Marjorie Thelen - The Hieroglyphic Staircase

He helped the lady down from the table and gave her instructions and tablets in a bottle that he placed in her hand.

“ Un million de gracias, ” said the woman, and she shuffled out.

Dominic told Corazón where he was going and hustled his charges into the Jeep. Rain was blowing sideways as they crept down the street toward doña Carolita’s.

“Ever been in a hurricane before?” Dominic asked Elena.

“No, have you?”

“Yes, I got caught in Hurricane Andrew down in south Florida. That’s the first and last one I ever want to be in.”

“I guess you’re not going to get your wish. This one looks bad. I have great respect for Mother Nature so I never want to tempt her. But circumstances have dictated otherwise for both of us, hasn’t it?”

“You can say that again.”

Elena looked in the back seat to make sure Miguel was okay. “How you doing?” she asked him, smiling. But the smile died on her face.

“Oh, no,” she said and turned around and slid down in the seat.

“Do you see that yellow car following us with only one headlight?” she asked Dominic.

He looked in the rear view mirror. “Yes, he’s been behind us since the clinic. Why?”

“That’s this weird guy that I met this morning at breakfast with my mother. She picked him up at the hotel, and he says that he’s an art dealer. He wanted to give us a ride. Something about him I don’t like.”

Dominic looked in the mirror again. “I could try to lose him but I hesitate to go any faster in this rain. I’ll go by the Marina Copan and stop out front. Maybe he’ll think you’re visiting your mother.”

He whipped up the next street until they were in front of the Hotel Marina Copan, off the central plaza. Their pursuer turned off to the left before the hotel.

“He turned off,” said Dominic.

“That’s a relief. While we’re here, I’ll run in and tell my mother where I’ll be.”

She got out of the Jeep and ran around the front into the lobby. Dominic watched the street and sidewalks for signs of the man in the car, but he saw none. Elena was back in five minutes.

“She doesn’t like it but she’s resigned to not having me with her. Right now she’s alone in her room. I warned her about that jerk, Jorge, and she said she’d be careful.”

Dominic’s internal radar was humming. Someone taking an interest in Elena with the questionable deaths unresolved made his anxiety level hit a new high. He drove a circuitous route to doña Carolita’s up through the barrio San Pedrito where Armando lived. The houses were on a hill, and the wind was worse. Debris flew about unchecked. A piece of tin glanced off the windshield of the Jeep, and they all ducked. Armando was hunkered down in front of his shack, protected from the wind by the others that crowded on all sides.

Dominic stopped and shouted to be heard above the wind. “Are you okay?”

“We’re okay, go on. Take care.”

Dominic continued on, creeping down the hill that lead to the lower town and doña Carolita’s house.

“No one’s following us,” he said, after checking in the rear view mirror.

Elena looked back. “Good. That guy really gives me the creeps.”

“Me, too.”

They pulled up in front of doña Carolita’s. It looked as if no one was home. Elena pulled out her keys.

“I’ll pop in and try to entice her to come with us.”

Dominic nodded and left the engine running. He looked in the sack Elena had left on the front seat and saw the clothes.

He turned to Miguel in the back seat. “Looks like you got new clothes.”

“And a soccer ball.” He held up the ball.

“Nice. When the storm is over, we’ll have to practice.”

“Will you play with me?”

“Sure, although I’m not very good.”

Elena was not long in returning. She had donned dry shorts and top and her hair was gathered up under her field hat. She stowed her computer and back pack in the back seat with Miguel.

“Where’s doña Carolita?” asked Dominic.

“She left a note that she went to stay with her mother during the storm. That’s good because her mother lives with her other daughter and her husband, so there’ll be more people there to help each other. That’s a load off my mind. She advised me to stay with my mother at the hotel.”

“Is her house secure? I see she boarded the windows.”

“I think so. She’s got the back of the house all closed up, too. But bad news — the electricity is out.”

“Not good. At least the clinic has a generator.”

Dominic maneuvered the Jeep through an obstacle course back to the clinic and parked in front. Most of the people had left. An American volunteer from the Episcopal mission, wearing a Red Cross arm band, was trying to get the generator up and running.

Dominic walked over to help. He checked the equipment over. It was out of gas. No one had bothered to fill the tank. He’d have to go down the street to the service station. With any luck they’d still be open. He could only hope they had a generator.

He’d take Elena and Miguel with him since he didn’t want to let them out of his sight. He was worried about the strange guy interested in Elena. Maybe they would be better off with her mother. He could drop them off at the hotel but the strange guy might be staying there. He could take Elena and Miguel to his house to ride out the storm, but then they’d be there by themselves since he might have to leave.

Before he could put a plan in motion, Connie Lascano walked into the clinic, wearing a plastic rain poncho in brilliant orange. She looked cheerful, like there wasn’t an impending hurricane or an unsolved murder.

“I came by to see if I could catch Elena,” she said. “I understand she is looking for me.”

Elena came out from the back room where she had gone to help Corazón. “There you are, Connie. I heard you were at one of the shelters, helping out. How are things going?”

“We are trying to secure the area and set up guards at the shelters. I was also trying to arrange a bodyguard for you. I hoped to have one in place by this afternoon, but all available personnel have been mobilized to help with the storm.”

“Can you come into the back?” Elena asked. “I wanted to share something with you.”

Connie Lascano liked to look for the best in everyone. Sometimes she wondered if she might be in the wrong profession. Take Elena Palomares, standing before her, relating her story about Rolando and his motorcycle buddies. Connie had seen those macho jokers cruising around town in their bright, shiny motorcycles. Now that Elena voiced her suspicion, Connie wondered about their source of income. She’d have them checked out.

She wanted to believe Elena. They had checked her record. Clean. She seemed to be what her degrees and profession said she was — a down-to-earth, intelligent, professional woman, willing to cooperate with the police investigation and report what she knew. She had a pleasant countenance and personality to boot. Why shouldn’t she be trusted? Because in Connie’s professional career she had seen the most upstanding citizens come out on the wrong side of the law. She would reserve final judgment till all the facts were in. But her gut feeling told her that Elena was in real danger for whatever the reasons.

Then Elena related the story of the creepy guy in the yellow car. The description set off red flags, confirming Connie’s gut feeling.

“You say he’s staying at the Marina Copan? I’ll have him picked up for questioning.” She turned to go as there wasn’t a minute to lose.

Elena held up her hand. “Wait. Have you identified the murdered man yet?”