Exotic #02 - The Hieroglyphic Staircase

by Marjorie Thelen

  * * * * *

  Susanna retired soon after dinner, but Dominic and Elena lingered over coffee. They were seated in an alcove of the dining room located on the second floor of the hotel overlooking the pool area. Underwater lighting in the pool below accentuated the soft blue of it and made dim outlines of tables with umbrellas scattered to one side of the pool area. A Jacuzzi with splashing waterfall added a tropical note to the setting.

  “Elena, promise me you’ll be careful with this new assignment. I hate to keep after you about your safety, but I’m really concerned. You don’t think you might be a target, but by being involved in all three, the thefts, the murder, the suicide, makes you vulnerable. I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

  She smiled. “Me, too. I promise. I’ll report for duty tomorrow morning and see what happens. I don’t think I’ll have much of a staff. Maybe I’ll be cleaning floors. Who knows? I’m sure it won’t be long before the minister has someone else in place.”

  “I hope so,” he said, but somehow he still wasn’t convinced. “Miguel and Gordo still missing worries me. I hope the people behind this aren’t looking for them.”

  “Me either. Should we send out a search party?”

  Dominic half smiled. “That might not be a bad idea. I’m going to talk to some of the townspeople and see if someone can check on the bridge more often, put some kind of word out that I need to see the boys.”

  “Good idea,” she said. “I can ask around at the Museum. Diego in the gift shop is good at keeping up on gossip. I’ll ask him.”

  “Good. Now we should go,” he said. “You’ve a big day tomorrow.”

  But she didn’t move to get up. She seemed as reluctant as he to leave the intimacy of their quiet interlude together. Before he could act on his suggestion, from the corner of his eye he caught someone approaching.

  “My, what a cozy setting we have here. You two seem to be enjoying each other’s company.”

  “Hello, Felicia,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “How are you?”

  “I’m busy on my next fundraiser. We’re looking for more money for your medical clinic. I’ve been leaning on some of my sources.”

  A man walked up behind Felicia and grasped her arms, looking over her shoulder at Dominic and Elena.

  “Jack, meet my friend, Nicky, and, I’m sorry I forgot your name,” said Felicia, glancing at Elena.

  “Elena,” said Dominic.

  “Yes, Elena,” Felicia said.

  Jack was a big, balding man with cheerful blue eyes and parted teeth. He put out his hand to Dominic.

  “A pleasure. I understand you’re helping at the new clinic. Felicia’s been talking about you.”

  They shook. Elena nodded.

  “C’mon, babe,” said Jack to Felicia, steering her toward the door. “We’ve got to get to our next party. The night is young yet.” He winked at Dominic and Elena. “Nice meeting you.” He fairly pushed Felicia out the door before she said anything else.

  “I wonder where she picked him up,” said Elena.

  “He’s one of the ex-pats I’ve seen around. He shows up every so often. He showed up just in time to be snagged by Felicia. Lucky man.”

  He rose and held out his hand. “It’s time I dropped you back at your house.”

  Twelve

  Diego cradled the phone against his ear. “Have you found the kid yet?” he asked the person on the other end. “No? Me neither. Things are in turmoil here with the director dead. The whole town is scared to death. That’s a good thing. I can’t talk now. Someone’s come into the shop. I’ll contact you later when I know something.”

  * * * * *

  Elena showed up at the Museum around nine the next morning, dressed in olive toned slacks and a simple sleeveless knit top in a lighter shade. A scooter taxi had dropped her at the Museum, but it remained closed, and she still had no key. She circled the building looking for someone to let her in, but not even Armando was in appearance.

  She headed to the visitor center, found the gift shop door open, and Diego inside on the phone. He hung up when he saw her and came over to say hello.

  “Wow, Elena, you look gorgeous as ever. Are we going out on a date?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “No, of course not. It’s too early in the day, and you’re too young for me. Actually, I’m looking for keys to open the Museum. Would you have a set?”

