Path of the Jaguar (7 page)

She stopped—dreading to find what she probably would find—the money missing. Taking one last look around, she approached cautiously and knelt beside the jaguar. The empty navy bag that she had brought from the house bumped against her leg as she slid back the loose stone until she could see the edge of the plastic cover deep in the crevice. Just as she had left it. The hiding place had not been disturbed.

Someone had already searched for the money and had failed to find it! She started to tug at the stone, then having a change of mind, stopped. Why not just leave the money safely buried instead of taking it back to her bedroom?

Lennea rose, aware again of the darkness, the shifting, restless movements of the night. A jungle filled not with stone jaguars but with real ones. What would she do if one would spring out of the jungle into her pathway?

A chirp, a rustle of leaves and branches. No other noises. The darkest part of the path lay before her. She quickened her steps, thinking that she would soon be back at the LaTillas. She paused. That sound close behind her, what had it been?

She whirled around, expecting to see the black form of some animal stalking her. Nothing visible but empty darkness. With each step the path grew harder to follow. The further she went the darker it became until the path ahead became a narrow and impenetrable maze.

She hadn't remembered the path as winding, as a labyrinth. She told herself that her heightened senses were merely seeing more correctly, in more detail. Now she stopped to make sure, to orient herself.

Lennea heard the noise distinctly, not far behind her—the snap of twigs, the faint crush of leaves as if something solid, heavy, were moving after her.

Something was back there! Logic told her it wasn't an animal at all, but a person! She began running. The form was swiftly overtaking her. Human hands grabbed her from behind, hurling her face-down into the underbrush.

Fear numbed the pain in her wrists and elbows as she fought, struggling to free herself from sharp, whip-like branches. Through the tangle of her own hair she saw him, or at least his shadow, only an arm's length away. Surely, he could see her, too, hear the frightened, uneven rasping of her breath there in the darkness.

Slowly, on hands and knees, she inched away from that massive shadow. Then she scrambled, spider-like, to shield herself beneath the cover of dark, wet leaves.

She didn't know how long she crept like some hunted animal through the darkness. She lost all sense of time, place, and motion. When the panic cleared away, she sensed that her attacker was no longer stalking her. For the first time she realized that her blue bag was missing.

That was the reason she was no longer being pursued! Whoever it was had left because he had already taken what he wanted from her. He had grabbed the flight bag—where he thought she had put the money.

Lennea walked through the darkness on shaky legs. Had her attacker been the Mayan who she had seen out here before? Or had it even been a man? She had no clue to the identity of the form. She had only an impression of loose, dark garments and strong, angry hands.

The sharp, acute fear of being followed was gradually replaced by a duller, but no less serious concern. In her haste to lose the man who had been stalking her, she had also lost the path!

Desperately, Lennea searched for the faint trail that led back to the LaTillas'. She worked her way through leafy darkness, pushing aside tangled vines and thick branches. The further she went, the more lost and frightened she became. By the time she found the trail again, her clothing was torn, her legs scratched and bloody.

The hacienda's pale walls glowing through the black trees was such a welcome sight that she choked back tears. Silently, she let herself in. This "adventure" of hers was becoming far too dangerous. She could wait for Delores no longer. If she didn't hear from her tomorrow, she was going straight to the police!

* * * * *

Chapter Six

In the morning, Frank LaTilla was waiting to take Lennea out to Tikom. She could have laughed at the sight of him pacing the floor in full safari gear, complete with khaki hat, shirt, and short trousers. Large tennis shoes drew attention to surprisingly thin legs and ankles so frail that Lennea wondered how they supported Frank's huge, protruding stomach.

"Ready?" he asked, waving a red thermos. "I've brewed us a little coffee to take along." Frank seemed exceedingly happy. He hummed a little under his breath as they crossed the yard and climbed up inside the battered jeep. It seemed to Lennea as if she had known Frank and Goldie for years. Frank had become so hospitable that she was beginning to wonder if she had only imagined his curtness in town the day before.

