Trapped in the Mayan Tattoo

by Ronda Pauley

  “A plain manila folder,” Louise said. “Yeah, definitely a folder. But it wasn’t a guy.”

  Abbi hadn’t even thought to check the folders! What could that have been, she wondered and buried her face in her hands. Her mother kept most things on files in the computer.

  “Not a guy?”

  “I didn’t see a face. From my vantage point it was covered by a gray hoodie, but I did notice the shape. Yeah, come to think of it—not a guy.”

  “Well, I’m tired. We can’t go home and we can’t stay here,” Louise said. “Got any more juice?”

  Abbi handed Louise another juice pack and beef stick. Then she offered the same to Lowell before trying to give more to herself and coming back empty handed except for gum.

  “Your parents will be home in a few hours,” Abbi said. “We can wait here that long.”

  “I don’t think we need to do that,” Lowell said while he munched on the beef stick. “It sounds like they got what they were looking for.”

  “We could go to the library,” Louise said.

  “Lowell’s right,” Abbi said. “We definitely can’t go back to my house. There’s probably a search going on there by now, but we could go to your house.”

  “I vote for the library. It’s safe.”

  “Safety in numbers? Not necessarily,” Lowell said like something else was on his mind.

  In spite of herself, Abbi looked at Lowell and saw excitement in his eyes. Lowell smiled as if he knew something, a secret.

  “So, Abbi, what’s that you have in your lap? Did you find something?”

  “I don’t really know, but yeah, I think so. I’d been trying to find meanings to some Mayan drawings that my mother had on her desk. The meanings were right there in her computer this whole time! Now, trying to piece it together and figure out where to go from here, that’s the problem. I just need to think about it.”

  “The library!” Louise said.

  “Louise, I think that’s a great idea! Why don’t you go pedal to the library?” Abbi said, getting annoyed.

  “By myself? I don’t think so!”

  Lowell was looking pretty pumped up.

  “Then let’s move on,” he said. “I got a text while me and that bird were cozied up in the tree. I thought I would fall out and die, right there. You know that internship I’ve been trying for? I got it! Missing persons. First case—some woman. Washington, here I come! I’ll be working for the FBI.”

  “No kidding! Congrats! Who’s the woman?”

  “I can’t say. I shouldn’t have said that much. Let’s just say I’ll be putting my talents to use and you’ll know all about it soon enough. The only question is whether I’m too close to this case to work objectively.”

  Abbi drew in her breath.

  “It wouldn’t be anyone I know,” she said with a hopeful lilt to her voice. She wanted to look down but kept her eyes intently on Lowell.

  “If so, you could call it a lucky coincidence. Me--not really into coincidence. Maybe some good spirits are working overtime, lining it all up. Been praying much?”

  “Much?! Depends on what you call ‘much’,” Abbi admitted. “Whatever you’re doing, I hope it works.”

  “It should, if Mrs. Hightower has a hand in it. OOPS! I did it again. Said too much. I wouldn’t want to be the one to upset her.”

  “With the way you’re giving away secrets, are you sure you’re the best person for this job?” Louise asked.

  “I’ve done pretty well with Fred’s Boots Incorporated, haven’t I, Weezie?”

  Abbi looked at him hard.

  “What?”

  Louise shrieked, “Great! Just tell it all!”

  “I’ll be leaving someday soon. They’re arranging my schedule now.”

  Lowell got up to leave.

  “Wait! You’ve got some talking to do. Fred’s Boots. I want to know what it is.”

  “Another time,” Lowell said. “You’ll just have to trust me. If you need me, I’ll be right there.”

  Lowell got on his bike and started peddling fast.

  “What’s he doing?” Abbi asked. She gathered up her pack and took off after him.

  Louise struggled to get out of the spiral tunnel and yelled, “Hey! Wait for me!”

  When Abbi reached the house, Lowell had already gone into the house and had begun playing the trumpet in the basement, slow and quiet at first, mostly scales. Then, after his warm-up, while Abbi was still outside, she heard the raucous sound of Dixieland jazz, Lowell’s favorite music.

