Señora Martinez, red roses blooming in her round cheeks and hibiscus flower over one ear, was easily persuaded. “Well, if you insist. I see the musicians now. I will hurry them along.”
That was a close call. Thank heaven, he’d remembered how much she liked to be in the limelight, and he didn’t. Perfect. The musicians were surrounding her. She’d soon forget him. He’d slip out the side door unnoticed.
“Dominic, how wonderful to see you.”
He turned toward the vaguely familiar female voice. He had to think where he had seen her before. He didn’t want to ask the embarrassing “Do I know you?”
But it seems he did. Or she knew him, as she tucked her arm into his in a familiar way. He wondered why women did that. It was so proprietary.
She correctly read the confusion in his eyes. “The Dominican Republic. We both served on the board for building the school outside of Santo Domingo.”
He tried not to groan aloud. He did know her.
“Felicia?”
“You remembered,” she said, all red lipped smile and undulating charm. “I do hope you’re all right. I heard what your wife put you through, now ex-wife, isn’t it? How absolutely horrid, the little…. Well, I won’t say the word. How you must have suffered.”
He stared at her. The do-gooder world was entirely too small. He remembered this creature had tons of money, even more time, and excelled in gossip.
“That’s all behind me now,” he said, ending the matter as far as he was concerned. “Are you still fund raising?
“As a matter of fact, I helped raise the money for this clinic.”
Dominic cocked an eyebrow. He should have known. But then he had forgotten her after the last meeting in Santo Domingo.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
“Helping to build the clinic.”
“I heard you resigned from your parish.”
“You heard correctly.”
“Well, as you said, that’s all behind you now.”
Dominic searched the crowd for an excuse to move on and caught sight of Elena standing by herself.
“Felicia, if you’ll excuse me, I must catch up with someone before I call it a night.”
“I’ll be around and available, if you need me,” she said with a wink.
The suggestion in that statement was not hard to get.
He pushed his way through the crowd of revelers. The Americans were a good head taller than the Hondurans and muted in contrast. The Latinas were in full color, red dominant and lace in abundance. Local well-wishers saluted him, and he returned the greetings. It warmed his heart to know what a great benefit it would be for the community to have this free medical clinic. Now if they could find a physician willing to live and work in rural western Honduras for a modest salary. Maybe someone just out of medical school. Perhaps Elena would know of someone, a class mate or colleague or someone from her social set. She probably rubbed elbows with the educated elite.
He picked up a Coke at the bar, deciding to go easy on the gold martinis.
A girl, maybe someone from the community, was speaking with Elena. He took his time sipping the Coke to have a closer look. She stood in profile in animated conversation. Her Spanish sounded much better than his. Maybe she had some Latina blood in her from the looks of the dark hair she had attractively piled atop her head. She wasn’t as young as he thought, detecting sun lines around her eyes and smile lines framing her mouth. Whatever they were discussing involved a lot of giggling. Elena turned in his direction and caught him staring at her. Time to wade in. He sucked in his gut and eased into their space.
“Excuse me for interrupting. I’m Dominic Harte,” he said in Spanish in deference to the local girl. “I help with the clinic. I hear you are working out at the ruins.”
He looked into the brilliant green of her eyes. Up close she was striking, and her dress had a nice way of clinging to her figure. She didn’t look like a professor. Maybe he had made a mistake.
“Elena Palomares,” she said. “This is Lucila Hernandez. She speaks English, if you feel more comfortable using English.”
“Sorry, you don’t know when you first meet someone at an affair like this what language to speak.”
Elena laughed. “We were just talking about how many Spanglish conversations were going on. Sentences come out hilarious sometimes.”
“Excuse me,” Lucila said. “I see a friend waving. It was nice to meet you, señor Harte.”
Dominic raised his Coke in salute as Lucila walked away and then turned to give Elena his full attention.
