Exotic #02 - The Hieroglyphic Staircase

by Marjorie Thelen

  But she didn’t want Armando to worry about losing his job. “The Park won’t close. This is a major archaeological site, and the tourism it attracts is important to the economy.”

  The relief on his face made Elena glad she had risked an opinion. Life was precarious for Armando and his family and for so many like them in the barrio. Work was hard to find for an unskilled laborer.

  She asked about the children.

  “They are doing well in school. Juan likes numbers, Ana likes to play, Julio is good at soccer and Angelica helps her mother a lot.” His pride in their accomplishments colored his face.

  Elena could hear the children’s small voices from within whispering, rising and falling with questions, their mother trying to hush them. “Please tell them I said hello. I’ll call another day to see how they are doing.”

  “We are very grateful,” said Armando.

  Dominic spoke up. “Elena, didn’t you tell me that you saw Armando sweeping this morning before you entered the Museum?”

  She nodded, catching his train of thought. “Yes, Armando, you were there early this morning. What time was it when you arrived?”

  “I arrived the same time I always arrive, around seven. I leave at two.”

  “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?” asked Dominic. “Anything that didn’t look quite right to you? Were there any people around who usually aren’t there? Did you notice anything out of place yesterday when you left for the day?”

  Armando squinted back into the last twenty-four hours. “I don’t think so. I talked to some of the regular workers when I first got there, and my supervisor who tells me what to do every day. Today is the sweeping, sometimes it is collecting trash. Sometimes I help with trimming the grass after the big mowers are finished. Yesterday was more of the same, I think. But today … I can’t remember.” He pulled his lower lip but that didn’t seem to help his memory.

  “If you think of anything out of the ordinary,” said Elena, “will you let me know?”

  “Sí, claro. Thank you again for the food. We cannot tell you how much we appreciate it.”

  On the ride back to Dominic’s place, they both were silent, intent on their own thoughts. He parked in front of his house and cut the motor. They sat, not moving, not making an attempt to leave the Jeep. Elena leaned against the head rest. In her upward gaze she became aware of the stars and the clear night sky.

  “What are you thinking?” Dominic asked in a quiet voice almost as if he hated intruding into the peaceful moment.

  “That beyond the little town of Copan Ruinas, people are living ordinary lives without murders. It doesn’t seem real that this can be happening to me. What were you thinking?”

  “That I wish different circumstances had brought us together. But even under these difficult circumstances, I’m glad we met.”

  She smiled at him. “I’m glad, too. I’m grateful for your help. It’s means a lot to me.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. “What do you say we go in and finish the martinis?”

  “Sounds good.”

  In the kitchen he fixed a fresh round of martinis and poured out two glasses.

  “Come,” he said, “there’s a small patio in the back, we can sit out there.”

  She followed him through a narrow hall that opened to an outside space enclosed by a wall. Two wire chairs with cushions were the only furniture. Potted plants, mainly gardenias, were arranged in a minor forest in one corner. Their sweet, exotic fragrance filled the air.

  “Who’s the gardener?” Elena asked.

  “The housekeeper. She has a real knack for gardenias.”

  He faced her and held up his glass. “Here’s to good fortune, Elena.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” she said. They touched glasses and sipped their drinks.

  He moved the chairs side by side, and they sat down, facing the gardenia forest. The scent of gardenias was as intoxicating as the martini Elena was drinking. She wondered about Dominic and his life before Copan.

  “How did your marriage break up?” she asked, without preamble or warning. Her lips formed the question before the thought entered her mind, before she could censor the query and not speak it.

  Dominic took a long drink. He didn’t look at her when he spoke. Instead he gazed up at the night sky. “My wife had an affair with a younger man in our parish, one of my parishioners. She ended up pregnant with his child. She left me to marry him. End of story.” He upended his drink and finished it.

  The shock of Dominic’s admission robbed Elena of speech. Clergy were supposed to be perfect and immune from the trials of other mortals. But it wasn’t the end of the story, because it haunted this man.

  She finished her drink and rose. She couldn’t think of one word that would mitigate the pain of so traumatic an event. “I’m sorry” sounded so trite. Betrayal and deceit she understood.

  She took his hand. “Come, I’ll fix us another drink.”

  * * * * *

  Dominic wasn’t quite sure why he had told Elena the truth. He supposed it was because he liked her, trusted her, wanted her to know who he was, what his story was. It was common knowledge in his parish what had happened. The scandal had rocked a decent group of people to Jerusalem and back. They’d all had to call on their faith to get through the darkest days. His faith had not made it. He’d left it behind and didn’t know if it would ever return.

  Elena expertly mixed their drinks with a twist of lime, light on the ice. She handed him a glass and leaned against the sink in the kitchen.

  At last, she said, “How did you ever live through it?”

  He leaned against the sink beside her, and they studied the refrigerator and stove. The top of the refrigerator was arranged in an altar of sorts with the Virgin of Suyapa in a gold gown and shining crown in a gilded frame guarded by a small unlit vigil candle. Dominic wondered if the Virgin had been shocked by his revelation.

