Marjorie Thelen - The Hieroglyphic Staircase

With the director gone she felt a responsibility to help with the Museum. As much as she didn’t want to return to the scene of the gruesome death, she should. Maybe there was some clue to his mysterious death only she would understand.

She hurried back to the house to pick up her vest, computer and floppy hat, stuffing a few extra Honduran lempiras into her pocket along with some American dollar bills. Action improved her spirits. She would go to the Museum then try to get some work done at the Staircase. She left a note for doña Carolita.

On the street she hailed a scooter taxi. After a breezy ride in the open air rattle-trap vehicle with ripped umbrella top for dubious shade, the driver deposited her in the Museum parking lot. The sign at the entrance said “ Cerrado .”

She had no key, and no one was in sight.

She hurried across the sidewalk to the visitor center to find Diego, the manager. He was no friend of the director and always full of gossip. Maybe he had heard something.

“ Hola , Diego,” she said when she gained the cool interior of his small office next to the gift shop.

“ Hola ,” he said. “It’s been a while. You look fabulous as always. What about these events? I’m sorry you got all wrapped up in them.”

“It’s been a nightmare,” said Elena. She liked Diego even though he flirted shamelessly with everything in a skirt. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in several days. Not since all this started.”

He shrugged. “I had to go to San Pedro Sula to see my mother. She is sick and is not expected to live.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. How awful for you.”

He gave a sad smile. He was short and had strong Mayan features, large full nose, jet black straight hair, wide set eyes.

“My mother is all I have in this world. She’s a saint. My brothers are worthless. They do not help. I don’t even know where they are. Maybe in Tegucigalpa. Maybe in the States. I never hear from them. But what about you? What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure. What do you know about what’s going on?”

Diego shrugged and led the way to the glass cases in the middle of the gift shop. Reproductions of small artifacts and gold-plated jewelry lined the shelves in the cases. Normally, tourists from all over the world crowded the place. Today, not a single one.

“This is bad for business and for everyone who works here. You know what the people say about the ghosts causing all this. Listen, one of the workers was telling me,” and he leaned closer and lowered his voice, “it was Beto, the one who does maintenance inside the Museum. He told me he thinks the director has been trucking in the black market for years.”

“He must have needed money badly to risk his career. I wonder what was driving him. He was very secretive behind his unpleasant façade.”

“Yes, we’ve both been burned by his snide remarks and accusations. I almost lost my job before you came because he accused me of stealing money. I had to do some fast talking. Fortunately, one of the girls here was able to account for the money he said was missing. To tell you the truth, I’m glad he’s gone.”

“I can’t say I miss him. Maybe he had second thoughts about what he was doing. I’m not sure what motivated the man. I knew so little about him outside of his reputation in archaeology. What about his wife and children?”

“His wife is the sweetest person and his kids are well mannered. They attended a Museum fundraiser one time. She was as friendly as can be, a pretty woman with an ugly husband.”

“I feel sorry for her and the children.”

Diego shrugged. “I don’t know what will happen to them or to us, for that matter. Without the iron hand of the director, who knows what will happen. Probably, they will send someone from the capital as an interim director. What will you do?”

“I was going to see if I could be of help at the Museum, but it’s closed. Do you know if the secretary is around?”

“She stayed home. She’s afraid a gang is intent on murdering everyone at the Museum and that she’ll be next. I wouldn’t be surprised if she quits her job.”

“At least, she doesn’t subscribe to the ghost theory. I’m going back to my job. I’m on contract here through August, and until someone tells me to stop, I’ll keep on working. It’ll help to take my mind off things.”

“Right,” said Diego, “that’s what I’m doing. We’re behind on inventorying, so I’m catching up. It gives me the creeps to be here alone sometimes. The two shop girls are scared and didn’t come in.”

Elena mulled over the jumbled mess in her mind, as she walked across the Ball Court to the Hieroglyphic Staircase. She looked at the jumble of 2500 glyphs on the steps and wondered if the Mayan King, Smoke Shell, had put a curse on the place. She circled the Temple of Inscriptions checking the murder site, alert for any signs that the missing boys might be hiding in the ruins. No guards around. No reason for guards. Everyone was scared away. After a futile search for the boys, she settled in for an afternoon of work on the Hieroglyphic Staircase.

Since Raul and Francisco didn’t show up, she worked alone. She took a break for peanut butter crackers and water. The heat was intense. Sweat trickled along every crease in her body. More edgy than she cared to admit, she checked with binoculars to see if anyone was around. No one in sight.

She had the computer open on her lap, trying to construct an image of the progression of the hieroglyphs when she heard the motor of an approaching vehicle. The shadows of the day had lengthened, a fact that had escaped her.

When she recognized the Jeep from the clinic with Dominic behind the wheel, she smiled in relief. Someone sat beside him in the passenger seat. Elena stood, brushing the seat of her shorts, squinting against the bright backdrop of sunlight from the direction of Jeep. The outline of the figure looked all too familiar. It was Susanna, her mother.

Elena groaned. Susanna had probably talked Dominic senseless on the trip out and given him endless details of her life whether Dominic was interested or not. When had she arrived? She had a talent for tracking Elena into the most remote places and finding the exact people who knew where she was.

Dominic, being the gentleman he was, helped her mother from the Jeep. Her mother stepped nimbly down, wearing a bright blue full skirt and espadrilles. She reminded Elena of the old movies she had seen of Loretta Young waltzing into a room, commanding everyone’s attention. Her mother was like that — vibrant, alive, captivating. No man had ever tamed her, least of all Elena’s father who had long ago married a sturdy Mexican woman who had given him lots of sons.

Susanna wore a pale blue gauzy scarf thrown Isadora Duncan-style across her shoulders even though the day was deathly close. She didn’t look wilted in the least. Her endless energy kept her looking ever fresh, and a facelift or two hadn’t hurt either.

“Darling,” she said as she glided toward Elena, “are you all right? I came as fast as I could when I heard about the dreadful events. One of my friends flew me to the little Copan airport. The dear.”

Elena wondered who the latest dear was. Her mother gathered dears by the boat load. It would be someone she could talk into anything.

They kissed European-style on both cheeks.

“Hello, Mother. I’m fine,” said Elena. “I’m losing myself in my work since everything is such a tangle. I see you’ve met Dominic.”

Her mother gave him a dazzling, red lipped smile. “Oh, yes, darling. What an extraordinary man. He was kind to offer to bring me to see you.”

Elena raised her eyebrows in Dominic’s direction, trying to judge where he was after the trip with her mother. He gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile.