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

by Ann Charles

  He nodded slowly, his face lined with a mixture of anger and sadness. “What would be worth taking her life? Some rare jade piece or a golden treasure, maybe?”

  “That’s one possibility.” Black market treasure hunters could be ruthless. They’d stop at nothing in their hunt for fortune, using people as “mules” to move stolen goods across borders, killing anyone who stood in their way. She’d read about it time and again, listened to firsthand accounts even from archaeologists who’d been victims of gun threats and worse.

  “Or did it have something to do with local politics and fighting?” Pedro continued. “Was Marianne involved in anything to do with the guerrilla warfare that has flared up now and then in this area?”

  “Mom wanted nothing to do with violence. She always said that enough blood had been spilled on Mexico’s soil to stain the ground red for a millennium to come.”

  “That’s true. So how can I help?”

  “I need you to find out who was at this site when my mom was here.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “You work for INAH. You have more access to that information than I do.”

  “Yes, but if I start asking a lot of questions, it will draw attention to us.”

  He crossed his arms. “And you.”

  “And me, Marianne’s daughter.” She blew out a breath. “I need to appear to be focused on my job—cleaning, cataloging, and prepping for tourists. You, on the other hand, know a lot of people in Cancun.”

  “I thought you and your father went through the files from the last group and brought copies here. Wasn’t there a list of the crew in the files?”

  She shook her head. “The notes filed with INAH were about the site. The last archaeologist doesn’t appear to have kept any personnel notes.”

  “Or someone removed them.”

  “Or they were eliminated along with my mother.” She wiped at a drop of sweat trickling down her temple. “I was thinking that maybe there might be notes from the helicopter pilot in his logbook about passengers he transported to and from the site. I’ve seen your logbooks. You keep notes on each flight, including names and cargo.”

  Pedro’s frown deepened. “That’s because when it comes to my log books, I am … what is the word your father uses?”

  “Anal?” she supplied, trying not to grin.

  He poked her in the ribs, making her screech. “Nitpicky,” he said, switching to English.

  “Detailed” was a better word for Pedro’s need to keep copious records. “Do you think you can get hold of the pilot’s logbook?”

  “Maybe. Unless it was lost in the crash.”

  She lowered her voice, speaking Spanish. “You can use our satellite phone after lunch to make any phone calls. Make sure everyone has left the tent area, though, especially my dad. I don’t want him to know about this until we have something more definite. It took him years to get over Mom’s death. Bringing all of this back up is going to break his heart all over again.”

  He nodded, his dark gaze holding hers. “What about your heart?”

  “It’s hurting,” she admitted.

  “Come here, hermanita.”

  Little sister. He hadn’t called her that in years.

  She let him pull her into his embrace. He kissed her on the forehead like he used to when they were kids and she’d get hurt. “I miss your mama, too. We’ll figure this out together and make sure Marianne’s killer is brought to justice.”

  “She was so young.” She blinked back tears.

  “I know.” Pedro pulled back, frowning at her. “We have company.”

  “We do?” she asked in English and turned to find Quint striding toward them. Good, she needed to talk to him.

  “Hey, Parker,” she said as he joined them. “I was hoping—” That was all she got out before he grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her close. “Quint, what are y—” He planted a kiss on her lips, bending her backward and shutting her up in one fell swoop.

  After a couple of surprised blinks, she looped her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and kissed him back. The thrill he inspired as he held her tightly wrapped in his arms was just what she needed to soothe the ache of sadness in her heart. For that moment, she forgot about the conquistadors’ rusted armor, the noisy jungle, and the frustrating mess she’d landed in at this site. Not even Pedro’s noisy throat clearing disturbed her.

  There was Quint and only Quint.

  When he pulled back, his eyes roamed her face as if he’d forgotten what she looked like. “Thanks, boss lady. I earned that this morning.”

  Earned? She licked her lips as he pulled her back upright, wondering if he needed to be further reimbursed later.

