Look What the Wind Blew In

by Ann Charles

“I can’t find the damned thing.” Angélica’s voice jerked Quint out of his post-panucho daze.

  Where’d she come from? He had listened outside of her tent before coming to eat and hadn’t heard a peep.

  “Good evening, gatita. Why don’t you join us,” Juan patted the seat next to him, “and have something to eat.”

  “I ate earlier.” She slid onto the bench next to her dad. “I can’t figure it out. All clues lead to the Temple of the Water Witch, but it’s not there.”

  “Are you sure you’ve deciphered every glyph on that wall correctly? You know how the slightest variation can skew the meaning.”

  “I’ve gone through the copies several times using Mom’s notes. I’m telling you, we’ve hit a dead end.”

  “Maybe we need a fresh perspective.” He turned to Quint. “What do you think?”

  Quint pointed at his chest. “Me?” At Juan’s nod, he threw out the first thing that came to mind. “Backtrack.”

  “That will put us further behind—” Angélica started.

  Juan held up his hand to hush her. “Backtrack how?”

  “Well,” Quint continued, “maybe there’s something more to be found in the Dawn Temple.” After going through chamber after chamber with Juan, he had a better idea of the size of that ruin. “Something close to where you found the stela that might offer another clue.”

  He needed to take his own advice about backtracking when it came to Dr. Hughes and the plane crash. But then, maybe whatever Jeff had sent would answer his …

  He suddenly realized something that had escaped him until this moment. Why hadn’t Jeff ever said anything about the plane crash? Had Mrs. Hughes not told him about it when she had gotten the phone call? If she hadn’t told her son his father might have perished in a plane crash, why not? Why withhold something like that from Jeff even after he was an adult?

  “… looked everywhere,” Angélica was saying when Quint tuned back in. “Besides, like I said, we don’t have the manpower to waste on this. We’re already running everyone ragged with the night watches.” Angélica grabbed her father’s cup and took a sip. “Jared told me he caught Benito sleeping on the job earlier and had a hard time waking the boy up.”

  “What about that vase-like piece in your desk?” Quint asked, still backtracking. “The one with the broken neck. It has a king and a necklace on it. Where did you get that?”

  Her eyes narrowed. She stared at him for a long, silent moment as she lowered the cup to the table. “How do you know about that vessel?”

  “It was on your desk that night I brought you supper. You know, the first time I met Rover.”

  She cocked her head to the side, still drilling him. “What else did you see on my desk that night?”

  Damn! Instead of helping, he’d managed to get mired in some quicksand. “Let’s see, there was a magnifying glass, a dirty sock, a stained T-shirt, and a broken pencil.”

  Juan snickered. “He passed that test.”

  She lightly whacked her father on the shoulder and then turned back to Quint with a warning frown. “You’d better not be playing games with me again, Parker.”

  Jesus, this lack of trust shit was getting old. Coming clean about his search for Dr. Hughes was probably going to make it worse. Part of him hoped that Dr. Hughes had died in that plane crash. Then he could do what she thought he was here to do—write a damned article and that was it.

  In the meantime, he needed to deal with her suspicion. “Why would I sneak into your tent, Angélica? What would I gain from that?”

  She searched his face, finding what he had no idea. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I guess I’m not thinking clearly.”

  “If you’re done interrogating our guest, gatita,” Juan winked at Quint, “I’d like to get back to the task at hand. Where’s that shell?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Was there any other mention of Ek Chuah on the wall other than on the glyph with the curse?” he asked.

  She shot Juan a frown. “Don’t make me say it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, there’s no curse. Just answer the question.”

  “There were several. According to the carvings, the king was buried in what they refer to as ‘his royal chamber.’”

  “His body must be there, somewhere.”

  “Then I’m blind.”

  “You’re smart like your mother. You’ll figure it out.” Juan stood, dropping a kiss on her temple, and then nodded at Quint. “If you two will excuse me, this old man needs his beauty rest.”

  Quint watched Juan leave. When he turned back, he slammed into Angélica’s squint.

