What would Wesley do? Beyond any doubt, he would not want her to involve the police. Wesley would despise the idea of a scandal and would want to handle things himself. She would tell him everything as soon as she could. Lennea clung to the thought that Delores knew no more about the money than she, and to the hope that Delores would be downstairs waiting for her. But what would she do with the money in the mean time? She could not leave it in the room unguarded; she would have to take it with her to meet Joseph. Her eyes drifted to the bulky navy flight bag. Quickly, she took out Wesley's heavy books and all of the extra last-minute items she had packed. Then, a row at a time, she stuffed the money inside.
Lennea stopped before the full-length mirror to see if the bag appeared too bulky. The navy color stood out against the white cotton of her dress. But almost all tourists carried oversized totes stuffed with cameras and valuables. Satisfied that the bag wouldn't look conspicuous, her eyes rose to her own image.
Her shoulder-length blonde hair had retained its usual healthy glow, though her face looked slightly pale. She studied her hazel eyes critically, glad that they were bright and clear despite a sleepless night.
Sid Guerrero came up to greet her the moment she stepped from the elevator. "Joseph has been delayed, he explained, gallantly taking her arm. "He's left careful instructions for me to keep you entertained until he arrives."
Before she could say a word, the dark-eyed man in the slim, tailored suit began to guide her ahead of him into the large, private room behind his office. Lennea felt a slight tug of apprehension. His grip, gentle, yet firm upon her arm, gave her a threatened feeling, as if she was being ever so subtly kidnapped.
Sid smiled, "I'd like to introduce you to the family," he said. Something about the room Sid led her into struck a familiar chord within her, which put her immediately at ease. Perhaps it was the fruit upon the table, the candy in fragile dishes that put her slightly in mind of the comfortable family room back home. Or maybe it was just the pleasant smell of freshly-brewed coffee in the air that reminded her of Dad and his Swedish hospitality.
A small, plump woman with eyes like Sid's, bright and full of interest, smiled up at her from the sofa. The man beside her rose. Great dignity made him an impressive figure. Immaculate snow-white hair and eyes of a fragile China blue—except for these two differences, he looked exactly like Sid. "Mother, Father," Sid introduced, "this is Lennea Andrews."
"I'm Lucas. " Lennea shook hands with Mr. Guerrero, who had stepped forward to greet her. She felt the sharp tension between shoulder blades begin to ease. She moved toward the woman, who had remained seated. "So nice to meet you, Mrs.—"
The pleasant, dark-skinned woman stopped her with a wave of the hand. "Nobody dares to call me Mrs. Guerrero," she laughed. "Just Neysa."
"Or Mother Neysa," Sid put in. "She likes that. Don't you, Mother?" His brown eyes seemed to seek hers for approval. "I'm flattered when people consider me to have those qualities of a mother. There's no higher praise that a woman can receive."
No women's liberation here. Val would adore her. In fact, her sister would like the entire family, she decided, her eyes returning to the white-haired, aristocratic father.
With a wink so similar to Sid's, Lucas added, "My wife often gets carried away on the subject of motherhood." He gave an appreciative chuckle. "She wanted many children. Nature provided us with only one."
"One, but to make up for it, the very best."
Sid turned away with embarrassment, from which he quickly recovered, saying, "Lennea arrived last night with Joseph."
Was it her association with Joseph which made them feel so friendly toward her—or was it something else? How could she be suspicious of such kindly people?
"Any friend of Joseph's is a friend of ours," observed Lucas.
"We've just met," Lennea explained, anxious that they not jump to mistaken conclusions about her relationship with Joseph. "Though I guess we'll both be working at the excavation site this summer." She shifted uncomfortably, aware of the feel of the navy bag at her side. Something inside of her wanted to scream or to laugh. Here she was, making chit-chat with polite strangers while a fortune in money lay hidden inside her purse.
"The whole town's buzzing about the new excavations around Chichen Itza. Imagine, you both working there with Professor Hern!" Neysa said enthusiastically. "You must have so much in common."
