Path of the Jaguar (6 page)

Lennea awkwardly gripped the bulky flight bag with both hands. She took a step toward Wesley, anxious to show him the money, to have him share the responsibility of her plight. Her grasp was tight, her palms sweating. She took another step closer, ready to open the bag and allow Wesley to look inside, but before she could do so, Frank LaTilla re-entered the room.

Latilla carried with him a huge, wood-hewn statue, which he held out to the professor. Wesley's look of annoyance deepened into absolute irritation.

"One of your carvings?" Lennea jumped in to salvage their host's feelings. Frank turned the statue toward Lennea so she could see it full view. She guessed it must be a jaguar. Crudely done. Almost hideous. She thought of the magnificent jaguar back at the hotel lobby, so real it looked as if it might spring to life. This "thing" didn't even resemble Maya art. Why, one of Val's children could have done better.

"Sid told me about your carvings," she remarked. She remembered Frank's artwork in the gift shop; present, yet discreetly hidden from view. "It's so nice to do something like that." Nice—a word that didn't express too much.

"I did this one especially for you, Professor," Frank said. extending his offering to Wesley. Lennea was surprised to see a kind of shyness, a deference creep over his flabby features. "It's a welcome back. A sort of surprise."

Lennea, shifting the flight bag back to one hand, wondered if she herself ever looked as pathetic as LaTilla in trying to impress Wesley Hern.

"If I were you," Wesley advised, using the tone of a teacher to a pupil who displeased him, " I'd give this one to Lennea."

She saw Frank's boyish face fall into a look of disappointment and bewilderment. Totally shocked at Wesley's rudeness, Lennea acted quickly in her effort to cover up for him. "I would treasure it as my personal welcome to the Yucatan."

Frank brightened a little. "You'd really like to have it?"

"Of course." Lennea accepted the statue not meant for her and thanked him. If only Frank would leave the room. If she could have a few more minutes alone with Wesley maybe she could make him understand her concern for Delores' safety.

Lennea's heart sank as she heard a car pull up in the driveway. Wesley began moving away, toward the door. His blue eyes focused upon Lennea. "The best plan as far as Delores is concerned is wait and see."

"You have to leave, Professor?" Frank's voice, a little hurt, slightly wistful, called after Wesley.

Wesley paused only to say, "Come out to Tikom tomorrow at eight, Lennea. Frank will drive you to the site." Wesley returned to press a map into her free hand. "We'll talk then, he promised. Long after he was gone she could still feel the warm pressure of his fingers, almost a caress, upon her arm.

•

Lennea couldn't continue carrying the money around with her. She couldn't sleep tonight, either, knowing it lay unprotected in her room. Not much place to hide it here. The room Goldie had taken her to—the one she was to have shared with Delores—was immense and sparsely furnished, with whitewashed adobe walls, plain and empty. She preferred the absurdly over-decorated area of the living room or patio. She sank down on one of the twin beds and for an instant wanted to weep.

The ugly jaguar carving stood on the dresser between the two beds. She looked at it now, at the wide-open mouth with long teeth, more foolish than frightening.

Lenneas's talk with Wesley had left her feeling let down and empty. But then he still didn't really know what was going on. Tomorrow, at the excavation site, she would have a private talk with Wesley, and he could help her decide what to do with the money. But tonight she was on her own. Until then, she had to find a way to keep the money safe.

Lennea slipped a plastic pillow case cover out of a storage chest and folded the bills into it, carefully wrapping the plastic around them and placing the bundle back into her flight bag. Frank LaTilla had said that some ruins lay only walking distance from here. She would walk to the nearest rise and skirt the area for a place to hide the money.

Minutes later, she slipped out unto the path behind the huge shed that Frank had pointed out to her earlier. Darkness was an hour or two away. Still, the path was dim and shadowy and she had to muster her courage to keep on walking. Twisted trees grew along the foot trail, knotted and close to the ground, their dense branches blocking out sunlight. She was glad when she reached the first clearing. Huge, scattered stones mingled with the wild underbrush, clues that she must be nearing the ruins.