“I have been working at the ruins,” she said, “I’m an epigrapher. My area of expertise is deciphering ancient Mayan hieroglyphs. I’m trying to make sense of the Hieroglyphic Staircase.”
Dominic smiled. “I’ve never met an epigrapher before.”
She smiled back. She had an electric smile that lit her whole face. “Most people haven’t. It’s a rather esoteric calling.”
“I thought they already had cracked the Mayan code.”
“Not all of it. The Staircase crumbled over the centuries and was reassembled without any thought to the correct order of the glyphs. I’m trying to figure out the correct order. Some days it’s a daunting task. Today was one. Unfortunately, I picked the hottest part of the year to come.”
“Fall, winter and spring are great. How long will you be here?”
“Until August, then I return to teaching. I’ve been here several weeks. So far it’s been quite an experience. Not at all what I had hoped.” The smile faded from her face.
“What do you mean?” he asked. His old pastoral instincts kicked in. Something was troubling Elena. In an instant her face had gone from sunny skies to dark clouds. Maybe it was his face everyone said they could trust that made her lean closer and lower her voice.
“Someone’s been stealing valuable stones from the Staircase.”
“That’s serious. Have you notified the police?”
Elena nodded. “The director has. This is a real scandal. You’ve lived here for a while, haven’t you? Is there a serious crime problem in this town? What about smuggling?”
Scandal he understood. He felt a sudden protectiveness toward her. “There’s the usual tourist crime, wallets stolen, cameras, stuff like that. I haven’t heard of any smuggling, but that doesn’t mean it’s not going on. Is there anything I can do to help?”
She shrugged a bare shoulder. The red shawl with shiny threads that she had draped over it, slid down her arm, and Dominic followed the sliding adornment, taking in the swell of her breast under the slinky black fabric of her dress. He hoped she didn’t notice where his eyes were wandering. Down boy, he thought. Let’s not get carried away. Compassion and lust were not a good combination.
“It’s kind of you to offer,” she said. “If you hear any rumors about the theft of the stones, let me know. I’m looking for any and all clues. But enough of my problems, tell me about the clinic. When will it open?”
“We’re open now,” he said. “There’s a nurse who’s already overwhelmed with the demand. She does what she can while we look for a full time doctor. Do you know any physician who’d like to work here? We had one lined up, but he was lured away to a more lucrative situation.”
She tilted her head, maybe thinking over possibilities. “I don’t know anyone off hand, but I’ll contact some of my friends and get back to you. Now I must be going. I start early in the morning. It was a pleasure talking to you.”
She held out her hand. He grasped it, feeling the warmth and slenderness of it, enjoying the contact with her youth and beauty. As she walked away, he watched the smooth sashay of her walk until she was out of sight, unwilling to take his eyes away until the night had swallowed her.
He slipped out the side door into the welcome darkness, smiling to himself. She was a knockout all right. Her damsel in distress appealed to his knight in shining armor. He had every intention of making some discreet inquiries about the disappearance of those valuable stones
to help the damsel out of her predicament.
Two
Dominic arrived at the clinic before seven the next morning. Outside the sun heated the cinder block walls with the promise of another scorcher. Inside the floors were newly swept. A wizened little man in dusty brown sandals was emptying the last of the trash into a beat up metal can.
“Hola,” said Corazón, the nurse trying to help the growing stream of people from the surrounding villages seeking medical care. Her office was the table that had served as the buffet the night before. Several villagers stood patiently in line at the door.
The need of these humble people was overwhelming at times. One step at a time, Dominic told himself, one day at a time. They were thankful for Dr. Hidalgo, the town physician, who helped in the afternoons. But he was overworked in his own practice.
Señora Martinez, up bright and early, bounced into the clinic, exclaiming over the success of their celebration.
“Señor Harte, we raised $300 of your American dollars from the collection basket at the bar. I don’t know yet how much we brought in from other donations. Ay, madre mia, what a night. Did you dance as you promised with Elena?”
“No, she had to leave early.”
