and you?”

  The corners of his eyes creased. “Yes, but I figured that was just the Coronas, moonlight, and your need for my body talking.”

  She chuckled in spite of her chaotic thoughts, grateful for Quint’s humor keeping her grounded at the moment. “The need for your body inspires a whole different type of insanity, Parker.”

  “At least we can agree that you’re cuckoo for my coconuts.”

  “Don’t you mean your Cocoa Puffs?”

  “Leave them out of this. As for your mother’s ghost returning to visit you via Daisy, are you sure you hadn’t mentioned before that your mom called you pik?”

  “I’d remember that, I think.” She frowned toward the chamber’s narrow entrance, remembering their conversation last night while helping María prepare the nohua ceremonial tortilla. Her lips had been loose thanks to several sips of balche María had shared with them. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve been working too hard, surrounded by too many things that remind me of my mom.”

  “Your father could’ve mentioned that nickname to Daisy when he was working with her yesterday while we were rounding up snakes.”

  “True.” She scrubbed her hands down her face. “Criminy. If only I could find that damned stela Mom drew in her notepad. Or better yet, if we could just dig up a series of glyphs that explains what was going on at this site, and why there are Olmec pieces and references mixed in with the Classic Maya structures.”

  “Could it be possible that there was a Maya traveler who paid a visit to one of the old Olmec sites and brought back souvenirs for the king?”

  She nodded. “Or there could have been Olmecs living at this location long before the Maya civilization settled here.”

  “I thought your dad said the Olmec heartland was up north.”

  “A small group could have migrated south. A dispute within one of their civilization groups might have resulted in a situation similar to the pilgrims who traveled to the American continents. A sect could’ve moved down here to establish their own population center.” She blew out a sigh. “Without written records, we can speculate all day long. That’s why I want to find that stela. According to Mom’s notes, there was a warning on it about something that had happened here in the past.”

  “But she didn’t write down what the warning actually said, or what she thought it might be saying?”

  “Unfortunately, she didn’t finish what she’d started in her notes. When I got the notebook, a couple of pages were stuck together. It wasn’t until I pulled them apart that I found her rough sketch of the stela and the things she wrote about it. After that one page, she doesn’t mention it again, which doesn’t make sense. That was the whole reason she flew down here.”

  “This notebook of hers,” Quint said, all traces of humor gone from his face. “Was it with her when the helicopter crashed?” At her nod, he continued, “Have you ever wondered if someone removed those pages on purpose, leaving that one page behind because it was stuck and they didn’t realize it was there?”

  She blinked at him a few times, her cogs sparking and grinding again. “What are you saying, Quint? Why would they want only those pages?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just throwing out some random thoughts. That’s all.” He looked away too quickly, making her suspicious.

  “No, you’re not. You have something on your mind—you and Pedro both—about my mom and this site and that crash, don’t you?” Her gaze narrowed, daring him to deny it.

  He didn’t. Instead, he said, “I can’t speak for Pedro.”

  “Then speak for yourself. What’s going on, Quint?”

  “We should discuss this somewhere else. I don’t like the looks of that ceilin
g.”

  “Sit down, and start talking, Parker.”

  After a frown at the ceiling, he crawled over beside her and leaned back against the wall, his shoulder touching hers. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “We’re short on time, so get to the meat of it.”

  “Okay.” He took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “Pedro and I have a theory that your mom’s helicopter crash was no accident.”

  “You think someone was trying to kill her?”

  “Or kill the pilot.”

  For the next few minutes, he filled her head with tidbits of information Pedro and he had collected since his arrival about the crash and the pilot. When he finished, Angélica felt as blindsided as she’d been when Daisy called her pik.

  She stared down at their interlaced fingers, her mind a flurry of doubts interspersed with showers of what-ifs and bolts of rage.

  “So, you two think that maybe someone sabotaged the helicopter and unleashed rattlesnakes on the pilot in order to have my mom killed so that she wouldn’t share whatever it was she’d found on that stela?”

  “I honestly don’t know what to think, Angélica.”

  “And ripping out those notebook pages would help ensure the stela’s story would remain lost to history.”

  “Removing the notebook pages is just one theory that came to mind when you mentioned that her notes seem to be missing information. If there was something about this site that was meant to remain a secret and that stela had something to do with it, then a surefire way to keep things quiet would be to remove the notes, the stela, and your mom from the equation. Crashing the helicopter is a good diversion for anyone investigating her death.”

  Angélica was going to need some time to chew on this. If he was right, they were treading on dangerous ground here.

  “So Pedro is freaked out about me going into the jungle alone because he thinks I could suffer the same fate as my mother?”

  “Yes. He and I are both scared shitless that you’re next in line, especially with your lovely bulldog tendencies that I praised back there with Daisy.” He raised their entwined fingers to his lips, kissing the back of her hand. “We both know you won’t stop until you find answers. But at what cost will those answers be found? Your life?”

  Had her mom been murdered? Killed over some stupid stela and what was on it? She blinked away a rush of tears. She swiped at her eyes and sniffed. “This is fucked up.”

  “Which part?”

  “Someone purposely taking down that helicopter to kill my mother.”

  “It’s just a theory, Angélica. The pilot could have been the objective and your mom got caught in the line of fire.”

  “That doesn’t make it any better. Honestly, I prefer her being the target.”

  Quint frowned at her. “Why’s that?”

  “Because it makes me more determined than ever to find out what was on that damned stela and see what was worth taking the life of someone as beautiful and loving as her.”

  “Jesus, Angélica. Is some ancient tale carved onto a rock worth risking your life? Do you think your mom would want you to do that? How do you think your dad will feel if something happens to you here? If he loses you in the same place he lost his wife?”