  The music, or maybe what someone said, lifted her spirits.

  TEN

  Abbi walked into the mudroom and dropped her backpack on a chair in the kitchen. When everyone left, they had forgotten to turn off the radio and the D. J. said something about a dance contest. Lowell was playing his trumpet in the basement, so Abbi closed the basement door and sat close to the radio to hear more. It excited her. Dancing was her passion!

  “Have a cup o’joe with Jammin’ Jon in the morning! You dancers out there, Lip-Smackin’ Chicken has a dance contest! You’ve got three weeks to put it together and win the prize money. Get the downlow after the news or go to our website for all the fantasmic details. Maybe a chicken dance to strut your stuff? Yeah!”

  Why not? Abbi thought. I think I could win and that would give me money to find my parents.

  Louise walked in and overheard the radio announcer.

  Staying with Louise was almost like having a sister, including the occasional need for privacy. Lucky for them both, they respected each other’s space. They also appreciated each other’s company. Their many differences usually balanced them out.

  “Abbi, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  “Louise, I’ve wanted to talk to you, too!” Abbi said. “Please sit down with me a minute.”

  “What’s going on?” Louise asked, suspiciously. “Our house wasn’t broken into, was it?”

  “It looks fine to me.”

  “Thank God! So spill,” Louise said.

  “For one thing, this dance contest,” Abbi said. “What about you?”

  “Tell me about the contest first,” Louise said.

  “Let’s go up to your room. We can check out the house on the way. Lowell’s in the basement, in his own little world, so he probably hasn’t noticed if anything was wrong!”

  Louise and Abbi went through the house then upstairs to the room they shared.

  Abbi grabbed her laptop from the cluttered desk.

  Louise sat on her bottom bunk and reached for a half-empty bag of doughnuts. She offered Abbi one.

  “No, but thanks! Listen to this,” Abbi said.

  Abbi sat on the floor and pulled up the radio station’s website. Winning this dance contest would bring Abbi a cash prize. Maybe a job offer. More importantly, she could do whatever she wanted—most especially, find her parents. Now, how to convince the Pelletiers about what she needed to do.

  Even if she didn’t win this contest, dancing always helped her forget about her frustrations, kept her from getting overly angry. No one seemed to know why or how her parents went missing. If Shoe Clerk knew, he wasn’t telling. Maybe someone knew. Lowell’s behavior, and especially what he said, made her curious. She would talk with Lowell later and try to find out what Mrs. Hightower had in mind.

  Right now, Abbi wanted an ally, and if that ally came in the form of Louise Pelletier, that would be perfect.

  Abbi downloaded the contest information. Her hips began swaying to the music. When she turned it up loud enough to drown out the trumpet, she began picturing the dance. Soon her frustration was replaced with thoughts of choreography, the dance movements that might become part of the winning dance.

  “Look at this screen, Louise. The rules for the dance contest are really simple. I’ll need to send a video of the dance. That’s all. They jury the entries, and then narrow the search down to the final ten who will compete for the prize.”

  Abbi made some dance notations.
r />   “Alright, Louise, think I can dance to this?”

  She tried out some movements while Louise watched.

  “Go, Abbi!” Louise said loudly. “You have some really good moves.”

  “You like?” Abbi asked.

  Louise nodded but looked doubtful.

  “Abbi,” Louise said. “Didn’t you want to talk?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Abbi said, still dancing.

  “Your latest phone call? About your parents?” Louise asked.

  “I think something’s cooking. Don’t know what,” said Abbi. “Or maybe they’re just late.”

  “Late? Really? Abbi, people aren’t late for weeks without calling or anything.”

  Abbi could feel her nose burning. She had to get her mind off her parents. Talking about it didn’t always help. Nothing would help until she could actually DO something.

  Before she could change the topic, she quickly figured out a way she could sell the idea of entering the dance contest to the Pelletiers, not easy since a dance contest wouldn’t be “keeping a low profile”.