Again the path narrowed, again she felt a tightness in her throat. She gripped the flight bag tighter. She was in the real jungle now. The tree were taller and thicker, their heavy branches knit together like clasped hands. She hurried toward where sunlight slanted through a gap in the trees. There, Lennea caught her first sight of the ruins.

Massive stone walls carved with primitive designs rose up from the twisted sea of undisturbed roots and vines. How many ancient structures had loomed here, how many temples and palaces left to crumble and decay in the vast, endless jungle. A city of the dead. Lennea stared at crumbling arches, hollow doorways, broken columns.

Her eyes settled on a partial wall of square stones nearby. Some of them looked loose and could easily be pried out. As she drew close to them, she recognized an almost obliterated figure chipped into the stone—a jaguar head. Yes, that she would easily remember! On hands and knees, with fingers that trembled, Lennea worked loose this stone from the others. She took the money, wrapped the plastic around it tightly, and slipped it in the hollow behind the jaguar stone. Then she moved the heavy block back into place.

There. Hidden. The ruins lay about her, isolated and abandoned. No tourists were likely to stumble upon them. The money would be safer here than in her room at the LaTilla's home. She had thought when she started back that she would feel relief; instead, she felt increased anxiety. The huge purse felt empty now without the money she had guarded for so long.

Lennea reached the first clearing. She would soon be back now. She felt more uneasy, however, as she started into a gloomy section of path that seemed to narrow and close her in. She stopped to glance fearfully over her shoulder, back at the clearing. Only a glimpse of a form appeared to her.

Quickly the man ducked back into the forest area. But not before she had seen him. She had clearly recognized him—the broad head and short neck against stocky shoulders. He was here, too! He must have followed her from the Guererro Hotel. With mounting anxiety, she realized that she had been right! This Maya— whoever he was—had been tracking her. He might have even been watching her as she hid the money!

* * * * *

Chapter Five

"Did you enjoy your walk?" Goldie's innocent inquiry caused Lennea to look up, startled. "I saw you leave from my window," she explained as she passed Lennea a platter of warm tortillas. "Did you go out to the ruins?" Without waiting for a response, she added, "Not much out there. Just a few crumbling walls."

Lennea felt a tightening in her chest. She hadn't known anyone had seen her leave the house. "Do you ever get any tourists out there?"

"Oh, no. Not with a big attraction like Chichen Itza so near. There are ruins scattered all over the jungle. Nobody pays them much attention."

"You'll get your fill of ruins tomorrow," Frank put in. "I can't wait to visit Tikom. Now that'll be something to see." Latilla's eyes gleamed at the prospect; it was obvious that he was looking forward to the trip with great anticipation.

"Haven't you been out to the site yet?" Lennea asked. She knew that Wesley had been working at Tikom for over a week.

Frank looked surprised. "Why, no. I don't even know the exact location. No one's been out there but Wesley. Our professor's been very secretive." A playful smile dimpled his heavy cheeks. "What do you suppose he has hidden out there?"

"I'd like to take a look at it tonight," he said, his smile vanishing. "If you leave it with me, I can map out our route."

"I hope you like you room, Lennea." Goldie suddenly cut in. "Oh, yes. Of course I do."

"I know it's a little plain. Delores simply hates it. And here we call it her room. I always thought I'd let her decorate it herself someday."

"We invited Dr. Hern, too," Frank said. "We wanted him to stay so badly." The lingering traces of hurt in Frank's voice reminded Lennea of the rejected wood carving as he added rather sadly, "But he likes to stay at that dumpy place in the village. He says he likes the privacy. I guess all geniuses like to be alone so they can sit and think." Lennea watched as Frank spooned more hot sauce over his food. He was shaking his head as if Wesley's desire for solitude increased his respect for him.

Lennea took another bite of the spicy meat wrapped in the flour tortilla, and her eyes watered. Whether it was good or bad, she couldn't say. The sight of Frank still spooning red sauce over beef drenched in chili peppers made her lips and tongue burn even more.