  “Where’s my ‘hello’ kiss, Don Juan?” Pedro’s wide grin rounded his cheeks. “Is this how she’s paying you for your hard work and time? Personally, I’d have taken the money.” In a stage whisper, he added, “She howls louder than the monkeys around here when she’s mad, not to mention that she smells like one, too.” He leaned closer, pretending to sniff her neck, and then pinched his nose.

  Without taking her eyes off Quint, Angélica socked Pedro in the gut hard enough to make him let out an “Oof” in between his chuckles.

  “Did you make another deal with Dad?”

  “Yes, but not for you.” He massaged his left shoulder, rotating it forward and then backward.

  “Guess what Fernando found today?” Pedro asked, still rubbing his gut.

  “A catacomb full of human bones?” Quint shot back. He had no humor in his tone; not a hint of a smile lining his face.

  Angélica’s gaze lowered to his shirt. There was a lot more dirt covering it than usual, along with his pants. He looked like he’d fallen in a cenote and then rolled in the dirt.

  Something was wrong.

  Her gut clenched. “Is Dad okay?”

  He nodded. “He went back to the tent to look into a few things.”

  “Where did you find a catacomb full of bones?” Pedro asked.

  Quint glanced around, leaning in closer. “There was a hole in the wall.”

  “I know about the hole,” Angélica reminded him. “You and Dad told me you’d removed a stone so you could peek through to the other side.”

  “I mean a bigger hole. Someone else went in there.”

  Her gaze narrowed. A mixture of surprise and disbelief bubbled in her thoughts. “Are you sure a few stones didn’t just come loose after you took out that other stone?”

  “There are boot prints on the other side of the wall.”

  She swore. Who in the hell went in there? And when?

  “I followed the prints,” he added.

  “You went through the hole?” She caught his forearm. “Quint, that was dangerous. We don’t know how stable the mine is on either side. If something had happened, Dad wouldn’t have—”

  “Your father is the one who convinced me to squeeze through to the other side.”

  “Did he blackmail you?” Pedro asked. “Because he’s very good at blackmail, especially when you are drinking balche with him.”

  “No blackmail. We made a deal.” He glanced at Angélica. “Not about you either.”

  “That’s even worse,” Pedro said. “The man is a wolf when it comes to deals.”

  Did he mean shark? Angélica shrugged, both worked actually.

  “This time it’s to my benefit. He has to co-write an article I’m contracted to deliver in a few weeks.”

  “Wow.” Angélica’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “Dad loathes writing articles. He must have really wanted you to go through that hole.”

  “He knew as well as I did that if I didn’t go through the hole, you would.”

  She started to open her mouth to deny it and then closed her lips. He was right. She would have been too curious to see what was on the other side.

  With a wink, he added, “He and I would both rather put my life at risk than yours.”

  Not her. It was her dig site. She was the one who should be taking t
he biggest risks. If something had happened to Quint, she’d … She didn’t finish that thought, not wanting to go there right now.

  Instead of arguing her point, she asked, “What did you find?”

  “Besides more boot prints?”

  She nodded.

  “Petroglyphs, broken bones, and little carved figurines.” He jammed his hand in his front pocket. “Oh, and this.” He took her hand and dropped something into it.

  She stared down at the plastic sandwich bag with whitish-gray flecks mixed in with the dirt. “Limestone?”

  “Looks more like flakes of shale to me. After finding the bones farther back in the mine, I’m starting to suspect those are bone fragments.”

  “Tell me about the figurines,” she said as she tucked the bag in her pouch to inspect later. Were they the ones on the altar her father had mentioned before?

  “They were made from jade. One of them was obsidian.”

  “Obsidian?” she asked. That was rare around here. “You’re sure?”

  “Not one hundred percent. It was back in the catacomb with the piles of human bones.”

  Pedro cocked his head to the side. “Was it a burial chamber for Maya warriors?”