  She closed her eyes for a few moments, leaning her head back against the wall while trying to get a grip on her confusion, her grief, her rage. “You’re right. I shouldn’t make any decisions until I calm down and let this all stew for a while.”

  Several seconds of silence passed, filled only with the sound of their breathing.

  “What are you going to do now?” Quint asked.

  “What I do best.”

  “Work too hard and boss people around?”

  She chuckled. “I’m going to go back into that chamber with Daisy and continue recording the stories from the past for further offsite analysis.”

  “And if Daisy acts like your mom again?”

  “It’s a bizarre coincidence, that’s all.” She wasn’t one hundred percent sure of it, but for this afternoon she was going to run with that notion.

  He squeezed her hand slightly. “If you need a break, feel free to come outside and crack the whip over me. I have this fantasy that includes thigh-high leather boots, a red velvet corset, and a bullwhip that’s just waiting to be made into nonfiction.”

  “How long have you had this fantasy about wearing a corset?” It was all she could do to keep a straight face. “They can be quite painful with the way the boning digs into your ribs, you know. And those laces are real bitches.”

  He leaned over and kissed her silent. “Don’t sass me, woman, or I’ll be forced to take you in hand again.”

  “Sass, sass, sass.” She patted his cheek and then stood as far upright as the ceiling allowed. “Get off your ass, Parker. I need you to bring those brawny muscles along and help me move some pieces of a wall that came down further back in this temple. There’s a carving with glyphs that’s partially buried. It might explain more about the dynasty that built this temple and to which king this burial tomb belongs.”

  “That sounds like a lot of hot and sweaty work.” Quint leaned his head back, one eyebrow raised. “What’s in it for me and my big muscles if I help you?”

  “I don’t know. Probably whips and sex.”

  “What about the boots?”

  “Well, if you insist, I’ll let you wear them, but only this once.”

  He half-stood, staying bent over as he followed her out into the hall where he could stand upright again.

  “You’re not going to let this rest, are you?” he asked, serious again as he frowned down at her.

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand his underlying question. “If there is something hidden at this site—something important enough that it’s worth killing for—then I have a new objective. I need to figure out the big secret and do whatever it takes to make this site safe for future research and development. Plus, I owe it to my mom to find her killer.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Don’t make this about revenge, Angélica.”

  How could she not? “If you want to walk away, I understand. This isn’t your fight.”

  “When are you going to get it through your thick, beautiful skull that if something involves you, then it involves me? We’re a team.”

  “Quint,” she started. But then she saw something in his eyes shining back at her that made her breath catch. Something that cracked her heart wide open.

  “What, Angélica?”

  She took his hand in hers. “I’d rather be a dynamic duo.”

  A smile crept up his face. “We could wear masks.”

  “Are we back to the topic of whips and sex again?”

  “When did we leave it?”

  She let go of his hand and led the way back to the partially collapsed wall, worrying her lip all the way.

  If her mom had been murdered, she wanted to know why. But at what cost?

  What was she willing to risk to find out the answers that would smother the fire in her stomach and finally lay her mother’s memory to rest?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Olmec Art: Olmec art often includes anthropomorphic creatures (such as “were-jaguars,” aka half human/half-jaguar), using iconography with religious meaning. Olmec-style artifacts, designs, figurines, and monuments have been found in sites far outside the Olmec heartland suggesting trade, colonization, imitation by developing cultures, or Olmec military domination.

  “Did you see any snakes today?” a voice asked from behind Quint as he ladled his second helping of María’s avocado soup into his gourd bowl. The first helping had gone down the hatch in one long gulp with a cool and refreshing lime kick at the end.

  Glancing behind him, Quint smiled down at Jane. He’d noticed she was up and moving around at lunch, with only a limp and a few winces after her snakebite experience.

  “I saw two rattlers. One was busy working on his tan. The other stopped by to bum a cigarette, but I was all out. Aft
er throwing a hissy fit, he slithered off to bite someone else when she wasn’t looking.”

  Jane giggled, grabbing a bowl from the clean stack and moving up beside him. “You’re funny.”

  “Yeah, well, looks aren’t everything.” Quint made room for her at the soup pot. He grabbed a couple of homemade, thick tortillas and set them on top of his bowl of green goodness.

  “Gertrude told me that you and Dr. García are dating. Is that true?” she asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as she dished up some soup.

  Dating? Uh, was that what was going on with them? They had sort of skipped right past a first date at the last dig and went straight to angry kisses followed by sex in a tent. Not that he was complaining. Dating was overrated these days. He much preferred sex in a tent to dinner and a movie most nights.

  “That depends,” he answered.

  “On what?”

  “On which Dr. García you are talking about. Juan flat-out turned me down, but lucky for me his daughter likes my sparkling personality.”

  Speaking of Juan’s daughter, where was she? Angélica and Daisy were both late to supper. If they didn’t show up by the time he was finished, Quint planned to head back to the Chakmo’ol Temple to determine the holdup.

  “What’s it like to date someone like her?”

  Quint frowned as he grabbed a bottle of beer from the end of the table. Where was this going? He wasn’t a fan of talking about his private life, and Angélica would string him up by the nuts if he said anything that could be used against her in print or online.

  “Have you ever tried to lasso a tornado?” he asked.

  “You mean like Pecos Bill?”

  “Exactly.” He toasted her with his beer bottle and headed over to the table where Pecos Bill’s father—so to speak—waited for him with a cocky smile. “You remind me of the Joker tonight, Juan, sporting manic grins and insane cackles.” Quint set his soup and beer down, lowering onto the bench across from Juan. “What’s going on? Are you plotting to destroy Gotham City later?”

  “He’s missing his green hair,” Pedro said and held up his bowl of soup. “Maybe I should dump María’s sopa de aguacate over his head, eh Parker? Then all we need is a purple suit.”