  “Why are you really here, Parker?”

  It was the moment of truth.

  Well, it could have been if telling her about Dr. Hughes wouldn’t result in her serving him his head on a copper Maya platter. As it was, with her in a distrusting mood already, he preferred to keep his head intact this evening.

  “To write an article about your dig site, Dr. García.” That was half of the truth.

  “Then why do you keep getting Express envelopes from Dr. Hughes’ son?”

  Steel. That son of a bitch.

  “Angélica!” Steel raced into the tent. His face pale, his eyes wide.

  Speak of the goddamned devil.

  “Come quick!” Steel said. “There’s another man down.”

  She turned to Quint, her face lined with angst.

  He took her hand, squeezing it.

  She didn’t pull away. “Who is it?”

  Steel raked his fingers through his blond hair, opening and closing his mouth like he was struggling to get it out. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. It’s Pedro.”

  * * *

  When Quint and Angélica arrived on the scene at the Owl Temple, Juan was already there shouting orders. Steel must have caught him on his way to the mess tent.

  Angélica raced over to where Teodoro bent over Pedro, who lay on his back in between the pieces of limestone.

  Quint joined Juan. “What happened?”

  “I couldn’t tell for certain before Teodoro pushed me away, but it looks like when Pedro fell he landed on the screwdriver he was carrying.”

  Grimacing, Quint craned his neck to try to get a better look. “Where did the screwdriver go in?”

  “His outer thigh. It missed the femoral artery, thank God. Teodoro is pretty certain it’s not as bad as it looks.”

  Steel and Benito rounded the corner of the temple carrying a stretcher between them. Teodoro waved them over, and then he turned and motioned toward Juan. Quint followed, completing the circle.

  The first thing he noticed was the blood staining Pedro’s pant leg and smeared across Teodoro’s shirt.

  Under Teodoro’s instruction, they all worked together to move Pedro onto the stretcher. Quint winced at the sight of the screwdriver sticking into Pedro’s leg. Blood didn’t bother him, but he sure didn’t want to be in the room when Teodoro pulled that free. Just the thought of it made his balls hurt.

  Angélica looked up at him. “Fernando is going to take one end of the stretcher. Can you carry the other? Benito is too shaken up right now, and Jared doesn’t do well with blood.”

  “Of course.” He and Fernando lifted on the count of three with a grunt of effort. “Pedro needs to cut back on María’s super-sized panuchos,” he told Fernando, who nodded with a small grin.

  As they dodged and weaved through the limestone, Angélica walked beside them, worrying over Pedro. When they cleared the rubble Quint told her, “Why don’t you go on to Teodoro’s and help him get ready for us.” The healer had run on ahead to prep for their arrival. “We’ll be there shortly.”

  By the time they reached Teodoro’s place, Quint had soaked through his T-shirt. They angled their charge inside with care. Juan and Angélica helped them transfer Pedro onto the patient cot; his eyes remained closed.

  “Why is he out?” Quint asked Teodoro. “Did you give him a tranquilizer?”

  Juan answered for the hea
ler. “Pedro was out when we arrived. All we can figure is he knocked himself out when he fell.”

  Grabbing the scissors from Teodoro’s supply shelf, Angélica began cutting away Pedro’s pant leg around the screwdriver. Meanwhile, Teodoro was mixing up some concoction in a gourd. María came through the door with some water and clean rags.

  Quint looked at Fernando then Juan. “I’m stepping outside for now, giving them some space.”

  At Juan’s nod, he left. Fernando followed.

  “Should we wait here?” he asked the foreman.

  Fernando shook his head. “Go back to your tent and rest. You’re on first watch tonight.”

  A few minutes later, Quint zipped his tent flap closed and turned on the lantern on his desk.

  Rover rubbed against his boot, his whole body wiggling as Quint scratched the little guy behind the ears. “How are you doing, buddy? You’re getting better with zippers, I see.”

  After spending a few minutes playing sock tug-o-war with Rover, Quint headed over to the showers and washed up again, putting on a dry shirt.