  “This dance contest is just three weeks away. I need to win! I need the money. There’s also a contract that comes with it if I have the winning dance. Believe that?”

  The dance contest for the huge fried chicken franchise, Lip-Smackin’ Chicken Kitchen, known as LSC Kitchen, sounded fun. Abbi needed some fun. All Abbi had to do to enter was download the music, come up with the winning dance, send in the entrance form and a video of the dance and then, if she landed an audition, make it look great, worthy of a nationwide ad campaign!

  “I have to give this a try,” Abbi said, working on a modified chicken dance.

  “Forget the contest. I’m here if you want to talk.”

  Lowell seemed to be prepping for a cross between graduation and a pep band for a basketball game. The various pieces of music he played sounded confused and raucous, particularly when Dixieland Jazz was thrown into the mix.

  Over the blaring sounds from the trumpet, Abbi said, “There’s the situation with my parents, my house was just broken into, your brother’s trumpet is on some heavy-duty steroids, and I’m hoping that when my “guardian agent” calls again, he’ll anwer my questions. Until then, I’m going to dance it off. Things seem a little crazy right now, and I don’t know what else to do. I have to clear my head and think. Fred’s Boots isn’t even in the phone book, for God’s sake! It’s not online either. What am I supposed to think? Dance with me!”

  “I can’t dance. But you know, LSC sounds good!” Louise said, closing the magazine. “LSC’s Chinese Chicken Bowl! I won’t need to cook tonight. Except maybe dessert!”

  “Come on! Dance!” Abbi pleaded.

  Louise put down the magazine and started dancing with Abbi. Her moves were fluid, actually remarkably rhythmic. Her hips swayed with the music in a way only bigger girls can do, as if her waist were a pivoting point. She watched Abbi’s not-yet-ready-for-prime-time moves.

  “We really need to talk, Abbi. Entering a dance contest, is that ‘laying low’?”

  Abbi sighed, stopped dancing, and looked around. With the growing possibility of listening devices planted around the house, talking about her parents wasn’t something she felt comfortable doing. Her parents might be in serious trouble. Were they missing? Were they dead? Again she diverted the topic to the dance contest.

  “I have to do something,” Abbi said.

  Maybe it was the physical activity allowing oxygen to reach her brain cells after the heat of the day almost melted them. Anyway, it occurred to her that the dance contest was weeks away. Abbi didn’t have that kind of time. Something was going on with her parents. They needed her NOW!

  “Remember what Mr. Agent Man had said? Stuff about ‘Lay low for a few weeks. Don’t do anything to bring attention to yourself. Your life may be in danger’,” Louise reminded her. She moved to the bed and sat down.

  Abbi remained silent.

  “OK. If you don’t want to talk, we won’t talk. But forget about the dance contest. That would only draw attention.”

  “You know what? I think you’re right, Louise! Besides, I don’t gots time for no freakin’ dance contest!”

  “I don’t gots time?”

  “That’s what I said. Life’s an adventure, not a spectator sport!” Abbi said. “You get on and ride it or you get thrown to the curb! I’m riding this baby!”

  Then she quickly spun around to look at Louise.

  “Oh, my gosh! I have to look at Mom’s stuff! What in the world was my mother into? You have to tell me, Louise! What am I up against here?”

  Louise looked like she was backed into a corner. She whispered hoarsely, “Bad stuff. Criminal investigations. It’s the work they do! Your parents. My parents, too, Abbi! It’s their way of life! Listen, for their safety, just be a spectator for once. Your parents are in way over their heads and you don’t even know it. You’re not prepared to handle it.”

  “Oh, wow! So what folder was taken? Most of Mom’s material is kept on the computer. Louise, I’ve got to get back home and get those other files printed before someone else gets to them! If they’re even still there. I can find a connection. I know it!”

  “How can you do that?”

  “I’ll have to hack into her files. I’m going alone this time,” Abbi said. She ran down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  “You can’t, Abbi!”