  He frowned. “You want to go into the Museum after all that nasty business with the director?”

  She nodded. “The Minister of Antiquities called and asked me to serve as acting director until he can get someone in place. I told him I would, but I have no keys. No way to get in. I thought you might have been entrusted with a set.”

  Diego chewed the inside of his cheek. “I have a box of keys in my office. The Museum keys should be there. I’ll look for you.”

  He returned with a small box of keys. “We’re in luck.” He dangled a set before her. “I think these are the Museum keys. I’ll go along to help you. I’m not sure which ones fit since I never have cause to enter the Museum after hours.”

  He led the way out of the shop and along the path that Armando usually swept.

  “Diego, have you seen any of the little boys that come around the Park, the orphan ones that live under the bridge?”

  He stopped mid-step and his open Mayan features turned inscrutable. “No, why do you ask? Are they lost?”

  “No, they aren’t lost,” she said. “I just haven’t seen them in the last day or two, and I worry about them. I give them food sometimes.”

  She wasn’t going to share with him the real reason she was looking for them. She liked him but that didn’t mean she trusted him.

  “I haven’t seen them around, but if I do, I’ll let you know.”

  They stopped before the Museum entrance, which was padlocked. Diego hummed a salsa ditty as he tried the keys on the first ring without success. On the second ring he hit pay dirt on the outside lock and moved around the ring again searching for one that would open the deadbolt on the inside door. It gave way on the last key.

  “Here you are,” he said, opening the door to the cool interior.

  She stepped across the threshold and shivered involuntarily, running her hands up and down her arms.

  “Cold?” he said.

  “No, it’s just kind of spooky.”

  “It is rather grim. Let’s throw on some lights. That will help.”

  He found the light panel beside the door and experimented with the switches. Spots came up that illumined the individual stela.

  “That’s better,” she said. “Thanks. That cheers things up.” But she had the eerie feeling all those Mayan heads were watching her, waiting for answers.

  “Would you like help with anything?” asked Diego, hovering too close. He kept tossing the keys in the air, leering at her. He didn’t seem to get that she wasn’t interested.

  Elena shook her head and walked further on, looking around the hall dominated by the Rosalila temple. The natural light from the open roof burnished the rosy hue of the structure.

  “Sounds kind of hollow in here,” Diego said, coming up close behind her. “You should put up curtains and arrange for carpets.”

  “Very funny, Diego,” she said, not laughing. “I don’t think I’ll need anything else. You go on. But thanks for letting me in. I’ll take the keys, so I can lock up when I leave. It doesn’t look like anyone is coming in today.”

  She held out her hand for the keys. She wanted to get busy with her new job. There was investigating to do.

  “Okay, here.” He dangled the ring of keys over her hand then dropped them. “I’ll be in the gift shop if you need me.” He gave her a wink and chucked her under the chin, then sauntered away along the stone path to the gift shop.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Latin machismo was beyond belief at times.

  She pushed the entrance gate open wide and turned the “Cerrado” sign to “Abierto”. That was
a start. She gazed around the interior of the building.

  The director’s corner office had yellow tape stretched across the door. She was itching to look through the desk drawers to see if there might be any clues as to why the director took his own life. She shivered again. An unholy draft seemed to be flowing through the gallery. Hopefully, the ghosts had stayed home today.

  First, she’d do a fast check of the galleries to make sure everything was in order. Then she would have a go at the director’s office. She toured all the galleries, finding spotlights and turning them on, checking to make sure that everything was in order and clean. The maintenance crew did a good job on a daily basis of keeping the rooms immaculate. The terrazzo floors shone, the exhibit glass sparkled, not a mote of dust rested on any of the intricate curves and creases of the sculptures and stelae of Mayan kings and gods.

  The hush of the Museum put her on edge. The echo of her footsteps followed her around the galleries. She was not accustomed to the creaks and groans of the place. At every new sound she’d start and look around, trying to determine the source of the noise. What if the director’s death hadn’t been suicide? What if he had been murdered? Was she a target?