How upset he and Goldie would be if they knew about her terrifying experience in the jungle last night! She wouldn't risk telling them. Her troubles, that hidden money someone wanted so badly, had nothing to do with them. It was best to leave them totally uninvolved.

"How far is the excavation site?" she asked as the jeep pulled out of the long, rutted driveway. "Not far. About eleven miles beyond Chichen Itza. But from the looks of the map, it'll be pretty rough traveling."

Thatched huts, chickens, and walls of orange flowers marked the entrance to the nearby village. Frank pointed out the hotel where Wesley was staying, a sprawling, ugly building with cracked adobe walls. Lennea studied the dark, drawn shades of the many windows, wondering which room was his, hating the thought of Wesley staying in such a lonely, gloomy place.

Chichen Itza lay just beyond the village. Near the gates, under the backdrop of the pyramids, Mexicans set out pottery and woven blankets to sell to the tourists. Lennea raised her eyes, fascinated, to the great mounds of stone.

"The big one's El Castillo," Frank pointed out. The flat top and steep sides of the massive temple caught golden streaks of sunlight against the faded walls. "Can you believe Goldie once made me climb to the top? " He gave a little groan. "Three hundred and sixty-five steps! One for every day of the year."

A few miles down the road, Frank pulled over to check the map. "Yes, this must be it." He made a sharp turn and the jeep began to climb a steep dirt path.

Driving became difficult for the trail was rough and winding. A pattern of dips and rises sliced deep ruts into the bumpy, uphill path.

When they reached the rise of the hill, Lennea saw that they were on the edge of a bowl-shaped ridge. "The site must be somewhere along this valley," Frank said. "Tikom means "at the hollow" in Maya." Down below them real jungle began, trees so tall and thick they seemed almost impenetrable.

"There it is!" Frank said, unable to hide his excitement. "Tikom!" Lennea counted four hollow stone buildings within the cleared area on the edge of rocky slope, but there were many more partial walls rising out of the jungle below.

Almost before the motor stopped, Frank was hurrying up the slope toward Wesley and Joseph. Lennea followed more slowly, expecting at any moment to catch sight of Delores. She walked past the brown canvas tent with its huge sunshade, glancing beyond to where a couple of Indian boys Wesley must have hired worked clearing jungle growth. Lennea's hopes vanished—still no sign of Delores!

Lennea reached the place where Wesley and Joseph stood. Her eyes first fell upon Joseph. Even though the sun beat down furiously, making rings of sweat appear below Frank LaTilla's armpits, even though Wesley's fine hair was already curled in damp ringlets, no sign of sweat appeared upon Joseph's brow or crisp cotton shirt. He wore jeans which, while not tight, had been washed and worn until they molded to his lean hips. He belongs here, Lennea decided. He's a part of this tropical place, at home in its harsh elements as she and Wesley would never be.

Her eyes moved over to Wesley, and her heart, as usual, missed a beat. His clothing, correct in every detail, still gave the appearance of being casual. The deeply-tinted glasses shielded his best feature, those vivid blue eyes, from view. Joseph was remarkably handsome, yet Wesley's attractiveness went far beyond physical appearance. His compelling smile often brought gazes of sheer idolization from his female students. It was so important to her that Wesley understand that she was different from the rest. She truly loved him!

As Wesley and Joseph talked, Lennea saw Wesley's hand fly up in a gesture of impatience. His voice had risen as it often did in class. Drawing closer, Lennea caught the end of his sentence. "—a scientist, not some simple-minded fool with a pick-ax!"

Lennea stood back with Frank to wait, as Wesley still seemed oblivious to their arrival. Joseph, however, turned toward her with a nod, then back to Wesley. "No one is immune to the whims of the Mexican authorities," he told Wesley with just a hint of amusement, "especially not professors of archaeology,"

"Well, I guess there's nothing I can do but go in this morning and take care of the red tape. The whole day will be shot!"

"There's always tomorrow."

