High Desert Detective, A Fiona Marlowe Mystery (Fiona Marlowe Mysteries) (43 page)

“Me?” she said,
thinking her ears had failed her.

“Yes, you,” he said, ignoring the surprise on
her face. “You must be on site from sunup to sundown.”

She already was, not as a guard, but rather as
an expert
epigrapher intent upon deciphering Mayan
hieroglyphs, not guarding against thieves.

“How do you
expect me to get my own work done?”

“You can work as well as watch, can you not?”

She counted to ten slowly, very slowly. It
would not do to get into an argument. Besides, extra guards must be on the way
if he had requested them. She could stay on site with her laptop during the
heat of the day, instead of going back for lunch at
doña
Carolita’s house in town, where she was staying. She’d find a
cool place at the ruins to work.

“All right,” said Elena, swallowing her pride.
She wanted to be a team player, though she wasn’t sure that concept had made it
into the director’s vocabulary. She had a reputation to build. This man had
already made his. They both knew she was not getting paid to guard a World
Heritage Site. Her job was to decipher the jumbled mess of 2,500 hieroglyphics
carved on a seventy-two step staircase built in 753 AD.

 
“Perhaps
when you have time, you could look at some of my work with the deciphering.”
She tried again to enlist his aid, to get him to collaborate, as was her
expectation when she took on this summer project. Sometimes it was better not
to have expectations. Then one wasn’t disappointed.
 

His contempt was worthy of a sultan, addressing
the infidels. “
Doctora
, your skills
are well known. Surely, I don’t have to help you. Now we both have work to do,
I especially, since we have another theft.”

Foolishly, she had thought he had one kind bone
in his skinny little body. Could the man be more rotten? She stared at him,
feeling her temper threaten to escape the confines of reason. Only the slight
flare of her nostrils gave her away. Calling on all the grace and dignity she
could muster, she said, “
Sí, director
.”

Turning on her
heel, she left before she erupted like a Central American volcano.

* * * * *

Dominic Harte studied the young American woman
across the crowded room of party goers.

“A real looker,
isn’t she?” said his friend, Bill, the big, ruddy, eco-adventure guy who knew
everyone in town. “She’s some university professor doing work out at the
ruins.”

“Not bad,” said
Dominic. Since he had sworn off women, he wasn’t about to be pulled into an
ogling contest. There should be a law against brains and beauty. His ex-wife
had had both in abundance and look where he was.

He stared into
his empty glass. “I need a refresher. Catch you later, Bill.”

Dominic threaded
his way through the packed reception area toward the bar. While the room was
big enough for the new medical clinic, the space could not accommodate all the
well-wishers who had turned out, and the party had spilled into the street. The
crowd was a mixture of half and half – half locals and half foreigners. The
noise bouncing off the bare, cement block walls made Dominic’s ears ring. Some
of the foreigners were Americans with the Episcopal mission that had helped
build the new clinic. They were celebrating its completion with a party, big
time, complete with martini bar.

The warm, humid air that permeated everything
dictated tank tops in abundance with the Latina ladies tending to outfits that
sparkled and glittered. Dominic liked the vivid colors the Latinas preferred. Like
the spice they put in their food, it made the room tingle.
 

He slid his glass toward the bartender, one of
his ex-pat friends with antiquated leftist leanings and a pony tail, who poured
another gold martini for him.

“What’s in this, Gus?”
 

“My special recipe.
Hint of mango.”

“Not bad. They go down easy and produce a nice
buzz.”

“Yeah,” said Gus, “my favorite way of drinking.”

A rotund figure in
red and ruffles flounced into Dominic’s line of vision.

Señora
Martinez, head of the medical
clinic volunteers and social maven of Copan Ruinas, greeted him. “
Ay
,
señor
Harte, you look so handsome this evening,” she said. “You are not bored, are
you? I hope that wasn’t a yawn I saw on your face. Tell me you are not thinking
of leaving us already. The party has just begun. Soon the musicians will be
here, and the dancing will start.”