  Stop it. Just stop it. You’re working yourself into a tizzy. To prove to herself that she wasn’t afraid, she started toward the director’s office. Time to tackle his desk to see what sense she could make of his mysterious death. She stopped before the yellow tape, saw it was fastened with adhesive and peeled it away with a flourish, sticking the end to the opposite door frame.

  That was a brave move.

  She turned the door knob. It opened easily. It had not been locked. A cool rush of air brushed past her, and she wrinkled her nose. She tried not to think about the source of the sour smell that still lingered in the room. She pushed the door further open, slowly, slowly, not sure what to expect. The hinges creaked, and the sound echoed hollow in the stillness. Goosebumps covered her arms.

  One baby step in. Halt. Her gaze swept the desk with not a scrap of paper on top, the wood polished to a shine. The shelves behind were still lined with books. The single phone sat on the desk. The floor was spotless. She said a simple prayer of thanks to all the Mayan gods that she didn’t have to clean up.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open wide. She glanced toward the lavatory door. Closed. The stain on the floor gone. The police must have finished their investigation quickly. She breathed easier, walked around the desk and took a seat on the chair. After all she was the acting director.

  She studied the pictures on the walls. One held the director’s diploma from the National University in Tegucigalpa. On another wall was the photo of a soccer team. She rose to read the label at the bottom. It was the Honduran team from a long time ago. Maybe he had played on the team. She studied each face individually but she couldn’t make out one that resembled him, even in youth. So he was a soccer fan. She had never noticed the photo before. But then each time she had come here, things were so tense she hadn’t lingered.

  The bookshelf behind the desk groaned with books. She had never taken time to read the titles before. Honduran Archeology, Life in Mesoamerica – the First Thousand Years, Copan Art and Drawings, and so on. Each had something to do with Honduran archaeology or the Mayans or Mesoamerican history and archaeology. Most of the books appeared brand new. One, though, had a frayed spine and looked like it had seen prodigious usage. The title was The Mayan Rulers. She took it down. Leafing through the dog-eared pages, she came to a bookmarked page. On it was a drawing of the head stela of Smoke Shell, the one who built the Hieroglyphic Staircase. She had never seen this drawing before, and she took time to study it.

  The artist’s style was reminiscent of Frederick Catherwood, who originally explored Copan with John Lloyd Stephens in 1839. She had studied his drawings many times and thought she knew them all. But this one she had never seen. Catherwood made accurate and elegant drawings of what he had seen. She looked for a credit for the drawing but there was none. She started reading and got lost in the text, oblivious to time and place.

  A noise from the entrance way interrupted her study. She thought she heard footsteps.

  Who could that be?

  She faced the door, but the angle of the door blocked her view. She looked around the room for anything that would serve as a weapon. Of course, nothing cluttered the desktop. She stealthily pulled open the top drawer of the desk. Pens, paper clips, pencils. The next drawer was locked. The third held a stack of file folders which looked intriguing but for which she had no time under the circumstances.

  The footsteps stopped.

  Where was something, anything heavy that she could use to hurl at or clobber the owner of the footsteps?

  Nothing. There was nothing.

  Heart pounding so hard she was sure it echoed through the Museum, she stood and inched her way toward the open door to see who the intruder was. With one eye she peeked around the edge of the doorway.

  The figure of a man turned this way and that like he was searching for something … or someone. The light from the open skylight reflected on soft brown hair, and she recognized that perfect profile. Dominic. Praise all the Mayan gods.

  “Dominic,” she called to him and waved. “I’m back here in the director’s office.”

  He turned, saw her and waved back. She hurried from the office to meet him.

  “You okay? I came out on lunch break to make sure you were all right.”

  “Is it lunch time already?” she said. “It hardly seems possible.”

  “I worried that you might run into problems. The tourists in town can’t leave fast enough. The bus station is jammed, and they’ve brought in two special charter buses. You’d think we were expecting a nuclear explosion.”