  Abbi felt so angry at Louise. She finally talked, but it was a little late. Abbi tried to ignore her. She also tried to ignore Lowell’s trumpet playing. It seemed the more Louise wanted to talk, the louder Lowell played his trumpet.

  Abbi grabbed her backpack to leave.

  Louise came downstairs and looked at her hard. “Before you do anything stupid, we really need to talk.”

  “Really? More? What about all those times I wanted to talk, and you just went along with Fred’s Boots? If my parents are in over their heads, then they need my help.”

  “And just what do you think you can do? You’re not prepared to take this on.”

  By now, Abbi was so angry she just had to get out of the house. She stared at Louise who was standing near her and not blinking, as if the challenge was on.

  “I’m going. I’ll be back with everything I can find that might be important.”

  “You shouldn’t go alone.”

  “You wanna come?”

  “No.”

  Abbi was upset with Louise, but decided to use her anger to make things happen. Otherwise, being upset was simply a waste of time.

  For the third time, she took her bike and made a bee-line to her house, avoiding the main streets. She cut through yards and alley ways whenever she could, sometimes passing the same people out in their yards.

  Even when people yelled for her to stop or began cursing at her, she kept going and just yelled over her shoulder, “Sorry. Emergency.”

  Within a few minutes she was back home. The first thing she did was to take a full bag of chicken feed and scatter it around the yard. She opened the pen so that the chicks could get out. “Listen, chicks, you’re on your own. Don’t go out into the street and don’t drown in the pond. Just hang out here and be good little chicks until I get back. And one more thing, if you start laying, use the nests.”

  Again, she used her passcode to get into the house, grateful that it wasn’t dark. Her mother’s office had been tampered with a little, but at least Abbi had already taken the file of drawings that was on the desk.

  Abbi quickly turned on the computer, managed to get back into the locked program, and returned to Fred’s Boots with its files. She checked the printer and added more paper.

  She looked around for a storage device. Not finding one, she remembered the secret chamber in her mother’s desk, just big enough for small items. There was a tiny lever somewhere underneath on the right side of the desk. Abbi was feeling around to find it. Farther back than she expected, she found the lever, pulled it, and watched as a little side drawer opened on th
e desk. Inside the hidden drawer were storage devices, used and labeled. To make sure she had everything, she tossed them all into the pocket of her backpack, took a new USB thumb drive and stuck it into the side of the computer.

  Then she started printing notes and reports. She saved each one on a USB thumb drive that she found in the desk drawer and put that in the pocket of her backpack when she finished.Within 15 minutes she had a stack of different documents, some just random notes. Each document got a separate manila folder. She found an empty briefcase in the closet and put the folders in it.

  Before she left, she locked the Fred’s Boots computer file and secured it with a different password. Then she erased all recent activity.

  Now she studied cabinets for documents in manila files. Nothing seemed to relate. Gas receipts. Nothing she could use. She still didn’t have a clue what the woman had taken. But one thing she felt certain of—Abbi had everything else!

  Back at the Pelletiers, Louise was standing at the back door waiting for her when Abbi pulled her bike around to the back yard. Abbi placed her bike beside the porch and slowly walked up the steps with her pack.

  “I’m sorry, Abbi. We thought this would be like other times, but it’s not.”

  “Apparently.”

  “You were right to be suspicious.”

  “Apparently.”

  Louise inhaled deeply and started talking.

  “I don’t know a lot. None of us did. Maybe you’ve figured out that my father is in the CIA, in the cyber division. He gets information but he is not like your father. Yours is a special agent, FBI. My dad never goes out into the real world. But sometimes he comes across critical info, like today. Dad just texted while you were gone. They think your mom has been kidnapped.”

  Instantly Abbi felt her knees go weak. She fell into Louise and they hugged tightly. Abbi still felt angry, but not at Louise anymore. At whatever allowed this to happen.

  ELEVEN

  The taxi driver looked at the address Tina had given him and shook his head.