He hated dancing. It reminded him of his
ex-wife and having to watch her wiggle up close to every man at the party while
he nursed his drink and smiled, making excuses for his beautiful wife’s
excesses.

He turned on his
cocktail party smile.
“
Señora
Martinez, nice to see you.
I’m afraid I’m beat. I was up early to help
put the finishing touches on our celebration. I dropped by to see if everyone
was enjoying themselves this evening.”

She tucked her arm into his. “We will not let
you leave any time soon. Not the man responsible for the completion of our new
medical clinic. Everyone knows we would not be standing here today in the
completed clinic without you.”

Dominic hid a wince behind his smile. She was
laying it on thick. He had the unpleasant feeling that she would make sure he
stayed until the last guest left the room. He hated socializing. He had
attended enough church socials to last several lifetimes. Had he known the
clinic included a party at the end, he wouldn’t have come to help finish it.
Then he felt guilty for such uncharitable thoughts about the people who had
been so kind to him, who had helped him settle in, who had included him in
their community and their lives.

“You flatter me,
señora
. The medical clinic was a community effort. I’m glad I could
be a part of it.”

“I think you should lead the first dance. You
should ask Elena to be your partner. She’s very beautiful, don’t you think?”
She nodded toward the young woman Bill had pointed out to him.

Dominic coughed behind his fist. The last thing
he wanted was to make a public spectacle of
himself
.
But then his ex-wife had managed that. She had created transgression to end all
transgressions.
He turned his gaze toward
Elena. She looked too unwrinkled, too fresh and bright eyed. At least that’s
how she looked from across the room. He’d never seen her up close, never been
interested. He’d had too much to do with getting the clinic built. He’d run
around for months trying to keep the building of the modest one story structure
on schedule, a foreign concept in this part of the world.

“You’re right, she’s very pretty, but I’m
afraid I haven’t danced in years. Why don’t we ask Dr. Hidalgo to lead the
dance with you? You have done so much for the clinic. It’s appropriate that you
take the first dance. Go, dance, please. I’ll dance later.”

Señora
Martinez, red roses blooming in her round cheeks and hibiscus flower over one
ear, was easily persuaded. “Well, if you insist. I see the musicians now. I
will hurry them along.”

That was a close call. Thank heaven, he’d
remembered how much she liked to be in the limelight, and he didn’t. Perfect.
The musicians were surrounding her. She’d soon forget him. He’d slip out the
side door unnoticed.

“Dominic, how wonderful to
see you.”

He turned toward the vaguely familiar female
voice. He had to think where he had seen her before. He didn’t want to ask the
embarrassing “Do I know you?”

But it seems he did. Or she knew him, as she
tucked her arm into his in a familiar way. He wondered why women did that. It
was so proprietary.

She correctly read the confusion in his eyes.
“The Dominican Republic.
We both served on the board for
building the school outside of Santo Domingo.”

He tried not to groan aloud. He did know her.

“Felicia?”
 

“You remembered,” she said, all red lipped
smile and undulating charm. “I do hope you’re all right. I heard what your wife
put you through, now ex-wife, isn’t it? How absolutely horrid, the little. . .
.
 
Well, I won’t say the word. How you
must have suffered.”

He stared at her. The do-gooder world was
entirely too small. He remembered this creature had tons of money, even more
time, and excelled in gossip.

“That’s all behind me now,” he said, ending the
matter as far as he was concerned. “Are you still fund raising?
 

“As a matter of fact, I helped raise the money
for this clinic.”

Dominic cocked an eyebrow. He should have
known. But then he had forgotten her after the last meeting in Santo Domingo.

“What brings you here?” she asked.

“Helping to build the
clinic.”

“I heard you resigned from your parish.”

“You heard correctly.”

“Well, as you said, that’s all behind you now.”

Dominic searched
the crowd for an excuse to move on and caught sight of Elena standing by
herself.

“Felicia, if you’ll excuse me, I must catch up
with someone before I call it a night.”

“I’ll be around and available, if you need me,”
she said with a wink.