“Well, the next time. We will have more fundraisers.” She clapped her hands like a flamenco dancer and whirled in a circle.
Dominic got a reprieve from any more probing questions when Dr. Hidalgo, a spare man, graying at the temples, came hurrying in. A small child on spindly legs followed close behind, running to keep up.
“Corazón, Corazón, please, quickly,” said the doctor, “I need your help. There has been an accident at the Archaeological Park. A mishap of some sort. Go with me, please. My nurse is sick today. Señor Harte, will you drive us in the Jeep? Come, both of you, hurry.”
Without waiting for a reply the doctor turned and rushed toward the door, white lab coat fluttering, stethoscope hanging around his neck, black bag in hand. He nearly collided with the small boy when he turned back to see if the others were following.
Catching the child’s arm to steady him, the doctor said, “You did well coming for me, Flaco. Now hurry to the Jeep.”
Dominic strode after the doctor with Corazón right behind him, neither questioning the need for urgency. Dominic’s first thought was for Elena. He hoped nothing had happened to her after what she had told him last night. He climbed into the driver’s seat of the open top Jeep parked before the door of the clinic.
A small crowd of townspeople had gathered and were speculating on the nature of the accident. A wrinkled old woman with black shawl pulled tight over her shoulders said, “It was a tourist. They never are careful.”
A man with gold rimmed teeth and spiked hair said, “The ghosts who haunt the ruins have taken vengeance. The spirits of the Mayans don’t like their temples molested.”
Dominic started the Jeep, anxious to be off. Corazón threw an apologetic look to the people waiting in line and hopped into the back seat of the Jeep with the child. The doctor climbed into the front with Dominic.
“What happened?” asked Dominic as they sped along the paved road to the Archeological Park. He shouted to be heard above the roar of the wind and the engine.
“I don’t know,” said Dr. Hidalgo. “The child came running into my office to fetch me saying only there had been a terrible accident.”
Dominic could feel his stomach balling into a fist. What if Elena had seen someone stealing stones and tried to stop them? What if they had had a gun and shot her? Things were still wild in the rural areas of Honduras, in the capital city, Tegucigalpa, for that matter. Gangs deported from cities like Los Angeles came back home, armed with their newly acquired gang skills. What if some kind of gang was operating in the area? He pressed down on the accelerator. The doctor looked over at him in mute agreement, and they drove on in silence until the Jeep screeched to a halt at the entrance to the Park.
“The doctor is here,” Dominic said to the guard. “He was summoned to some sort of accident.”
“Sí, sí, pasen ustedes.” The guard waved them through. He pointed toward the Acropolis where the pyramid of the Hieroglyphic Staircase loomed.
No, thought Dominic when he saw the direction the guard indicated. Let it not be Elena. He guided the Jeep as fast as possible across the manicured grounds and around low stone walls. The boy, standing in the back, shouted and pointed to a group of people almost hidden by a thicket of leafy shrubs and trees to the side of the Temple of Inscriptions, the tallest structure in the Acropolis. Because the pathway narrowed and climbed through the ancient stones, Dominic halted the Jeep a short distance away. He could see only the backs of onlookers. He scanned the group but saw no shining dark hair. What would she be wearing? A safari hat and pants? Shorts?
They hurried up the path to the group.
“Permiso, permiso,” said Dr. Hidalgo, his voice booming.
The people parted for him. One gentleman in an official tan uniform with visor cap stepped forward. “Doctor, a man was found with a terrible wound on his head.”
Dominic’s anxiety eased. It wasn’t a woman. He was now able to see the faces of the onlookers. He found Elena’s under a wide brim canvas hat. She hadn’t noticed him.
The doctor bent to examine the fallen man while the people huddled in a circle, murmuring to each other. He rose. “I’m afraid he is dead, felled by a blow to the back of the head with …” he paused and considered. “… a blunt instrument. Does anyone know this man?”
No one spoke. Several people shook their heads, including Elena.