  How did he live through it?

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I remember numbness. It was dreamlike, filled with faces of people I loved, who were horrified for me, embarrassed for me, some accusing me.”

  “Accusing you? Of what?” she said, sounding indignant. “A woman does something like that, it can’t be your fault.”

  An image of the face of Mrs. MacElroy, an older parishioner, came to mind, her thin lipped mouth saying she was sorry to hear about his wife, her cold blue eyes suggesting something else.

  “Maybe if I had been a better husband, I wouldn’t have lost my wife to another man.”

  “You’re being too hard on yourself,” said Elena in a gentle voice.

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Mostly there was sympathy and anger and sadness. They said they wanted me to stay, but I couldn’t. It was too painful. You see, I loved my wife. Maybe I still do. I tried to get help for her drinking, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She was the classic alcoholic – nothing wrong with her, it was the rest of the world.”

  Elena put her arm around his back. “I’m sorry, Dominic. I don’t know what made me ask.”

  “No, it helped to voice the words and meet that dragon head on.” He turned to her. “But enough of my problems. You have some of your own. I have a hunch that our inspector Oliveros is involved in the smuggling operation you’ve uncovered. Why else would he try to pin the blame on you?”

  “That’s a chilling thought, and you may be right. I’ll track him down tomorrow to give him the St. Jude medal and see where the investigation is going. Hopefully, not in my direction. And we still need to find those boys.”

  Ten

  Elena didn’t have to seek out the inspector. He came to her. He arrived early the next morning while she was at the breakfast table.

  After spending the evening with Dominic she felt better, even with his shocking confession. They had shared their problems, and neither one had to carry the full burden of them. With the aid of the martinis, she’d had no problem falling asleep and slept the night through, a dreamless sleep
without the specter of murder and the worry of what lay in the future.

  She had hummed her way through her morning shower and dressed in standard khaki shorts and tank top, not knowing exactly what the day would bring. Her improved humor took a sharp turn south when she saw the inspector’s face. He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen where she sat finishing her second cup of café con leche. Her empty plate, scraped clean of huevos revueltos, still sat on the table. A bowl of sliced fruit, mango and papaya with lime that she had been eyeing, sat in the middle of the table.

  She set down her cup. “Buenas días, inspector. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Buenas días, doctora Palomares. I’m sorry to disturb you at such an early hour.”

  He wasn’t wearing his uniform, which was odd. He had on nondescript long pants and a short sleeved shirt.

  “Do you have the day off?” she asked.

  The man ducked his head. Without the uniform his arrogance seemed to have taken a holiday, the standoff of the day before forgotten. Worry had followed him in the door, hovering over his shoulder.

  “That is what I came to talk to you about.”

  “Would you have a cup of coffee?”

  “No, I cannot stay. Excuse me for interrupting your breakfast, but I have come to speak to you in private.” He shifted from one foot to the other, trying to shred the baseball cap he held in both hands.

  Elena waited. She could feel her insides squeeze together like an accordion, so tight she found it difficult to breathe, while she waited for him to get on with what he had to say.

  “You see, I don’t know how to tell you. Have you listened to the news on TV?”

  Elena shook her head. National, international news was the last thing on her mind. She was part of the local news and that was all she could cope with.

  “It is all over the news about what happened here in Copan Ruinas. Even it is on the international news. We are famous, unfortunately.”

  Notorious was the word that came to mind. She was afraid to hear any more.

  He huffed a great sigh. “They have relieved me of my post.” He looked so miserable, Elena almost had a moment of sympathy for him.

  “But why?” She must be obtuse. She didn’t understand why he had been fired.

  “Because these lamentable events have caused a stir in the highest levels of government in Tegucigalpa, and the President of Honduras is now involved. They are sending someone from the capital to replace me. They say they don’t need me anymore. They didn’t think I was doing a good job.”

  For an instant Elena considered walking over and putting her arm around him. Only for an instant, then her wits returned.

  “I have tried to do the best job, but it seems it is not good enough for these stupid government cretinos. So now the federales will come to take over the investigation. Everyone is concerned about the impact for tourism.”

  His eyes took on the squinty, accusing look at which he excelled.

  “Doctora, I must ask you, did you kill these men? If you did and you confess to me, then maybe it will save my job.”

  The slap of his point-blank question hit her like a flying tree branch in a nasty storm. What kind of game was this idiot playing? She felt her legal rights slither off into a dark corner.

  “Good grief, man,” she said when she had recovered enough to speak. She clenched her fists to control her shaking limbs. “Are you insane? I don’t know what your game is but I refuse to play. I told you I had nothing to do with either death. It is your twisted logic that says I did. Now please leave, before I lose my temper.” She must have shouted the last words, because doña Carolita came hurrying into the kitchen.

  “Doña Carolita, please show the inspector to the door. He’s being quite ridiculous. I have nothing further to say.”