The suggestion
in that statement was not hard to get.

He pushed his way through the crowd of
revelers. The Americans were a good head taller than the Hondurans and muted in
contrast. The Latinas were in full color, red dominant and lace in abundance.
Local well-wishers saluted him, and he returned the greetings. It warmed his
heart to know what a great benefit it would be for the community to have this
free medical clinic. Now if they could find a physician willing to live and
work in rural western Honduras for a modest salary.
Maybe
someone just out of medical school.
Perhaps Elena would know of someone,
a class mate or colleague or someone from her social set. She probably rubbed
elbows with the educated elite.

He picked up a Coke at the bar, deciding to go
easy on the gold martinis.

A girl, maybe someone from the community, was speaking
with Elena. He took his time sipping the Coke to have a closer look. She stood
in profile in animated conversation. Her Spanish sounded much better than his.
Maybe she had some Latina blood in her from the looks of the dark hair she had
attractively piled atop her head.
She
wasn’t as young as he thought, detecting sun lines around her eyes and smile
lines framing her mouth. Whatever they were discussing involved a lot of
giggling. Elena turned in his direction and caught him staring at her.
Time to wade in.
He sucked in his gut and eased into their
space.

“Excuse me for
interrupting. I’m Dominic Harte,” he said in Spanish in deference to the local
girl. “I help with the clinic. I hear you are working out at the ruins.”

He looked into
the brilliant green of her eyes. Up close she was striking, and her dress had a
nice way of clinging to her figure. She didn’t look like a professor. Maybe he
had made a mistake.

“Elena Palomares,” she said. “This is Lucila
Hernandez. She speaks English, if you feel more comfortable using English.”

“Sorry, you don’t know when you first meet
someone at an affair like this what language to speak.”

Elena laughed. “We were just talking about how
many Spanglish conversations were going on. Sentences come out hilarious
sometimes.”

“Excuse me,” Lucila said. “I see a friend
waving. It was nice to meet you,
señor
Harte.”

Dominic raised his Coke in salute as Lucila walked
away and then turned to give Elena his full attention.

“I have been
working at the ruins,” she said, “I’m an epigrapher. My area of expertise is
deciphering ancient Mayan hieroglyphs. I’m trying to make sense of the
Hieroglyphic Staircase.”

Dominic smiled. “I’ve never met an epigrapher
before.”

She smiled back. She had an electric smile that
lit her whole face. “Most people haven’t. It’s a rather esoteric calling.”

“I thought they already had cracked the Mayan
code.”

“Not all of it. The Staircase crumbled over the
centuries and was reassembled without any thought to the correct order of the
glyphs. I’m trying to figure out the correct order. Some days it’s a daunting
task. Today was one. Unfortunately, I picked the hottest part of the year to
come.”

“Fall, winter and spring are great. How long
will you be here?”

“Until August, then I return to teaching. I’ve
been here several weeks. So far it’s been quite an experience.
Not at all what I had hoped.
” The smile faded from her
face.

“What do you mean?” he asked. His old pastoral
instincts kicked in. Something was troubling Elena. In an instant her face had
gone from sunny skies to dark clouds. Maybe it was his face everyone said they
could trust that made her lean closer and lower her voice.

“Someone’s been
stealing valuable stones from the Staircase.”

“That’s serious.
Have you notified the police?”

Elena nodded. “The director has. This is a real
scandal. You’ve lived here for a while, haven’t you? Is there a serious crime
problem in this town? What about smuggling?”

Scandal he understood. He felt a sudden
protectiveness toward her. “There’s the usual tourist crime, wallets stolen,
cameras, stuff like that. I haven’t heard of any smuggling, but that doesn’t
mean it’s not going on. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She shrugged a bare shoulder. The red shawl
with shiny threads that she had draped over it, slid down her arm, and Dominic
followed the sliding adornment, taking in the swell of her breast under the
slinky black fabric of her dress. He hoped she didn’t notice where his eyes
were wandering. Down boy, he thought. Let’s not get carried away. Compassion
and lust were not a good combination.