"If I were predicting," Sid went on mischievously, "I'd say we have a match."
"You tell Joseph that we want to see him. It seems like ages since he was last here," Neysa scolded, as if the two of them were already a pair.
"And I must admit that I've missed your cooking," came a familiar voice from the doorway. Lennea looked up to see Joseph standing there. The white, woven shirt made a striking contrast to his thick, dark hair. The casual clothing emphasized his olive skin, slightly prominent nose, and black eyes. Except for his impressive height, he could have passed for one of the Mayas. The hand upon her bag tightened. She searched his face for something secretive, deceptive. But she saw only openness in his clear eyes and handsome face.
"We'll have you two over for dinner, then," Neysa was saying. "Soon. Lennea, do you like Mexican food?"
"Yes, if it's not too hot."
"You name it, she can cook it," Joseph said. He stepped further into the room until he stood by Lennea's side. "I love some of those exotic Maya dishes. My favorite is Dzotolbichay."
"Chicken in tamarind sauce," Sid explained, beaming. Joseph took Lennea's arm. "And speaking of food, we have a table waiting for us in the dining room."
"Enjoy your lunch," Sid said. His brown eyes rested upon Lennea for a moment. "If there's anything you need, just ring the desk." Although Lennea had enjoyed meeting Sid's parents, she felt an odd sense of relief as she walked with Joseph down the spacious hallway toward the dining room. She wondered how many guests were actually allowed into the cozy haven of the Guerreros' private domain. This immediate and total acceptance of her didn't quite ring true. The Swedes back home were warm, friendly people, but even they tended to be clannish until friendship was firmly established.
The navy blue bag suddenly felt awkward against her waist and shoulder. She really had nothing against the Guerreros, or for that fact, against Joseph. It was no doubt the responsibility of the hidden money that made her feel so wary.
"Is there any news of Delores?" she asked anxiously. Joseph shook his head. "Not yet," he replied. "But surely she'll arrive soon."
Lennea slowed to admire the scattered pieces of artwork that decorated the lobby. A unique sculpture set in a dark hollow caught her eye. She moved to get a closer look at the magnificent, crouching jaguar carved in black onyx.
"The jaguar." Joseph had come up behind her to gaze with admiration at the powerful sculpture with its sleek, taut lines and glittering stone eyes. "A classic example of Pre-Columbian art."
Joseph inclined his head slightly to read the Spanish inscription below the jaguar to Lennea, "By day the Supreme Ruler governed the sky; but at night he took the form of a Jaguar and descended into the underworld."
Lennea knew facts about the Mayas. She had learned them by rote, like a child learns the times tables. But the heart of their culture, their art and philosophy, had remained a mystery to her. "I've never quite understood the Maya concept of dualistic gods," she said aloud. "How could such a benevolent god by day suddenly turn around and become a creature of evil when darkness falls?"
She turned toward Joseph, seeking an answer. His eyes were the color of the sculptured jaguar, clear, black onyx. "To the Mayas, the Jaguar was not evil. He was a protector. It was the Jaguar who led the spirits of the dead safely through the darkness into the underworld. The path of the Jaguar always leads from darkness —into the light." Somberly, he mused, "Eventually, mustn't we all follow the Jaguar's path?"
She gave an uneasy laugh. "You seem to be an expert on Mayan theology. And jaguars." Perhaps it's no wonder, she thought, stealing a sidelong glance
at him. His dark hair and lean, sinewy strength put her in mind of the powerful sculptured beast. Protective, even playful, and yet dangerous.
With a little shiver, she followed Joseph through the spacious lobby, past the huge vases at the portal, and into an elegant dining room.
The room was full, but not uncomfortably crowded. A waiter instantly appeared to lead them to their table near an empty stage.
"At night they have entertainment—dancing and singing," Joseph explained. Lennea stared at the fancy menu, printed only in Spanish. Joseph was smiling at her. "May I recommend the taco and enchilada combination?"
Lennea was hungry. Her last actual meal had been the dry sandwich on the flight into Mexico City. "I'll trust your judgment," she said.