"Don't placate me, Darrigo." He turned to Frank and Lennea as if he noticed, but really didn't see them. "By the time I get back, the rains will have started. And we're way behind schedule."

Lennea took an opportunity to break into the conversation. "Delores hasn't shown up yet?"

Wesley's attention focused upon her, as if really seeing her for the first time, and that small smile she loved so crossed his face. "Excuse us." Taking Lennea's arm, he drew her away so that they could speak in private. Lennea felt relieved. Now she could really confide in him, tell him everything she had wanted to tell him last night. They stopped walking and stood in the shade of a sprawling tree. A huge, stone mound cast its imposing shadow over them. "Delores is still missing," he said. Lennea wished that she could see his eyes through the dark glasses.

She feared Wesley would try to change her mind , but he only said, " If you feel you must go, then ask to talk to Carlos Alfonso. Tell him I sent you."

"Couldn't you please come along?" she asked anxiously.

"If only— he started. "No, it's not possible."

"What's the trouble, Professor?" asked a curious voice. With a sense of frustration, Lennea saw Frank dogging their steps. Once again, she saw the chance to tell Wesley about the money slipping away from her.

Wesley appeared relieved, rather than annoyed, by Frank's intrusion. "I'm tied up in the village all day. Local government, Paco. And Lennea needs to go into Merida."

Frank brightened. "I'm going into Merida around two o'clock. I'll take Lennea with me."

"You're a lifesaver, Frank." Wesley patted the big man's shoulder. Lennea watched the slow, delighted flush spread across Frank's round face. He looked for all the world, she thought, like a slow-minded pupil being praised by his teacher. Joseph met them near the canvas tent. "What did you decide to do?" he asked Wesley.

"Frank can pick her up at Chichen Itza, then. Be at the main gate, around two." Lennea felt a sinking feeling as Wesley and Frank walked away toward Frank's jeep. The realization that she was being left alone in this isolated spot with Joseph made a tight feeling squeeze her stomach.

"Let's work a while before the rains start," Joseph said to her. "I've been looking for shards of pottery near that old temple over there. I've found a few things already." He reached into his pocket and showed her several chips of reddish-brown pottery, a couple of crudely-shaped round beads. He shrugged. "Nothing much. But there may be more."

As they began to walk, he said, " Frankly, I'm surprised Hern chose this site. I'm convinced there's not much out here." "Wesley's never wrong."

"What confidence you have in him. Like believing in Chac." Joseph looked up to the sky. "I wish your Hern could control the elements. Then we could work all day."

They reached badly-eroded stone walls. The size of the building could not be traced for the mounds of dirt covering everything. Joseph unfolded a map from his pocket. "In this drawing I've tried to reproduce the exact structure. If I'm right, this wall will extend about 30' south. We'll work down to the floor area first and trace it to the end. You're on your own. Just be careful."

Lennea selected hand tools from the stack in the cleared center. They had separated, Joseph at one end of the wall, Lennea at the other. Soon, intent on her work, she forgot all about him. For almost an hour Lennea dug until the base of the stone floor was recognizable. Joseph, too, appeared too busy to notice her.

She was surprised by his sudden call. "Over here!" He was on his knees, chipping with a small pick. Earth crumbled exposing an edge of dark glistening green.

"Be careful!" Lennea gasped, kneeling beside him. She placed a restraining hand against the pick, and began digging around the small object with eager fingers. She could feel the moist smoothness of it, the crude joining of mosaic sections. Freed, she lifted it carefully—a cylinder jar of jade, small enough to hold in the palm of her hand! "It's perfect!" she said breathlessly.

"Late classic jade," Joseph said. "Gloriously plain."

His description was accurate, no carving, no design. They looked with wonder at the jar, then at each other.

"More fun than finding gold!" Joseph said. "What you're holding was made by human hands over 800 years ago! Think of it!" He gave a short, exuberant laugh. "Exhibit #1, found by Lennea Andrews and Joseph Darrigo."