  It was full dark by the time he returned. Kneeling next to his cot, he shined his flashlight under it. Rover was there, his belly rising and falling as he slept on top of the Express envelope. Quint extracted Jeff’s package without waking the javelina.

  He tore it open as he crossed to his desk.

  “Fernando,” Juan called outside.

  Quint paused, listening to the footfalls coming closer. By the sound of it, Juan was heading toward Angélica’s tent.

  “Will you please go to Teodoro’s and tell Angélica that she needs to come to her tent immediately?”

  “Sí”

  “If she resists, mention that I found her javelina in María’s garden, and I need her help with him.”

  Quint glanced over at his cot. Rover was still asleep under it. What was Juan up to?

  He heard Fernando pass in front of his tent on his way to Teodoro’s. The sound of Juan unzipping Angélica’s tent flap was clear in the quiet night. Quint would find out Juan’s plan soon enough.

  Dropping into his chair, he returned his attention to the package. Inside was a thin book with a thick cover. He pulled it out and read Olympic Mountain High Memories.

  A yearbook? He flipped open the cover and found a note from Jeff.

  I found this in a shoebox marked “Proof.” It’s Jared’s senior yearbook. I thought this might have something to do with those school records I sent you last week. Mom circled a picture of him on page fifty-one, but there’s no explanation why. Maybe there’s something in her notebook about this.

  Quint turned to page fifty-one and found a black and white picture of the Spanish Club members circled in green marker. As Jeff had written, there were no notes about it on the page. He fanned the pages prior and after, looking for any other comments or circled pictures but came up blank.

  Flipping back to the Spanish Club picture, he pulled the lantern closer. There were twenty-some kids in the picture, the back row standing and the front row sitting. A younger version of Steel sat third from the left in the front. He studied the names listed from left to right, matching them with each face. Wait a second. He counted and compared again, then leaned back rubbing his jaw.

  Huh. He could have sworn that was Jared.

  He found Steel’s name and the face to match, second from the right in the back row. The kid also looked like Steel. Twins?

  “Is that what this school thing is about?” he whispered.

  He looked up the name of the boy in the front again: Roy Bumm.

  What a name.

  He looked back at Steel’s picture.

  “So what happened to your twin? And why is his last name different?”

  Maybe those school records had something about a brother in them that he didn’t catch last time. Mindful of his sleeping visitor, he reached under the frame of the cot and extracted his file holder.

  Back at his desk he drew out the school records. As he scanned he looked for anything hinting at a brother but found nothing. The records made it sound like he was an only child. Maybe he was. Maybe Roy was a cousin.

  While reading the physical description on the school records again, he glanced several times at the black and white photo. Eye color didn’t matter. He couldn’t tell Steel’s blue eyes from green in the photos. The height looked about right.

  “Shit.” He tossed the papers onto his desk. This was getting him nowhere.

  Why couldn’t Mrs. Hughes keep a journal of her thoughts? These pictures and articles without much explanation behind them were making Quint want to bang his head against a temple wall.

  What about the senior pictures? They would be in color.

  He grabbed the yearbook and whipped through the pages to the senior photos. Starting midway through the letter B, he scanned the names under the photos: Borton, Bostly, Bozeman, Buhler, Burke, Caberrini.

  He ran through them again. “Where is he?”

  Several pages later, he found: Sobrinski, Solinger, Spakeman, Stadnyk, Stegger, Stephanos, Sutherland.

  But no Steel.

  He scratched his head. “Where in the hell are they?”

  Two pages further, he found a list of names of seniors whose pictures were not shown, including Bumm and Steel.

  Damn it! He slammed the book shut and shoved it away from him.

  Why had Mrs. Hughes considered this proof? It did nothing but raise more questions. Like who was Roy Bumm? Was there some significance to neither boy having their senior pictures in the yearbook? And what did any of this have to do with Dr. Hughes’ disappearance?

  He rubbed his eyes. Frustration wasn’t going to get him anywhere. It would be a lot easier to give up and walk away from all of this.