The Mayan waiter wore a white shirt of gauze-like material similar to Joseph's. "The entire room, you and I included, seems to be dressed in white," she commented.
"Traditional. The men wear white, woven shirts and the women plain, square-cut dresses with embroidered flowers about the neck called "huipiles". His dark eyes swept approvingly over her simple, cotton outfit. "You'll find that light colors are practical for this steamy climate."
Even with the ceiling fans whirling overhead, the air contained a damp warmth. She imagined that outside it would be stifling.
"Sid must employ many Mayas to work at the hotel."
"Yes, they come from nearby villages of Tahmek, Hoctun, Cantumil. Some Maya villages are quite isolated. The hotel is often their first contact with the outside world."
"I've read so much about their history, but little about the present-day Mayas," Lennea commented. "It's hard not to think of them as a vanished race."
"Many books would have you believe that they disappeared when the temples were abandoned. In reality, there are over 2,000,000 Indians of Maya descent still living in Latin America." Joseph added with a smile. "Did Sid tell you his mother, Neysa, is a full-blooded Maya?"
Lennea visualized Sid's charming mother. Lennea had imagined the Mayas as a band of hostile, spear-carrying savages. Now she had to laugh. "I guess I've read too much about gory rituals and human sacrifice," she confessed.
"Didn't Hern bother to teach you that the Mayas were never a blood-thirsty race? They performed human sacrifice, but only as a part of their complex religious ceremonies. The Mayas have never been a war-like people. They have always been more interested in art and religion, in building up rather than destroying. It's so important to understand all this—" With an effort, Joseph stopped himself. "Here I am, stealing Hern's job, lecturing you mercilessly."
"Please go on," Lennea insisted. His enthusiastic talk showed an understanding of the Mayas that not even Wesley seemed to possess. "Tell me a little more about your art exhibit for the museum."
She smiled to herself at the bright glow in his eyes. "I'm trying to put together the very best of Mayan art." Seriously, he explained, "I'm authorized by the government to gather artifacts from new excavations as well as make purchases from private collectors." Such enthusiasm stirred in his voice whenever he spoke of his work. Lennea almost envied his great sense of purpose. "I want to make this exhibition spectacular, the best that's ever been!"
"Will it rival the King Tut exhibit of Egypt?" Laugh lines crinkled about his eyes. "It's not exactly my mission to rival King Tut. But I do want to educate the people, to make them more aware of the splendor of the Maya civilization." He shook his head sadly. "So much of their art has been stolen or destroyed. What the Spanish did to the Mayas is just like what your ancestors did to the Indians in the United States. To cut a people off from their cultural past is the worst kind of theft there is."
Lennea thought about the vanishing ways of the Sioux, the Cherokee, the Navajo and Hopi. Silently, she agreed with Joseph.
"Maybe we'll uncover something spectacular at Tikom," she said.
The waiter placed their food before them. Joseph had selected well. For a while, Lennea felt the tension ease away from her. She was enjoying the good talk, the delicious food, the feeling of intimacy the small table provided. For the moment, she could almost forget the heavy burden of the blue bag and its contents which lay on the tiled floor near her feet.
She looked across the table to smile at Joseph and glimpsed Sid coming toward them, a grim, tight frown on his face. Her first thought was that he must have some news of Delores. She waited tensely, expectantly.
Sid stepped over to Joseph's side of the table. "You have a phone call," she heard him whisper. The smile that he flashed Lennea seemed strained, artificial. "I wouldn't have bothered you, but it does seem urgent."
"Excuse me, Lennea." Bewildered, she watched Joseph walk away with Sid. She felt oddly conspicuous, as if every eye in the room was upon her. Absently, she took a bite of the delicious meal, but without Joseph, the food lost most of its flavor.
Joseph must be talking to Delores. But why didn't Delores ask to speak to her instead of Joseph? Like everything else that had happened, it was secretive, sinister.
Lennea pushed her plate away. She sipped her coffee, now grown cold. She was beginning to wonder if Joseph ever intended to return.