  “Goodness, I didn’t think the reaction would be that bad. I had problems with the keys, and Diego, the guy in the gift shop, helped me. I’ve been checking around and was studying a drawing in a book in the director’s collection.”

  She led the way back to the office. “Look. Someone, I’m assuming it was the director, bookmarked the page of this drawing of Smoke Shell.”

  When he looked at her with a question in his eyes, she said, “He’s the one who built the Hieroglyphic Staircase.”

  “I see,” he said and took time to study the drawing. “What do you make of it?”

  “I’m not sure yet. It may be a clue to what’s been happening here. I don’t know. But someone has drawn pencil lines projecting from the eyes at different angles. Isn’t that curious?”

  “Yes, do you know what that means?”

  “Not yet. I’ll have to think about it.”

  “You haven’t been bothered by any ghosts, have you?” The smile in his eyes made her laugh.

  “No, as far as I know it’s just me. But you had me scared for a few moments.”

  “I’m sorry, but I had to see if you were okay. Don’t expect any visitors today. The guards have the Park entrance blocked. I had to talk my way in. It seems that the new inspector, who’s expected soon, has forbidden entrance to anyone.”

  “Then I wonder why the minister wanted me to start this morning. The situation is confusing. Luckily, the news people weren’t around when I left the house.”

  “They won’t make it past the guards. But they’re all over town, photographing the tourists leaving, making a big deal about all this.”

  “I’m glad you came. It’s creepy here.”

  “I’m glad I came, too.” He smiled. “How’s your mother? I enjoyed dinner with her.”

  “I spoke to her this morning. She wants me to leave now.”

  “Of course, she wouldn’t want her daughter in any kind of danger.”

  “But I’m not in danger.” She paused. “At least I don’t think I am.”

  “I don’t like this set up.”

  “And I don’t like the feeling I have. Not like I’m in danger, but just, well, just creepy, is the only way I know to describe it, edgy, looking over my
shoulder.”

  “Have you seen the boys?”

  “No, have you?”

  He shook his head. “I checked under the bridge, but no sign.”

  “Doña Carolita will have lunch ready. Let’s go back. We can check the bridge again.”

  * * * * *

  Getting out of the Archaeological Park was no problem but getting into town was. The crowd at the bus station spilled over into the main street into town. People stood in lines in the heat, mopping their faces, their luggage clustered around them.

  “They don’t look happy,” Elena said, as they inched by.

  “What a mess,” said Dominic. “The media is fanning this into a huge wildfire.”

  They drove a few short blocks and turned onto doña Carolita’s street. A news van was parked outside the house.

  “Oh dear,” said Elena. “This doesn’t look good. We should turn around. We could park on the next street over and walk into the back of her house. Let’s try that.”

  Dominic swung a tight U-turn.

  “I don’t think they saw us,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “Turn at the next street and see if the coast is clear.”

  No news vehicle was in sight on the next street. Dominic slowed, found a space and parked parallel. Elena pointed to an opening between two houses. “A private walkway goes to the back of doña Carolita’s house.”

  He helped her out of the Jeep and followed her through the narrow path, just big enough for one person to walk. Elena stopped by the rear gate to doña Carolita’s house. It was locked. A tiny patio adjoined the open kitchen door.

  Elena called, “Doña Carolita.” She repeated it several times, each time a little louder. At last, the short, plump woman appeared at the kitchen window.

  “You made it, clever girl,” she said, clapping her hands. “Good thing to think of coming in the back way. The news people arrived after you left.”

  She opened the gate, and they went inside to the kitchen.

  “What a morning,” doña Carolita said. “Those people have knocked every few minutes, asking when you’d return. I told them you would be gone all day, but they are very insistent and wanted to know where you had gone. I wouldn’t tell them. I watched the news on TV. They are showing photos of the tourists leaving town from the bus station. This is terrible.”