Look What the Wind Blew In (20 page)

“About what?”

“Why are you so interested in an old journal?”

“What makes you think I’m
that
interested?”

“Because the last time I mentioned it to you, your eyes widened and you tapped the tips of your fingers together just as you are now.”

Quint looked down at his fingers. Damn it. He’d have to be more careful around Juan. That wide grin hid a sharp mind. “I’d like to see if Dr. Hughes mentioned anything about his family.”

“That’s it?”

“Maybe I’m also curious if he came across any oddities at this site.”

“Like a curse.”

“Sure.” Or something more logical that would explain his absence for the last twenty years.

“All right. I guess that’s good enough … for now.”

“I noticed Dr. Steel wasn’t at breakfast.” Quint switched the subject before Juan changed his mind about letting him read the journal.

Juan pushed back his hard hat, scratching his forehead. “He’s fighting off some kind of bug. Angélica decided the smart thing to do is to keep him quarantined.”

“Quarantined?”

“Yep, for a day or two anyway. It’s best if you keep clear of him, too.”

If he never saw Steel again, it would be a lifetime too soon. “That won’t be a problem for me.”

“Yeah, I noticed there’s not much love between you two boys.”

Quint hadn’t been called a “boy” in quite a few years. For a moment, he felt a bit gangly in the arms and legs again. “What gave it away? The hair standing up on the back of my neck every time he comes near?”

Juan chuckled. “More like the way Jared starts marking his scent on everything when he sees you coming.”

“We seem to have some twenty year old tension that we haven’t quite resolved yet. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem with me so long as you both act relatively civil with each other. But it does make me wonder if this tension between you two has anything to do with Jared’s request this morning.”

“What’s the request?”

“For my permission to marry Angélica … again.”

That hit Quint like a mule kick to the solar plexus. What in the hell was Steel up to now? “What was your answer?”

“The same thing I said when he asked the first time. She isn’t mine to give away.” He picked up the lantern, holding it up to a large fissure in the wall. “She’s her own woman.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

“I thought you might have.”

Quint stared at the back of Juan’s head, trying to figure out if there’d been an undertone in that statement or if he’d imagined it. “You think that’s the main reason Steel came down here? To reunite with Angélica?”

“That’s what he says.” Juan ran a finger along the ridge of the fissure and frowned. “But I don’t quite believe that.”

“Why do you think he’s here?”

Juan rubbed the grit from the crack between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m still figuring that out.”

“Do you think he’s dangerous?”

Juan glanced over. “Jared? No. He gets squirmy around caterpillars and dust bunnies.” He turned back to the fissure, pulling out his tape measure. “I think he’s down here to see if he can worm in on something Angélica and I have been working on for a few years.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing much.” Juan jotted down another number in his notebook. “Just a theory about some old stuff.”

He’d been taking lessons from his daughter on how to be vague, or maybe she’d learned from the master. “If it’s nothing much, why would Steel want to be part of it?”

“They’re cutting funds left and right at the university, and he hasn’t been on a dig site for a couple of years now. He’s probably feeling parasitic, and my daughter is the perfect host. She’s going places he’d like to be.”

An interesting theory and definitely possible, knowing what Quint did about Steel’s ambition. But Juan was up to something, sharing ideas and thoughts he normally held out of reach when Quint worked with him. Like his mention of Dr. Hughes’ journal, and now this. “Why are you telling me this?”

Juan shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I like you.”

Quint raised an eyebrow, waiting for a more likely reason.

“Or maybe it’s because I have received a rather high commendation on your character recently.”

“From whom?” Had Jeff written to Juan, too?

“Let’s just say that Jared’s not the only one who shares a history with you.”

Chapter Ten

Blancos: White men.

Later that afternoon, Quint felt like chucking Dr. Hughes’ journal into the
cenote
along with all the other cryptic articles and notes Mrs. Hughes had left behind.

“Christ,” he muttered, scratching the stubble on his cheeks and chin. He’d given up on shaving two days ago. Maybe it was time to give up on this damned mystery. He glared at where Dr. Hughes’ journal lay on the end of his cot.

This dead-end shit was getting old. So was hitting his head on the brick wall Angélica kept reinforcing.

A glance at his watch told him
siesta
hour was almost over. Juan would be waiting for him back in that suffocating catacomb he called a temple.

“This sucks.” He leaned down to stack the papers he had spread out around his cot into a pile, wiping off a drop of sweat that had dripped from the end of his nose onto them. Why couldn’t Hughes have studied the Eskimo culture?

So many puzzle pieces, but none of them fit together. Mrs. Hughes had supplied plenty of articles and pictures, but she had no notes explaining why she kept them. Dr. Hughes, on the other hand, had left plenty of detailed notes about his work, but nothing that indicated a reason why Mrs. Hughes would want to focus so much energy on Steel.

Sitting back on his heels, Quint surveyed his tent along with his situation. He’d been here for a week, and all he’d managed to accomplish was to break one tent and make everyone suspicious of him. At this rate, he’d win the Worst Detective of the Year award, hands down.

Back on his feet, he picked up the journal again and flipped through the pages, scanning, still coming up empty. He might as well give the damned book back to Juan. The funky drawing on the inside of the back flap was the only thing of interest.

Flipping to the back, he stared down at the two masks sketched in pencil. Quint had no idea if they had any meaning or if they were random drawings. They looked similar to what Esteban had produced that first day in the Temple of the Crow when he’d been copying the wall.

Angélica would know if the masks represented anything, but Juan had made it very clear when handing over the journal that he didn’t want his daughter to know he was sharing the book.