Lennea's thoughts kept going back to the Mayan man and the hidden money. She would have to go back. As soon as dinner was over she would have to go check, make certain the money had been left undisturbed. "You could take a few flower pots and pictures from the living room," Goldie said suddenly, as if this were the most important thing in the world. "There's plenty. I'm like Delores in liking my flowers and little what-not."

The way that Frank's wife constantly changed subjects was distracting. Her thoughts still hovering precariously somewhere between Wesley's need for privacy and the hidden money, Lennea replied absently, "There's no need to bother."

She glanced out of the window beyond the table into the darkness, and felt a chill creep over her as she thought of that long, gloomy walk to the ruins.

"Is everything all right, Lennea?" Goldie's curious, amber eyes were watching her with some concern. No doubt Lennea must appear to the LaTillas as preoccupied as Wesley had seemed to her. She must make an effort to pretend that nothing was wrong!

"Everything's fine." Lennea smiled and took a bite of the spicy beef. "The food is delicious." Lennea knew that it was Mexican custom to eat late and linger over the evening meal. She was torn between wishing the meal was over and dreading its ending.

Goldie was beaming at her now. "It's so wonderful to have you here. We just love company! I look forward all year to Delores' visits. We just go everywhere. She loves to shop. But I can't get her interested in cooking," she finished wistfully. "When I try, she just gets cross."

Lennea could sympathize. She shared Delores' aversion for the stove.

"Do you like to cook, Lennea?" Goldie asked hopefully. Lennea realized too late what the question was leading up to.

A rather preoccupied "no" was forming upon her lips, when she chanced to notice Goldie's expression, anxious, almost adoring. She didn't have the heart to disappoint her. Frank's wife put her in mind of an innocent child whose fragile feelings were in constant need of protection.

"You'll have to teach me how to cook Mexican food, Goldie," she said with a barely audible sigh.

"My little wife's the best one for the job," Frank asserted, patting his full stomach with satisfaction. The dinner had finally come to an end.

•

After dinner, Lennea turned over to Frank the map Wesley had given her. Then she asked him to help her put a call through to Delores' mother in Santa Fe. Frank hovered by as Lennea spoke to her. The mother's voice—she had no doubt been the recipient of many such phone calls—sounded dull and uninterested. Lennea cut short her strained explanation. She replaced the receiver, saying as if she wasn't disappointed in the reaction of Delores' mother, "She wants me to call her back in a few days."

Lennea went back to her room. When she was certain that Frank and Goldie had gone to bed, she slipped out onto the patio. Wind chimes sounded loud to her as she opened the door and stepped out into the night.

The heat of the day had cooled down to a steamy warmth. The lush, green foliage smelled like rain, and the rich earth beneath her feet seemed damp and spongy. Squishy. The word brought to mind Dad's startled exclamation when she had first told him of her plans to go to the Yucatan. "Why, you can't go down there. There must be a million snakes in that jungle!"

Lennea tried not to think about crawling things as she approached the first dark, narrow place on the path. She supposed that the fear of snakes was somehow hereditary. Now, thanks to Dad, she imagined them everywhere—crawling through the damp earth, dangling from the low branches of the trees overhead. Lennea increased her pace through the darkness. She was glad when she reached the first clearing.

She lingered by the scattered stones which lay rooted in the dense, wild underbrush of the clearing, savoring a glimpse of cloudy moon and blue-black sky. Then, with reluctance, she plunged into the heart of the deepest, darkest part of the jungle trail.

No moonlight now to guide her way. On either side of her the trees grew black and impenetrable, leaving only the barely visible path beneath her feet. For what seemed an eternity she walked through silent darkness.

With relief, Lennea spotted silver threads of light through the damp, quivering branches. She hurried to the bare spot where the trees ended. Up ahead, she could see the outline of a crumbling stone wall, the rough silhouette of the jaguar head.