An uneasy sensation filled Lennea. She felt eyes watching her. She turned, her gaze shifting from the sunny tables near the window to the shaded ones by the enormous vases. As her eyes passed a lone man, he reacted by looking away. Did she imagine that he shrank back behind a huge foliage plant as if to remain hidden? He was being so secretive—hiding behind the plant like spies in fiction hide behind newspapers.
Her heart pounded. Was this the man she had seen at the airport? Or was it only the high, thin-bridged nose, the dark hair and eyes, the short, rather husky build—the typical Mayan—that she seemed to recognize?
Lennea stole another glance in his direction. It was him! A sense of panic gripped her. His gaze was riveted to the navy canvas bag near her feet! He had known all along about the money. That was why he had been following her at the airport!
Lennea gripped the bag and started to rise. The man, neither young nor old, got up. As he reached in his pocket for tip money, she saw only the back of his head which seemed to set without neck on thick, wide shoulders. He avoided facing her as he left, but once out in the lobby, he stopped again, waiting.
"Lennea, where are you going?" Joseph dodged around the table to stand beside her. "I'm sorry I took so long." One look at his frowning face told her that it must be a serious matter. "Was that Delores?"
"No. A business matter has come up. I must leave." Joseph's dark eyes seemed to avoid hers. "You can stay here with the Guerreros until Delores arrives."
She felt like begging him not to leave. If only he knew how lost and alone and frightened she would be without him. As he paid for their meal, Lennea looked for the little Mayan man, but he had vanished.
Joseph walked with her to the elevator, but she knew that his mind was already somewhere else. "If I don't see you here, I'll see you at the excavation site."
She nodded, trying not to let her bewilderment at his sudden departure show.
His voice was distant, preoccupied. "If you need anything, you know you can count on Sid."
Until he caught her hand and held it, reluctant to let her go, she had thought him curt in his dismissal, deliberately evasive. She watched until he disappeared from sight. Then she turned back toward the elevator.
The hotel room with its heavy green drapes and tasteful furnishings seemed dark and oppressive. After checking to make sure the door was locked, Lennea deposited the cumbersome bag upon the dresser, kicked off her shoes, and sank down upon the unmade bed. For a moment, she stared up at the stucco ceiling. What was she going to do now?
Lennea remembered the LaTillas. Maybe she should contact them. She had been searching Delores' suitcase for her address book before the unexpected discovery of the money had stopped her. Now she would have to resume that search. Shifting through Delores' personal items again would make her feel like an intruder. Yet, it must be done if she was
going to find that number.
Lennea rose from the bed and stepped over to the corner closet where she had placed the luggage. She frowned, puzzled. Hadn't she left the closet door open? It was closed now. And no maid had cleaned her room.
With apprehension, Lennea opened the closet door. Her eyes traveled from her own battered suitcase into the empty space on either side of it. Delores' smart maroon case was missing!
Blood pounded in her head as she turned away from the closet. While she had been downstairs with Joseph, someone had stolen Delores' suitcase! Whoever it was must believe the money was still inside.
Shivers of fear made her skin feel moist and clammy. An image of the dark, little man who had been watching her in the dining room flashed through her mind. Surely, he had taken the suitcase, was right now, meeting with Joseph. Soon they would find that the money was missing and would come looking for her! Lennea felt a sudden stab of horror. The adventure was rapidly turning into a nightmare!
* * * * *
Chapter Four
The hallway with its high ceiling and deep, indented places decorated with identical gray columns was silent and empty. Between Lennea and the elevator stood an open door. She edged backward toward the stairway, feeling trapped, exactly as she had felt in the dining room when she had first recognized the Maya man. A vision of his thick, husky body standing beyond that open door flashed to her mind. Her hand tightened on the flight bag and in panic she whirled and began running down the steps.
Lennea could not even consider spending another night at the Guerrero Hotel with over $60,000 cash. She must contact Delores' friends, Frank and Goldie LaTilla, and ask them to come after her. Downstairs Sid spotted her immediately and came forward.
Path of the Jaguar Page 3