  “Wait,” he said, “I can explain. I have a wife and five children, and if I don’t have this job I have nothing. Where will I go? I have lived here my whole life, and you haven’t. If you confess then I won’t have to leave, and my children can still eat, and my wife will be happy. If it was you, please I beg you to give yourself up.”

  The man lifted his hands in prayerful supplication, like a petitioner before the Pope.

  “Inspector, there is nothing to confess. I am truly sorry about your job, but I cannot help you.”

  “I don’t believe you.” His anger seethed to the surface. “You committed these horrible murders. I know you did, you filthy gringa whore.”

  Doña Carolita grabbed him by the arm and yanked him toward the front door. “Inspector, go home and calm down. It is not appropriate for you to come here with these accusations. Go home to your wife so she can take care of you.”

  The man’s head snapped around to stare at her. He gazed, confused, back and forth between the two of them. Then he slumped and stumbled away, allowing her to pull him along toward the front door without another word.

  She looked back to Elena and motioned with her head to make a getaway. Elena fled to her room, closed the door, and listened until she heard her stop scolding the man and the front door close. Doña Carolita’s footsteps stopped outside her door, and she tapped.

  “Are you all right?” she asked through the door.

  Elena opened the door. “I don’t know what got into the man.”

  She shook her head. “This is very sad business. We are doomed I am afraid. These events are making people crazy. If you ask me, the inspector is crooked. I have heard things about him but no one will stand up to him and his thugs. If you don’t need me, I am going to mass to pray for us all.”

  Elena said, “Pray for me, too.”

  She nodded, found her shawl, and left through the kitchen.

  Elena paced and paced and paced. Her gaze skipped around the room like a madwoman searching for something stable to hold onto. Her lifeline to the outside world, the computer, sat running on the desk. She checked and there were email messages from her father, mother and one from Dr. Roulade.

  What a relief. Maybe sanity was in one of these messages.

  She opened the one from Dr. Roulade first, who said she had heard about the events in Copan and that Elena should stay put, she would be there as soon as possible. Don’t say or do anything that might be interpreted wrong. Elena smarted at that admonition. Surely, Dr. Roulade wasn’t holding the past against her.

  The email from her mother said she had heard on the news about the murder, and she was on her way to Copan to be with Elena. The one from her father said he had heard. Did she need money to leave as fast as possible?

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This was ludicrous -- two unsolved deaths, the inspector accusing her of murder, the real murderer or murderers on the loose, two little boys missing, her boss admonishing her, her mother on the way, and her father offering her money to make a getaway.

  She did what she had done before. She went to see the new pillar in her life. Dominic. She fairly ran to the clinic. But Dominic wasn’t there. He had gone to a village to bring in a sick woman who was unable to walk.

  “He should return soon,” said Corazón, who was busy treating a small girl’s leg for a dog bite.

  “Please tell him I stopped by.”

  Corazón nodded and focused on the silent little girl who had crocodile tears flowing down round cheeks. Elena sat on the bench outside the door of the clinic to consider her options.

  With the director gone she felt a responsibility to help with the Museum. As much as she didn’t want to return to the scene of the gruesome death, she should. Maybe there was some clue to his mysterious death only she would understand.

  She hurried back to the house to pick up her vest, computer and floppy hat, stuffing a few extra Honduran lempiras into her pocket along with some American dollar bills. Action improved her spirits. She would go to the Museum then try to get some work done at the Staircase. She left a note for doña Carolita.

  On the street she hailed a scooter taxi. After a breezy ride in the open air rattle
-trap vehicle with ripped umbrella top for dubious shade, the driver deposited her in the Museum parking lot. The sign at the entrance said “Cerrado.”

  She had no key, and no one was in sight.

  She hurried across the sidewalk to the visitor center to find Diego, the manager. He was no friend of the director and always full of gossip. Maybe he had heard something.

  “Hola, Diego,” she said when she gained the cool interior of his small office next to the gift shop.

  “Hola,” he said. “It’s been a while. You look fabulous as always. What about these events? I’m sorry you got all wrapped up in them.”

  “It’s been a nightmare,” said Elena. She liked Diego even though he flirted shamelessly with everything in a skirt. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in several days. Not since all this started.”

  He shrugged. “I had to go to San Pedro Sula to see my mother. She is sick and is not expected to live.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. How awful for you.”

  He gave a sad smile. He was short and had strong Mayan features, large full nose, jet black straight hair, wide set eyes.

  “My mother is all I have in this world. She’s a saint. My brothers are worthless. They do not help. I don’t even know where they are. Maybe in Tegucigalpa. Maybe in the States. I never hear from them. But what about you? What are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure. What do you know about what’s going on?”

  Diego shrugged and led the way to the glass cases in the middle of the gift shop. Reproductions of small artifacts and gold-plated jewelry lined the shelves in the cases. Normally, tourists from all over the world crowded the place. Today, not a single one.

  “This is bad for business and for everyone who works here. You know what the people say about the ghosts causing all this. Listen, one of the workers was telling me,” and he leaned closer and lowered his voice, “it was Beto, the one who does maintenance inside the Museum. He told me he thinks the director has been trucking in the black market for years.”