Make No Bones About It ( a Dig Site Mystery--Book 2)

by Ann Charles

  Juan started to laugh and then froze, doing a double take. “What did you say?”

  Without looking up from where she was marking off the corners of a dig area, Daisy started to repeat her comment and then stopped. “It doesn’t matter. I was just playing around. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  “None taken.” Juan frowned as he watched Daisy line up her sifting trays and pull a well-used paintbrush from her tool pouch. “You just reminded me of something my wife used to say about being bossy.” He seemed to shake off whatever had given him pause, although his smile seemed a bit dimmer than when Quint had first joined them.

  Having checked out Daisy’s shoes, Quint left the two and headed for the Baatz’ Temple to look in on Jane. It took one glance at her hiking boots to cross her off the list. Her feet were way too small. Not to mention, getting through that hole would be difficult due to the snakebite that was still giving her some pain judging from the winces she made while switching sitting positions.

  Lorenzo was inside with her, guiding her on how to catalog the various glyphs inside of a temple based on the good doctor’s practice in the past. While Quint stood pretending to take notes, Jane asked Lorenzo about his family, at which point Quint made his exit. Angélica may have thought Jane was acting funny earlier, but it seemed the girl’s only crime might be having a curious personality.

  Next, he stopped over by where Fernando, Esteban, and Pedro were digging up a cache of conquistadors’ armor. Quint didn’t bother checking out their boots. Esteban had a history of running with his feathers flying behind him at the sight of his own shadow. There was no way the kid would have traversed that mine alone. Fernando was too busy working his ass off every day to screw around in an old mine, not to mention he had a wife and kids to think about and support. His loyalty to Angélica ran deeper than any limestone mine and its underground treasures.

  “Where are Bernard, Maverick, and Gertrude?” he asked Fernando.

  The foreman pointed toward the trees behind him. “There’s a small tell over there.” His English was not as clear as Pedro’s by far, but he was still easy enough to understand.

  Through an opening in the trees, Quint could see Bernard and Gertrude. They were working along the edge of what he’d guess was a five-feet-high broad mound of dirt and vines, bordered by a large strangler fig tree.

  “They are working on scraping off the top layer,” Fernando added.

  If Quint remembered right from his reading while up in the frigid land of ice and polar bears, a “tell” was a mound that grew as one generation after another built over whatever was there in the past. Tells caused a lot of excitement in the archaeology world because they often had layer after layer of artifacts, including building materials, pottery shards, tools, and more. To Quint and—he figured—the rest of the world not infatuated with the past, they looked like just another mound or hill.

  “Dr. García is having them start on that mound instead of continuing Pedro’s work on that small tell down near the Chakmo’ol Temple?”

  That sounded like busywork to him, especially when there was so much work to be done yet with the two main temples.

  “She doesn’t want the university kids near the snakes,” Fernando explained, taking a draw from his canteen.

  Right, the snakes. Quint wondered if her father had had a say in making her decision. “What about Maverick?”

  Capping his canteen, Fernando thumbed in the direction of the mess tent. “Teodoro took him to the river. They are hauling water for showers and María. Today she washes our clothes.”

  That was where his pile of dirty clothes had gone. He’d need to thank María after supper. His pants were beginning to walk on their own, and he was down to his last pair of underwear. Another day and he’d have to start going commando.

  “When they are done with water,” Fernando continued, “Maverick will help me, and Esteban will return to the ballcourt.”

  Quint would have to take a look at the fiction author’s boots another time. With a “Be right back,” Quint trekked through the opening in the trees toward Bernard and Gertrude. Both were on their hands and knees, carefully digging with trowels into the top of the mound.

  “How’s it going over here?” Quint asked. “Are you two any closer to finding that treasure chest of Maya gold the Spanish conquistadors were determined to dig up somewhere around these parts?”

  Bernard laughed and sat back on his knees, swiping away the sweat dripping from his eyebrows. “Nothing but dirt and dead leaves for me, but Gertrude found a broken pottery shard.”

  “I read somewhere that tells are often garbage heaps.” Quint played dumb to try to make conversation.

  “Garbage heaps of gold when it comes to information about how people lived,” Bernard explained.

  “But still garbage,” Gertrude added, standing up to stretch with her back to Quint. She pulled out her canteen and took a swig. Then she took off her broad-rimmed sombrero, drew her blond hair into a ponytail and lifted it up, and splashed her face and neck. Water ran down a tattoo that covered the nape of her neck. From where Quint stood, it looked like a sun with a skeleton face in the middle. She lowered her hair and plopped her hat back onto her head.

  Quint shook his head. How in the world the girl kept from burning with skin so pale was beyond him. Even with the hat and long sleeves, he would think her chalky-white skin should have some color—tan or red—after spending day in and day out under the hot Mexican sun. If it weren’t for her dark eyes, she could have been an albino.

  “Damn, it’s hot today,” Bernard said, leaning back against the mound, kicking his legs out in front of him. “We rarely ever even come close to this kind of heat in England.”

  Quint peeked down at Bernard’s boots. His peek turned into an all-out stare. “Nice boots. They look brand-new.”