  Quint shrugged, hitting Pedro with a crooked grin. “When I asked around in there, nobody answered.”

  “Do you have pictures of the figurines?” Angélica asked.

  “Sure, but shouldn’t we be more concerned with the bones?”

  “The bones don’t tell as much of a story as the figurines and petroglyphs, at least not at first. You took plenty of pictures of everything, right?”

  He gave a single nod. “I’ll show them to you at lunch. I left my camera in the tent with your father.”

  “Did Dad see the pictures already?”

  “He was going through them a second time when I left.”

  “What did the old devil have to say about them?” Pedro asked.

  Quint’s eyes locked onto Angélica’s, not a single glint of humor in their hazel depths. “He told me to find you to let you know that he has a new theory.”

  She sighed. “Of course he does. What now?” She winced in anticipation. “Let me guess, it’s about that damned curse, right?”

  “I believe his exact words were: This place isn’t cursed. It’s doomed!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tell: An artificial mound formed from the accumulated debris of the site’s previous inhabitants. Scraped off layer by layer, these mounds can be hundreds to thousands of years old and often “tell” details about previous civilizations, including site purpose and dates of occupation.

  Food had never tasted so damned good.

  Quint dug into his second helping of María’s lunch—egg and green chili tamales topped with a sweet mango salsa that made him want to lick his plate clean.

  “You eating for two, son?” Juan asked from across the table. He lifted his coffee cup, watching Quint over the rim with a twinkle in his eyes.

  Quint held out his left arm, flexing like a bodybuilder in response. “Must grow stronger,” he said, impersonating Arnold Schwarzenegger.

  Juan’s lips twitched. “Keep going, then. I have big plans for you and your strong muscles.”

  Uh-oh. That couldn’t be good.

  He took another bite, groaning in appreciation of the complex Maya spices María used. Apparently, hanging out in that death trap Angélica and her father called a mine while tiptoeing between the skulls and broken bones in an eerie catacomb had roused one hell of an appetite—and not just for food.

  Finishing the last bite of tamale, he stared across the table at the flame-haired woman who was sitting next to her father clicking through the digital photos Quint had taken earlier. He picked up his glass of bright red jamaica, which Angélica had informed him was a blend of a part of the hibiscus flower along with water and sugar, and took a long draw. Whatever it was, it left him wanting more, same as Angélica had earlier when she’d kissed him back—with gusto—at the Baatz’ Temple.

  His trip into the hole in the ground had given him a solid ass-kicking. He’d returned to the sunlight with a new purpose. No more plodding along at a slow and steady pace, letting the wind blow him along with the other tumbleweeds. No more playing it safe. No more …

  “What is this?” Angélica said in a quiet voice, holding out his camera. She pointed at the corner of the camera’s digital screen.

  “Why are you whispering?” Juan asked, sliding his reading glasses on to take a look. “We’re the only ones in here.”

  Quint glanced around the empty mess tent. Even María had stepped out, taking the food scraps to Rover.

  Lunch was almost over when Quint arrived in the mess tent with his camera strapped around his neck. Angélica had planned it that way after he’d told her about the boot prints. He would come in late for lunch, showing up with his camera in hand as if he’d been busy doing his regular job, taking pictures for an article.

  Everything needed to appear normal in front of the crew, including with her father, even though he already knew about the prints. Only Quint, Angélica, and Pedro needed to know about Marianne’s murder and the possible threat Angélica now faced as they continued to dig for more answers about the recent past.

  “I’m whispering because these tent walls are paper-thin when it comes to eavesdropping. We need to be extremely careful now.”

  Juan lowered his glasses on his nose, looking over the top of them at his daughter. “Just to be clear, you’re worried about someone hearing that we saw the boot prints in the mine?”

  “Of course!”

  Angélica spoke a little too vehemently in Quint’s opinion. Big-brained archaeologist and ace machete handler she might be, but any dreams of trying out for roles at the local theater should probably be forgotten.

