Marjorie Thelen: The Hieroglyphic Staircase

“I’ll tell her.”

Dominic cleaned up and helped Miguel dress in shorts and T-shirt. He walked softly to Elena’s bedside where she was sleeping. Her hair swept across the pillow, and her breathing was soft and even. He pulled the cover over her arms, left a note in the kitchen that they’d be at the clinic, she was to take it easy, and they’d be back in the afternoon to check on her.

People everywhere were trying to straighten out the tangle the storm had made of their lives. At the clinic the small door was open. He looked inside. The roof was nowhere in sight, just open sky. What little they had was wet. Papers were blown about and stuck wherever they landed. Where were they going to get the money to repair the roof? They had used all the capital funds to complete and furnish the clinic.

Miguel took his hand. “It’s not so bad. We will clean up in no time, you will see.”

Dominic was thankful for the boy’s words of comfort. He was a sensitive, endearing child.

“You’re right, Miguel. Where shall we start?”

“I will find the broom and start sweeping and picking up trash.”

“Good idea. When you find clinic papers, let’s stack them here on the table. Maybe we can dry them out.”

Together, man and boy started the task of putting the medical clinic back together.

Connie Lascano had her own problems. She had a corrupt police department. Her mandate was to clean it up, solve a murder and stop the theft of national treasures.

As she sat across the table from Elena Palomares she wondered if this battered yet resilient woman was going to have the answers. She had finished the retelling of her horrendous experience at the hands of that madman Jorge Gomez.

Connie wished she could figure out who in her department was involved besides José. She had interrogated every one of them, including the infamous former inspector Oliveros. But nothing. She did not detect one twitch of the eye that would give the guilty ones away. They were good at what they did — deception.

Raul Oliveros. She was sure he was involved, that he was the connection to the thieves, that he was mixed up in all of this. But he had alibis to cover the night of the first murder — home with wife and children; and the night of the apparent suicide of the director — home with wife and children. The cops who worked for him hadn’t buckled under questioning about their former boss.

Taming a hurricane might be easier than cracking this case. But solve it she would.

Miguel had corroborated Elena’s story. The boy sat with his legs swinging over the edge of the chair before her desk at what was left of the police station. A side wall had collapsed when the building next door caved in. Their filing cabinets were under that wall. A secretary worked at salvaging the files. Connie had everyone on guard duty to prevent looting, which was becoming more of a concern now that the storm had moved on to spread its devastation elsewhere.

“Let’s go over again the part about the hiding place,” said Connie, “Jorge was very interested in that, you say.”

“Yes, he was,” said Elena. “But I was bluffing. I was desperate for some way to lead him on, buy some time so I could get Miguel to safety. I was playing a long shot. But I had studied that drawing, and I knew Smoke Shell was looking at something. When I bluffed, Jorge bit. That surprised me but kept us going.”

“ Sí ,” said Miguel. “ Señorita Elena is very clever. That hiding place is where I have seen the ghost many times.”

Dead silence greeted Miguel’s pronouncement. Connie stared at Miguel’s innocent face. Not the ghost again.

Elena didn’t seem bothered that the ghost was back. She spoke first because Connie was still staring at the boy, trying to figure out if he was serious or not.

“Miguel,” Elena said, “do you mean the Mayan ghost is interested in the hiding place?”

“ Sí, señorita . I have seen the ghost there, like he is standing guard with his axe. I don’t think he likes people digging around the ruins and the tourists who come to look.”

“I see,” said Connie, “a possessive ghost.” She wasn’t quite ready to accept that the ghost was again in the picture.

“What do you think he is guarding, Miguel?” Elena said.

The boy shrugged his shoulders almost to his ears. “I think maybe treasure.”

Connie drummed her fingers, a habit that annoyed her in other people, but an act she found of some comfort now, when she was feeling more than uncomfortable.

“I guess then,” she said, “we will need to do some poking around in those ruins. Maybe the ghost will come back with his axe.”

Miguel frowned. “I am serious. There is a ghost there. Señorita Elena saw him.”

Elena said, “I could excavate that section of the pyramid. Miguel, you can show me where the ghost hangs out. Since I’m the only qualified archaeologist around right now, I think I should do it.”

Connie thought over what Elena proposed. There wouldn’t be time to go today. The river was still up, and they wouldn’t be able to use the paved road to the Park. It would still be flooded. Anyway, Elena didn’t look like she could walk another step.

“All right,” Connie said. “We’ll try tomorrow. The municipal workers are clearing the main road out of town, and, if the river is down, we’ll go and have a look around.”

When Elena told Dominic what they proposed to do, he frowned and put aside the wet papers he was laying out to dry. Soggy paper lay across every available space in the clinic. He had scrubbed mud off floors and walls and swept the water into the street to join the current of water flowing there. Mud streaked his clothes. Big, muddy rubber boots encased his feet.

She wanted to smooth away the tired lines in his face but held back. She could feel a lecture coming on.

“Elena, don’t you think you are pushing your luck?” he said. “You really, really need to rest, take care of yourself. You’ll heal much faster.”

“But I don’t feel that bad. I know my face looks ugly, but I feel much better, and I rested well last night. I didn’t get up until noon.” She tried to keep the whine from her voice.

“You don’t look ugly to me.”

“You have on your rose colored glasses.”

Dominic smiled. “I’m glad you are still alive.”

“Me, too. For a while there I had my doubts.”

His smile turned to a grimace. He was not going to let up.

“Do I have to strap you in bed and lock the house to keep you from overdoing it?” he asked.

“No, really, Dominic, I’m fine. I’ll be okay. Connie is going to drive me to the ruins. I’m going to help her solve this case.”

“You’ve helped too much already. You don’t need to involve yourself anymore. Why don’t you stay with your mother at the hotel?”

She wasn’t sure how to take that.

“You mean you don’t want me around?”

“I’m not saying that. What I mean is you’ll be safer with her.”

“I’m safe with you.”

“I have to help with clean up.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Elena. You aren’t listening to me.”

“You don’t have to raise your voice. There is nothing wrong with my hearing.”

He swiped his fingers back through his hair, lifting it from his perspiring forehead. “I don’t seem to be getting through to you.”

“You want to keep me caged up. I want to be involved.”

“All I’m saying is, give yourself a little time to recover. Connie hasn’t nailed everyone in this case. If the perpetrators still at large find out that you know where this hiding place is, they could come after you. Don’t you understand that?”