  “They are,” Gertrude said.

  Quint glanced over to find her watching him with an intensity that gave him pause. She’d been staring across the fire at him with a similar level of attention during the Lolcatali ceremony. When he raised his brows in return, she turned back toward Bernard.

  Bernard shot her a chagrined look. “My boots up and walked away last night, so I had to borrow Gertrude’s extra pair.” He lifted his leg and held one boot out for Quint’s view.

  “Did you file a missing-boots report?” Quint joked, noticing the straight lines on the tread prints at Bernard’s feet. The boot prints in the mine had been wavy.

  “I thought you have to wait twenty-four hours before filing,” Bernard said, playing along.

  Quint’s focus turned to Gertrude’s well-worn hikers. They looked almost identical to Bernard’s, only more worn. “You two wear the same size, huh?”

  “I come from a family of men with smaller feet and hands.” Bernard held up his hands, thin but short fingers splayed.

  Gertrude capped her water and set it on the ground. “My feet are big for a woman. My mutter always said I should have been a man.” Her hands were big, too. She would be able to carry several large steins of German beer without spilling a drop.

  “You’re too pretty to be a man,” Bernard said, flirting. “You’re a pale, Amazonian beauty who’s come to carry me away to your jungle paradise.”

  Gertrude laughed. “And you’re a skinny Casanova.”

  Quint left them, joking back and forth under the jungle canopy and made his way back to Fernando and Esteban, who were busy taking notes on the exact location of what looked like a broken piece of armor breastplate.

  Pedro waved him over to the side, leading him several steps away, and asked in a lowered voice, “Any luck with the boot prints?”

  “No, but Bernard says his boots are missing, which is one hell of a coincidence.”

  “I thought his boots looked new when he walked past.”

  “They are, but they’re not his, they’re Gertrude’s spare pair. Apparently, Bernard didn’t think to pack extra.”

  “Gertrude’s boo
ts?”

  “She has big feet for a woman.”

  “She is taller than I like my women. You only have an inch or two on her.”

  “I’d certainly put money on her over you in a leg-wrestling match.”

  Pedro chuckled. “I would, too. Have you seen her eat? She’s twice the man I am at the table.” He sobered. “You think Bernard ditched his boots in the jungle so we couldn’t match the prints?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What else could it be?”

  “Someone wants to throw us off their scent and is setting Bernard up to take the fall.”

  Several curses rolled off Pedro’s tongue.

  Quint nodded, smashing a mosquito that landed on his arm. It always sounded so much more melodic when people cursed in Spanish.

  “Now what?”

  Shrugging, he frowned out across the courtyard toward where the Chakmo’ol Temple waited with Angélica inside. “We see if your pilot buddy’s logbook is any help.”

  “That may take a couple of days, though.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Until then, maybe we can figure out how to connect the damned dots to see if someone sneaking into an old mine has anything to do with a murder plot.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Baak: The Maya glyph for “captive.”

  “Hold up, boss lady,” Quint called.

  Angélica cringed. Shit! He’d seen her.

  She waited for him under the hot afternoon sunshine, preparing mentally for battle while Quint crossed the plaza to join her. She had little doubt how the next ten minutes were going to go after she came clean about her plan.

  He’d just have to accept what was going to happen, because short of him throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her away from the Chakmo’ol Temple, she wasn’t going to let him stop her.

  Quint reached her side, a frown wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at her. “Where are you going with your dad’s bag of safety equipment?”

  “I found something. You can follow or not, up to you.” She continued her trek across the plaza toward the temple, glancing over toward the ballcourt to make sure her father wasn’t watching.

  “What did you find?” He kept her hurried pace with ease thanks to his long legs. “Something inside the temple?”

  “I’m not sure it’s technically inside of the temple itself.”

  “That sounds purposely vague.” He held out her clipboard. “Here, trade me for the bag.”

  “It’s not that heavy.”

  “Let me play the hero for a moment. Don’t worry, nobody is watching.”

  She squinted over at him. “You’re not going to try to stop me, are you?”

  “I don’t think I could. You appear to have one hell of a head of steam built up. Besides, I’m sort of curious what has you all in a lather.”

  She handed off the bag, taking the clipboard. “Did you get anywhere with the boot prints mystery?”

  “Sort of, but not.”

  “That’s an ambiguous answer.”

  “I’m taking lessons from you.”

  She chuckled, slowing as they rounded the platform where Jane had been bitten by the snake. “I don’t want to tell you what I found because I’m afraid you’ll try to interfere with my plans.”

  “Me? Aren’t you the boss at this dig site?”

  “Technically, yes.” She peeked over at him as she stepped inside the Chakmo’ol Temple’s entrance. “But your opinion counts.”

  His deep laughter bounced off the interior stone walls of the temple. “Right. Since when?”

  She stopped, facing him. “Since you came back for more.”

  His eyes lowered to her lips. “I couldn’t stay away.”

  “Yes, you could have, but you didn’t. For that, you get a say in matters here.”

  “A say?” His gaze lifted, a smile growing on his lips. “Does that mean I get to play boss once in a while when it comes to you?”

