Marjorie Thelen - The Hieroglyphic Staircase

“I’m busy on my next fundraiser. We’re looking for more money for your medical clinic. I’ve been leaning on some of my sources.”

A man walked up behind Felicia and grasped her arms, looking over her shoulder at Dominic and Elena.

“Jack, meet my friend, Nicky, and, I’m sorry I forgot your name,” said Felicia, glancing at Elena.

“Elena,” said Dominic.

“Yes, Elena,” Felicia said.

Jack was a big, balding man with cheerful blue eyes and parted teeth. He put out his hand to Dominic.

“A pleasure. I understand you’re helping at the new clinic. Felicia’s been talking about you.”

They shook. Elena nodded.

“C’mon, babe,” said Jack to Felicia, steering her toward the door. “We’ve got to get to our next party. The night is young yet.” He winked at Dominic and Elena. “Nice meeting you.” He fairly pushed Felicia out the door before she said anything else.

“I wonder where she picked him up,” said Elena.

“He’s one of the ex-pats I’ve seen around. He shows up every so often. He showed up just in time to be snagged by Felicia. Lucky man.”

He rose and held out his hand. “It’s time I dropped you back at your house.”

Diego cradled the phone against his ear. “Have you found the kid yet?” he asked the person on the other end. “No? Me neither. Things are in turmoil here with the director dead. The whole town is scared to death. That’s a good thing. I can’t talk now. Someone’s come into the shop. I’ll contact you later when I know something.”

Elena showed up at the Museum around nine the next morning, dressed in olive toned slacks and a simple sleeveless knit top in a lighter shade. A scooter taxi had dropped her at the Museum, but it remained closed, and she still had no key. She circled the building looking for someone to let her in, but not even Armando was in appearance.

She headed to the visitor center, found the gift shop door open, and Diego inside on the phone. He hung up when he saw her and came over to say hello.

“Wow, Elena, you look gorgeous as ever. Are we going out on a date?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, of course not. It’s too early in the day, and you’re too young for me. Actually, I’m looking for keys to open the Museum. Would you have a set?”

He frowned. “You want to go into the Museum after all that nasty business with the director?”

She nodded. “The Minister of Antiquities called and asked me to serve as acting director until he can get someone in place. I told him I would, but I have no keys. No way to get in. I thought you might have been entrusted with a set.”

Diego chewed the inside of his cheek. “I have a box of keys in my office. The Museum keys should be there. I’ll look for you.”

He returned with a small box of keys. “We’re in luck.” He dangled a set before her. “I think these are the Museum keys. I’ll go along to help you. I’m not sure which ones fit since I never have cause to enter the Museum after hours.”

He led the way out of the shop and along the path that Armando usually swept.

“Diego, have you seen any of the little boys that come around the Park, the orphan ones that live under the bridge?”

He stopped mid-step and his open Mayan features turned inscrutable. “No, why do you ask? Are they lost?”

“No, they aren’t lost,” she said. “I just haven’t seen them in the last day or two, and I worry about them. I give them food sometimes.”

She wasn’t going to share with him the real reason she was looking for them. She liked him but that didn’t mean she trusted him.

“I haven’t seen them around, but if I do, I’ll let you know.”

They stopped before the Museum entrance, which was padlocked. Diego hummed a salsa ditty as he tried the keys on the first ring without success. On the second ring he hit pay dirt on the outside lock and moved around the ring again searching for one that would open the deadbolt on the inside door. It gave way on the last key.

“Here you are,” he said, opening the door to the cool interior.

She stepped across the threshold and shivered involuntarily, running her hands up and down her arms.

“Cold?” he said.

“No, it’s just kind of spooky.”

“It is rather grim. Let’s throw on some lights. That will help.”

He found the light panel beside the door and experimented with the switches. Spots came up that illumined the individual stela.

“That’s better,” she said. “Thanks. That cheers things up.” But she had the eerie feeling all those Mayan heads were watching her, waiting for answers.

“Would you like help with anything?” asked Diego, hovering too close. He kept tossing the keys in the air, leering at her. He didn’t seem to get that she wasn’t interested.

Elena shook her head and walked further on, looking around the hall dominated by the Rosalila temple. The natural light from the open roof burnished the rosy hue of the structure.

“Sounds kind of hollow in here,” Diego said, coming up close behind her. “You should put up curtains and arrange for carpets.”

“Very funny, Diego,” she said, not laughing. “I don’t think I’ll need anything else. You go on. But thanks for letting me in. I’ll take the keys, so I can lock up when I leave. It doesn’t look like anyone is coming in today.”

She held out her hand for the keys. She wanted to get busy with her new job. There was investigating to do.

“Okay, here.” He dangled the ring of keys over her hand then dropped them. “I’ll be in the gift shop if you need me.” He gave her a wink and chucked her under the chin, then sauntered away along the stone path to the gift shop.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Latin machismo was beyond belief at times.

She pushed the entrance gate open wide and turned the “ Cerrado ” sign to “ Abierto ”. That was a start. She gazed around the interior of the building.

The director’s corner office had yellow tape stretched across the door. She was itching to look through the desk drawers to see if there might be any clues as to why the director took his own life. She shivered again. An unholy draft seemed to be flowing through the gallery. Hopefully, the ghosts had stayed home today.

First, she’d do a fast check of the galleries to make sure everything was in order. Then she would have a go at the director’s office. She toured all the galleries, finding spotlights and turning them on, checking to make sure that everything was in order and clean. The maintenance crew did a good job on a daily basis of keeping the rooms immaculate. The terrazzo floors shone, the exhibit glass sparkled, not a mote of dust rested on any of the intricate curves and creases of the sculptures and stelae of Mayan kings and gods.

The hush of the Museum put her on edge. The echo of her footsteps followed her around the galleries. She was not accustomed to the creaks and groans of the place. At every new sound she’d start and look around, trying to determine the source of the noise. What if the director’s death hadn’t been suicide? What if he had been murdered? Was she a target?

Stop it. Just stop it. You’re working yourself into a tizzy. To prove to herself that she wasn’t afraid, she started toward the director’s office. Time to tackle his desk to see what sense she could make of his mysterious death. She stopped before the yellow tape, saw it was fastened with adhesive and peeled it away with a flourish, sticking the end to the opposite door frame.

That was a brave move.

She turned the door knob. It opened easily. It had not been locked. A cool rush of air brushed past her, and she wrinkled her nose. She tried not to think about the source of the sour smell that still lingered in the room. She pushed the door further open, slowly, slowly, not sure what to expect. The hinges creaked, and the sound echoed hollow in the stillness. Goosebumps covered her arms.