  She focused back on the camera screen. “I’m just concerned that whoever went into the mine will hide the boots if we let on that we’re looking for them.”

  Judging from Juan’s narrowed expression, Quint had a feeling Angélica’s father had picked up the scent of her omission. When the brown-eyed archaeologist turned that squint his way, Quint held up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m just here for some fun in the sun with a pretty girl.”

  Juan’s squint stayed in place until Angélica nudged him with her elbow. “Let’s get back to this.” She pointed at the camera screen again. “What is this, Parker?”

  He leaned forward to see the screen better. “It’s a closeup of one of the skulls.”

  “Why did you take it?”

  Taking the camera from her, he enlarged the image. “Because that hole above the eye socket doesn’t seem right.” He handed the camera back to her. “Look at the edges. They’re ragged and scraped up. If it was caused by blunt force through flesh, I don’t think it would look like that.” Quint glanced at Juan. “Most of the skulls had similar, ragged breaks and chunks of bone missing from the back and sides of the cranium.” He grimaced at the memory, wondering if the musty scent in the chamber included dried human remains along with the rock dust.

  A frown was Angélica’s only response as she peered at the picture. Then she went through them all again while Quint disposed of their dishes and refilled his cup with more jamaica.

  When she finished, she handed him his camera. “Those crouching figurines on the altar look like Olmec were-jaguars.”

  “Yep.” Juan sloshed his coffee around in his cup. “That black one is different, though, and not just because it’s obsidian. A mix of Olmec and something else, maybe.”

  “Maya and Olmec? Have you ever seen that blending before?” she asked him.

  “No, but there is so much history hidden out there under the forest’s veil that the archaeological teams here haven’t even touched yet. We only have a sliver of knowledge about the Maya, and even less when it comes to the Olmec people.”

  “You said that black one was above the exit from the chamber?” she asked Quint.

  “The chamber of
death,” he confirmed, in a spooky voice.

  “Hey, that’s good,” Juan said. “We could use that to help sell this site to tourists.”

  “Next you’ll want me to have it renamed the City of the Dead.” She shook her head at her father’s enthusiastic agreement. “Back to the picture, Dad. Why do you think the black one was only inside of that chamber and not out on the altar with the others?”

  “Maybe it was acting as a ward,” he answered. “Placed there to keep something inside.”

  “Come on. I’m serious.”

  “So am I, gatita.”

  Keep what inside? Quint powered off his camera. Besides the bones, what would be inside that chamber? Ghosts? Some kind of Olmec god equivalent to a Maya Underworld god?

  “I need to see it all for myself,” she said.

  Quint wasn’t surprised at her declaration. She seemed to be a hands-on learner, always touching things to get a better understanding.

  “I’m going back in with you,” he told her.

  As much as the idea of returning to that place made his gut feel like he’d swallowed an anvil, there was no way he would wait on the safe side of the wall while she traipsed through the oversized coffin.

  “You don’t need to do that, Parker. I know how much you loathe being in tight spots.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That depends on the tight spot.”

  Juan chuckled.

  “Fine. You can come with me.”

  Quint and Juan exchanged a surprised glance. That was easy. In the past, she would have bucked more.

  Angélica added, “Bring your camera. I can use you in there to take some more pictures.”

  “And you’d like my strong, manly protection,” he joked, flexing both arms for Juan’s admiration this time.

  A chortle came from her father. “Maybe you should have a fourth tamale. Tell María to include some spinach in this one, Popeye.”

  The boss lady’s smile was fleeting as she looked at each of them. She was obviously too preoccupied with the mine’s macabre treasures to play along with them. “We need to figure out who went in the mine and why. I told everyone that place was unstable and off limits. If the trespasser was a member of my crew, then disciplinary actions need to be taken. If a relic was stolen from the mine, then INAH needs to be notified.”