Quint could bug Juan about the drawings, but that might make him more suspicious of Quint than he already was. Besides, Juan had told him several times since they began working together that he couldn’t read glyphs like Angélica, which meant that Juan would have to ask her to help. Quint was back to square one with a drawing of two masks and no way of finding out the meaning behind it.

Clue or not, he knew better than to rely on his memory when it came to Maya symbolism and glyphs. He ripped out a piece of paper from his notepad and began tracing the masks.

While he did his best to copy the sketches, he came up with a plan. He’d keep an eye out for similar masks in the temples where he’d be working, carrying his copy of them at all times. If only he had access to the books on the Maya that he’d seen in Angélica’s tent.

That reminded him of something he’d read in the handwritten notes she’d had on her desk that night he’d first met Rover. He wrote
cone-shaped shell
and
skeletal something
below the drawing. What else was there?

He opened the flap of the holder containing the other pieces from Mrs. Hughes. Sifting through her collection starring Jared, Quint flipped past the recognition awards, the announcements regarding his public and private grants, and several reviews of his book.

Where had he stuck it?

There it was.

He pulled out a crinkled piece of paper containing the list he’d made of her notes, dropping the holder onto the cot, and grabbed the copy he’d made of the masks. He scanned the list:
Cone-shaped shell, Ek Chuah, skeletal visage, and death god
.

Ek Chuah?

What the hell was that? His focus shifted back to the masks. Maybe one of them was a death god. They kind of looked like skeletal visages though.

Giving up, he lowered both. This was going to take time to figure out, a commodity that was in short supply at the moment thanks to the schedule Angélica had him working.

Tonight at supper, maybe he’d ask her if he could borrow one of her books to read. He could tell her he wanted to learn more about the Maya as background information for his article. With any luck, she’d believe him.

That was if she made it to supper. He hadn’t seen her since last night, and with Steel dishing out marriage proposals, Quint wanted a moment alone with her to address that kiss. Or rather the discussion about the kiss.

The sound of footfalls approaching made him look over at the tent flap zipper. He waited for it to move.

Instead someone fell into the side of his tent. As he stared at the canvas, the person slid down the outside of it, landing on the ground with a
thump
and a grunt.

Quint glanced over at the file holder lying on his cot with several articles about Steel spilling out.

“
Ayyy, me duele la pierna,
” a familiar voice said from the other side of the canvas.

Esteban.

Quint unzipped the flap and looked out to see his clumsy buddy sitting on the ground rubbing his thigh. Next to the boy’s leg was a wooden tent stake sticking about four inches out of the ground. It was still broad daylight, right? How could Esteban have not seen the stake? “You okay?”

Esteban nodded, still rubbing his leg.

Stepping outside, Quint helped him to his feet and then brushed the dirt off his back.

“
Señor
Parker,” Esteban started.

“It’s Quint, remember?”

“
Sí
,
Señor
Parker.”

Quint gave up and wiped his hands off on his pants. “
Que paso
, Esteban?”

Esteban licked his lips, frowning in concentration. “Doctor García say to bring you to mess tent.” Esteban motioned for him to follow and started limping away.

The mess tent? He thought Juan had said they were working in the Dawn Temple again this afternoon. “Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes,” he told Esteban’s back, slipping inside his tent to hide his stuff.

“
Sí
,
Señor
Parker,” Esteban called back, “but no
es
Doctor Juan.
Es
Doctor Angélica who wants you.”

* * *

“Quint, I’m sorry, but you have to leave tomorrow,” Angélica practiced in the empty mess tent.

No, that was too blunt.

She wrung her hands and paced in front of the counter. Okay, how about, “I’m sorry, Mr. Parker, but due to unforeseen circumstances, you must leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

Nah, too formal.

She chewed on her knuckle. “Listen, Quint, as much as Dad and I have enjoyed your company …”

She blew out a sigh. Jeez, she really sucked at kicking men out of her life. Maybe some coffee would spark a better exit line. She poured a cup, adding a hit of sugar to the lukewarm liquid.

Damn Jared for forcing her into this situation.

And damn her for wanting Quint to stay.

After gulping down the coffee, she set the cup down with finality. “Quint, I have some bad news for you …”

No, she shouldn’t lead with so much negativity.

Groaning, she grabbed the jar of dried mangos María had left out for the men to snack on, dumped several slices out on the counter, and shoved two in her mouth at once, chewing away her troubles. If only she could click her heels together and escape from this place.

“What’s the bad news?” a voice spoke from behind her.

She whirled around. Quint stood, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against one of the wooden support poles at the tent’s entrance. She swallowed the fruit. “Good afternoon, Mr. Parker.”

His head tilted, his gaze narrowing with suspicion. “What bad news do you need to talk to me about,
Dr. García
?”

Shit, this breakup run of hers had a worrying limp fresh out of the gate. She leaned against the counter, deciding the straightforward approach was the way to go. “You have to leave tomorrow.”

“No.” He didn’t even pause to consider her words.

Of all the arrogant … she took a step toward him. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“If this is concerning my publishing something about your curse, you’re wasting our time. I won’t.”

There was no damned curse, and it certainly wasn’t hers. “It’s not, and you’re leaving in the morning. Period.”

“Why?”

Because she said so and it was her dig site, her rules, damn it. Keeping in mind the article he was writing on her father’s behalf, she reined in her tongue. “Things are getting too unsafe here for foreigners.”

His jaw hardened. “Bullshit.”

She lowered her head, determined to finish what she’d started, and plowed forward. “In addition, my father and I don’t have time to babysit you anymore.”