Aaron Elkins - Curses!

Abe was shaking his head. “No, Preston and Emma make their own lunches from bee pollen or sunflower sprouts or whatever, and they were sick too.” He glanced sharply up. “So they said."

"If they weren't, they were putting on a pretty good show, right down to the green complexions."

They both did some more thinking, their chins on their chests. They looked up at the same time. “The juice!"

Each morning at nine-thirty a busboy from the Mayaland bicycled to the site with an insulated three-gallon container of cold fruit juice, which was heavily used by the crew and remained all day on a table in the work shed. Unattended.

"So how hard would it have been to slip a few spoons of cathartic into it?” Abe asked rhetorically. “Cascara sagrada, say. You could get it in an over-the-counter laxative and break up the tablets into powder."

"We had unfiltered apple juice yesterday, didn't we?” Gideon asked. “Who'd notice if the cascara made it a little darker?"

Abe blew out his cheeks in a sigh. “Somebody around here certainly has a wonderful sense of humor."

"I can't help wondering if Emma's behind this,” Gideon said. “She's sure getting a lot of mileage out of it. Maybe she's giving her friend Huluc-Canab a little help from the other side of the physical-reality void."

"But you don't think she was the one that attacked you."

"No.” He paused, then added: “Not that I'd swear to it."

"What about the coatimundi?"

"No, that wasn't Emma. That was something different, a joke."

"Maybe it was different, maybe it wasn't. When a lot of funny things are going on together, they got a way of turning out to be related. Goldstein's Theorum of Interconnected Monkey Business."

Gideon smiled. “Could be."

"Of course. Anyway, you're right about one thing.” For the first time a tiny sparkle glimmered in Abe's eyes. “It wasn't Emma who provided the coati. It was someone else."

Gideon leaned over the back of the chair, his chin on his crossed forearms. “Okay, Abe, you know something I don't. Let's hear it."

"Well…” Abe leaned comfortably back against the pillows, his hands behind his neck. “Since I had some time on my hands this morning I did some thinking, and I got to wondering about this coatimundi. What I wondered was, where do you find such a thing?"

"They're native to this area. Julie says they're probably all over the jungle."

"Sure, but how often do you see one? Ever? You think you could walk out in the jungle and catch one if you decided to play a little joke on the rest of us?"

"Well, no. They're wild animals; they-okay, where do you get a coatimundi when you need one?"

"Me, I'd call a pet shop,” Abe said, “which is what I did. It turns out there are two pet stores in Merida, and the first one I called, on Avenida Colon, said it was very funny but he had one for almost two months and nobody wanted it, and now I was the second norteamericano this week who wanted one."

Gideon straightened up. “And you found out who the other one was?"

But Abe liked to take his time coming to the punch line. The coati, he told Gideon, was ordered by telephone and delivered to Piste, which as it happened was the nearest village to the Mayaland, about a mile and a half away; a humble, somewhat tacky little crossroads that had become a center for tourists who couldn't afford or didn't want the Mayaland's luxury. The buyer had taken possession of the boxed animal at the bus stop, in front of the Mayan Cave Bar Disco ("English Spooken Here"), from which he left by taxi in the direction of the Mayaland. This was, Gideon should take note, late Tuesday afternoon, the day before the coati was discovered in the work shed.

"And the name,” Gideon murmured, “of this mysterious gringo was…"

"No, Senor Merino didn't get his name, but he could describe him: 'Un hombre con una barba de chivo.’”

Gideon wasn't up to the Spanish. “A man with a what?"

Abe's fingers tapped his chin. “A billy goat's beard."

"Worthy?"

Abe nodded. “You were right in the first place."

The narration had wearied him. He lowered his frail arms and slid down on the pillows, closing his eyes for a few seconds. “Right now I'm a little tired, but in an hour I'll feel better. I'll get dressed and go and have a talk with him and see what's what. And tell him what's what,” he added.

"Like hell you will,” Gideon said firmly. “You're staying in bed today. I'll talk to Worthy."

"No,” Abe said, shaking his head, “I'll take care of it. It's my responsibility, not yours."

"Then how about delegating it? I'll go see him right now. I want you to take it easy and get your strength back. Come on, Abe, be sensible."

"Maybe you're right,” Abe said meekly, and Gideon looked at him with a stab of concern. Docility wasn't exactly his style.

"Abe, I don't think it would be a bad idea to have the hotel doctor take a look at you."

Abe dismissed this with a flap of his hand. “No, no. I'll drink liquids; I'll rest.” He closed his eyes again and settled himself down to sleep. “You'll see. I'll be fine."

"All right,” Gideon said uneasily and stood up. “I'll drop by later and tell you how it goes with Worthy."

"Check up on me, you mean,” Abe said wearily. “All right, thank you."

Gideon had reached the door when Abe called. “Gideon?"

"Yes?"

Abe's hands were clasped tranquilly on his chest. His eyes were still closed. “If you brought another bowl of chicken soup I wouldn't say no."

"Oh, all right,” Worthy said peevishly, “I'm the criminal; I admit it. I put the miserable beast in the work shed. It was just a joke."

He dabbed his gleaming forehead with a handkerchief. “Couldn't we continue this later? I'm really not feeling my usual self."

"None of us are, Worthy. That's why I'm talking to you."

Worthy eyed him mutely across the table in his room.

"How much does a coati cost?” Gideon asked.

Worthy shrugged. “It was fifty-five dollars American."

"That's a lot of money to spend on a joke.” He smiled in spite of himself. “Not that it wasn't funny."

Worthy seemed gratified by this, and even smiled faintly himself. “Well, I was trying to make a point, you know, although it may have been a little too subtle for Emma. Gideon, is there some point to this? You have my confession. What more is there to discuss?"

Gideon sat back and studied him. There was quite a bit more to discuss: Had Worthy been making any other subtle points? Like putting something nasty in the apple juice? (Who, after all, would know more about laxatives?) Digging in the temple when he wasn't supposed to? Slipping death threats under doors? Skulking around Chichen Itza with a pipe wrench?

He decided to lay at least part of it on the line. “I was wondering if you had anything to do with this problem we're all having today."

"If I…why would…” He stared at Gideon.

"You're saying someone did this to us on purpose? Poisoned our food?"

"Well, ‘poison’ is a little strong, but I think so, yes. I wondered if it was another little joke."

"But that's…that's monstrous!” Worthy cried sincerely. The sweat had sprung out on his pale forehead again. Fooling around with the digestive system was no joke to Worthy Partridge. “And you think that I…that I would…"

Gideon didn't know whether to believe him or not. Worthy was an intelligent, subtle man; Gideon didn't doubt his ability to dissemble. He had denied the coati incident convincingly enough on the morning it had happened. Still, his outrage seemed like the real thing.

"Gideon, how can you say this?” he cried. “Do you really think I'd do such a thing? I'm as sick as anyone else. My God, sicker, sicker!"