  But there was that promise he’d made to Jeff.

  Fuck.

  “You mean you lied to me?” Angélica’s raised voice right outside his tent made him jerk in surprise.

  He turned in his seat, staring at the tent flap. Should he leave and give Juan and Angélica some privacy?

  Curiosity kept him right where he sat.

  * * *

  “No, gatita,” Juan told Angélica. “I used a small fabrication in order to get you out of Teodoro’s way.”

  “Damn it, Dad.” She needed to get back to Pedro.

  “Don’t swear at me, child. You need some rest. Pedro will be fine. Teodoro is watching him like a new mother. As soon as he wakes, you’ll know. In the meantime, as your father, I’m ordering you to go lie down in your tent.”

  “I’m no longer eight years old, you know.”

  “Well, then your nap should be a lot longer than those I made you take back then.”

  She sighed, knowing he meant well. “Listen, Dad. I—”

  “No, you listen.” His voice hardened. “Someone out there is trying to stop us for some reason. You need to be sharp at all times or you could be the next one lying on Teodoro’s bed covered with blood. As it is, you look like one of those walking dead people.”

  “It’s called a zombie, Dad. You’re hard on a girl’s confidence.”

  “And you’re snapping at your friends like a cornered turtle.”

  “A turtle?”

  “Take a little advice from your old man. He knows what’s best for you. Go to bed and get some rest.”

  There was too much to do to rest. “But—”

  “Go!” He pointed at her tent and then ruined his strict order with a smile. “Please, gatita. I can’t lose you, too.”

  “Fine.” She unzipped her tent. “You’re so mulish sometimes.”

  “It’s called being a loving parent,” Juan said after she stepped inside.

  “Oh, so that’s what you call bossing me around these days.”

  “Ungrateful child,” he growled.

  She grabbed the zipper. “Stubborn mule.” She softened her words with a kiss on his cheek and then zipped the flap closed.

  After he left, she frowned at her cluttered tent, wo
rrying her thumbnail about Pedro. For several minutes, she walked around picking up her dirty clothes and putting them back down, her mind back in Teodoro’s hut.

  “Angélica.” Quint spoke from the other side of the canvas. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

  She hesitated. Her tent looked like a tornado had gone through it, followed by a tidal wave of dirty clothes.

  She heard a grunt and then a snort from the other side of the tent flap. Rover! He must have sneaked out again.

  Hell, she needed to talk to Quint anyway. “Sure.” She unzipped the flap, standing back so he could enter.

  He joined her inside, smelling as fresh as a daisy. Wait, did daisies even have a scent? She couldn’t remember at the moment. Anyway, he smelled clean and she stank like a troll’s armpit.

  Rover snorted and wiggled in Quint’s arms until he lowered him to the floor.

  “Hey, squirt.” She scratched Rover’s back as he nuzzled her leg. “You’ve been bugging Quint again, huh?” She looked up at Quint. “Sorry he keeps going to your tent.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He glanced around, his gaze landing on the plate of food on her desk. “You said you ate. It doesn’t look like you even touched your food.”

  “I wasn’t hungry.” Nor had she been for the last couple of days, not with the prickly ball of anxiety rolling around in her gut. She’d been forcing food down her throat in an attempt to keep up her energy, especially since she wasn’t sleeping much … or well.

  He frowned at her, leaning back against her desk. “How’s Pedro?”

  “Still unconscious when I left him. Teodoro has him all patched up.”

  “Did you figure out what happened? Was it an accident?”

  “I don’t know.” She dropped onto her cot, her knees suddenly weak now that her adrenaline had come and gone. “We won’t know anything for certain until he wakes up, but there’s something fishy about this whole thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If Pedro slipped and fell, the only logical way that he could’ve been knocked unconscious was if he’d hit his head. But Teodoro couldn’t find any bumps on his skull, so why was he out when we found him? His heartbeat was regular; his breathing was steady. The only other thing I could come up with was that he fainted from the pain when he fell on the screwdriver.”