  “Don’t push your luck, Parker.”

  “How about when we’re alone in our tent?”

  She pursed her lips, pretending to consider his words. “Maybe.”

  She started to turn away, but he caught her arm and pulled her back around, drawing her close. “Kiss me, Dr. García.”

  “Is that an order, boss man?”

  “Yes.”

  She grabbed his shirt in her fist and pulled him down to her level. “One kiss in exchange for your help this afternoon.”

  “Two kisses.”

  “Fine.” She kissed him, soft and slow, enjoying the way he made her stomach flutter when he stroked his tongue along hers. When she released his shirt and stepped back, she blew out a shaky breath. “Wow.”

  “Damn, that just makes me want more.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Now, didn’t it feel good to let go of some of that control?”

  Not as good as it had the other night when he’d rocked her world in their tent. She was going to need another hit of that drug soon. “Maybe,” she said, having fun with him. She turned and headed deeper into the temple.

  “Hey, we’re not done.” He caught up with her. “The deal was for two kisses.”

  “Exactly. One kiss now and the other when you finish the job I have for you.”

  “Ha! You’ve been schooled by your father in the art of deal making.”

  “The dark lord trained me well and don’t you forget it.” She led him past the chamber with the snake-outlined Yum Cimil carving.

  His footfalls paused. “Aren’t we going in there?”

  She shook her head, continuing toward the small burial room where she’d learned his theory about her mother’s murder. “I figured out the mystery.”

  “Which particular mystery are we talking about? We seem to have several going at the moment.”

  “The one carved into the wall in the other chamber that shows Yum Cimil down in a cave.” She stooped and entered the small burial tomb. “I know where the entrance to his cave is.”

  He lingered outside of the low-ceilinged room. “Great. Shouldn’t we bar the door? Put a few really big rocks in front of it? Run the other way?”

  Underlying his humor, she could sense his hesitation. She knew from the past dig site that holes inside these temples made him twitchy. “You don’t have to stay in here.” But she didn’t want him to leave. She took the bag from him and set it against the wall. “However, I’ll remind you that you did make a deal to help me.”

  He muttered something.

  “What’s that, Parker?” She joined him outside of the burial chamber, looking up at him with a raised brow.

  “I said that you’re my sunshine in these dark, claustrophobic hellholes, sweetheart.”

  She laughed. “Good answer, lover boy.” She patted him on the chest. “Seriously, all I need you to do is help me move this altar stone aside. I can do the rest on my own.”

  His hand covered hers, holding it against him. “If I promise to be your sex slave for the next month, would you consider not moving that altar stone?”

  She shook her head. “A month isn’t long enough.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, lady. Let’s move that stone before I give in to my inner caveman and drag you out of here by the hair.”

  She stooped again and moved inside. He followed, lowering himself onto his knees when he reached the altar stone. “How do we move this without breaking something?”

  “Both the top stone and base are thick. I doubt they’ll break.”

  “I was talking about me, not the stones.”

  She stared at him as he inspected the underside of the top altar stone. What was it about him? Sure, he was funny, caring, sexy even when coated in dirt and sweat, and great in the sack, but there was something else that she couldn’t put her finger on. Something that had her heart teetering dangerously close to the edge of an abyss. Before it could take a leap into never-never land, she needed to wrangle the damned organ. Quint might leave after all of this and not come back for a third round. She needed to
be prepared for that possibility.

  “We could take the top stone off and lay it over there,” he suggested.

  She shook off her dark thoughts. “You read my mind, Parker. Between the two of us, we should be able to push this lower stone aside far enough to see if I’m right.”

  “Right about what, exactly?”

  “That there’s a hole behind this altar that leads down into a subterranean room of some sort.”

  His hazel eyes met hers. “A room where Yum Cimil is hanging out in that carving?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shouldn’t we be concerned about letting him out?”

  “Quint, that’s just a tall tale carved into a wall.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “But are you really sure?”

  “Just lift the damned stone.”

  On the count of three, they did, tipping it onto its narrow edge, taking care not to damage the carvings. “Watch your fingers,” he warned, holding it up long enough for her to get clear before leaning it against the opposite wall.

  He brushed his hands on his pants, crawling back over to the larger square bottom stone. “Which way do you want to push this?”

  “I was thinking toward the doorway. That would allow us to use that wall to push off. Better leverage that way.”

  “Okay, but that’s going to make for a tight exit.”

  “You think you’ll fit?”

  “One way or another.” He squeezed past her in the tight quarters, moving into position with his back to the bottom stone and his boots braced against the wall.

  “You need to make room for me,” she told him.

  “Just stay back, boss lady.”

  He pressed his feet into the wall and pushed with his back. The stone shifted several inches toward the doorway.

  Quint leaned forward so she could see past him to the wall behind the stone. Her pulse leapt. She’d been right about the hidden entrance!

  A hint of something foul smelling leaked up through the hole along with a breath of air.

  “Do you smell that?” she asked, sitting back.

  “Yeah. Maybe we should put the stone back.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Good try, Parker.”