Dominic peered at the figure stretched on the ground. He wore neat black pants, seams pressed, white running shoes and a long sleeved white shirt. Someone you’d see on the streets of a bigger town, any day, except for the bloody mass of black hair on the back of his head.
No one knew him. A tourist perhaps? Or the thief who was stealing artifacts and got caught in the act by someone who wanted the artifacts, too?
The guard spoke up through the mutterings and side conversations. “I need everyone’s name for the investigation. Do not touch or move the body. The police will be here soon.”
With an important flourish he drew out a tablet and pen and motioned to the man nearest him. One by one they gave their names. Elena was the only woman. After she gave her name she stepped to the edge of the group, alone, apart from the rest.
Dominic eased toward her. “Elena,” he said in a loud whisper.
Her head jerked in his direction, her eyes wide and troubled.
He stepped to her side. “I’m glad you’re all right. I was concerned that you were involved.”
“I was involved,” she said, barely audible. “I found him.”
She was trembling. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. He could feel her shivering against his side even though his shirt was sticking to him with the heat and humidity. He had never been at the scene of a murder and struggled for words of comfort. The horror of having come upon a dead body early in the morning at one’s work site would be enough to send anyone into shock. They stood for a few silent minutes, watching the little group of workers mill around the guard.
“Why don’t you get in the Jeep,” Dominic said, “and I’ll take you back to town. You’ve had a terrible shock.”
She shook her head and pulled away. “I need to give a statement to the police and talk to the Museum director. Someone went to fetch him. He should have been here by now. Could you give me a lift to the Museum? Maybe I can find him.”
“Sure, I’ll be glad to help.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell the guard we’re leaving and where we’re going.”
After she spoke with the guard, Dominic guided the still trembling Elena to the Jeep. She slumped into the passenger seat, removed her hat and used it as a fan against the still air.
“What a nightmare,” she said, hardly above a whisper. “I can’t believe I found that man.”
Dominic didn’t start the eng
ine. He leaned back in the seat. “Tell me what happened.”
She bit down hard on her lip. Her eyes grew bright with tears which intensified the green of her eyes. In a halting voice she said, “I was walking alone across the courtyard toward the Staircase. It was around 6:00 A.M. and just getting light. I wanted to arrive early to check the Staircase while the workmen weren’t here. The morning was lovely so I decided to go up to the top of the Temple of the Inscriptions by the back path. It’s easier than trying to climb the narrow front steps. The view over the Park is spectacular.
“I found the body on the path, lying where it is now. I thought at first it was one of the workmen, sleeping, and was going to walk around, when I noticed the clothes and stopped. They weren’t the type the workers wear, they were much neater. His face was turned away from me, so I leaned over to say something. I caught a glimpse of the back of his head, and then I saw his eyes.”
She covered her face and pressed her fingers into her eyes like she was trying to erase the picture in her mind.
Dominic waited, watching her, wanting to hold her and smooth her hair, sooth away the ugliness of the scene she was reliving. But he held back. Such a gesture would be too familiar, more for people who knew each other well, who were good friends, even lovers. The retelling would be difficult but cathartic. Tears would wash away some of the horror of the scene.
“The worst was the eyes,” she said at last. “They were bulging, sightless.” She looked at Dominic. “He was dead.”
The pathos in her voice moved him to place his hand on hers. “Do you have any idea who he was?”
“I’ve never seen him before,” she said, staring into the distance.
“Do you think a gang is involved, drugs?”
“I don’t really know.” She looked at him with a sad smile. “I’m an epigrapher. I spend my life looking into the past. I’m horribly deficient in current events, including the latest addictions of humankind.”
The sound of an approaching vehicle made them look around. Another Jeep, old Army issue, jerked to a stop beside them.
Elena brushed away tears with her fingers and repositioned her field hat, as if in those gestures she made the world right again.
Exotic #02 - The Hieroglyphic Staircase Page 2