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To our sisters: Nadine Johnson, Anita Sitting Up, and Audrey Sallman
Chapter One
"We don't have a minute to spare!" Delores' final words were interspersed between excited catches of breath. "You get the boarding passes. I'll go after our luggage so we'll lose no time going through customs. Meet you here!"
"Why don't we stay together?" Lennea's question seemed tossed back at her, unheard by Delores, already lost in the moving throng. She felt pangs of uneasiness as she watched Delores disappear into the stream of steadily moving people at the Mexico City airport—disappear with a flare, swirling skirt and rapid steps on spike heels.
Minutes later, boarding passes in hand, Lennea waited anxiously for Delores. If she didn't return soon they would miss their flight on to Merida! As time passed, Lennea felt more and more lost and alone. People, so foreign to her, hurried by, taking no time for curious glances at her youth or blondness. The sound of Spanish all around her intensified her sense of isolation.
Lennea could afford to wait no longer. Not if they were going to make that flight. Pressured by the rapidly changing clock, she began to walk in the direction her friend had taken, hunting for the luggage drop-off, straining her eyes for a glimpse of wavy black hair and dangling red scarf.
Not until she spotted their luggage circling upon the huge conveyor belt did she fully realized Delores had failed to reach her destination. What could have happened to her? Delores couldn't have just vanished in the length of a building!
Lennea returned to the Aeromexico desk and struggled to make the clerk understand that she wanted Delores paged. She was beginning to wonder what she would do if Delores didn't show up at all. Nothing about Delores was ever quite solid or dependable, but surely even Delores wouldn't just abandon Lennea here without a word!
Lennea's uneasiness increased. Delores might have become ill from the stale sandwich she had bolted down in Dallas. Ugly visions arose in Lennea's mind—Delores, lying in an ambulance speeding toward some hospital; Delores, abducted by some maniac. The latter vision had more credibility. Delores' bold and striking appearance drew attention wherever she went. And she had a tendency to chat with everyone. Some degenerate might certainly become enamored with her and mistake her natural friendliness for invitation.
"Are you the one who paged Delores Camille?"
Startled by the deep, resonant voice, Lennea turned to face a very handsome man who looked as if he belonged to Spanish nobility. She noticed first the lips that had formed the words, full, aristocratic lips, tightened now at the edges with impatience or lingering anger.
"Delores was supposed to have met me here."
Lennea regarded the dark-haired man in his tan suit first with curiosity, then with suspicion. His eyes, black as obsidian, intensely dedicated themselves to the moment, so that no detail seemed to escape him. Their great depth reflected some of Lennea's own questions as well as her reservations.
On the flight from Dallas, Delores had gone over the plans she had made with Lennea. They were to spend the night in Maid, then contact Wesley Hern the following morning. Delores had not said anything about another person joining them in Mexico City. Her not mentioning either one of them to the other loomed over them both as incredulous, as a very baffling mystery.
"Delores didn't tell me we were meeting anyone here at the airport. I'm Lennea Andrews." She tried to sound matter-of-fact. "Wesley Hern's new assistant."
"So the genius has gotten himself an assistant!" A thin, black eyebrow raised; a strong hand tightened into hers with an exciting warmth. "I'm Joseph Darrigo."
His sardonic reference to Wesley caused Lennea to feel a sudden coolness toward him, despite the warm handshake. "Do you know Dr. Hern?"
"Hern and I have crossed paths many times. I work for the Museum of Anthropology here in Mexico City. Hern allows me to hover around the edges of his projects." The warm smile of a moment ago grew wry.
Another associate jealous of Wesley's talents. So many of them were! Following the example set by her Swedish father, Lennea hastily arranged a proverb for the occasion. "A great man is not often honored by those around him."
"Great men," Joseph accepted her challenge, "more often than not turn out to be great disappointments." Dark eyes left her face to scan the crowd. "Now, what do you think has detained Delores?"
Relief at having a companion to share her worries overcame her instinctive dislike of Joseph for criticizing Wesley Hern. She found herself pouring out to him the complete story of Delores' separation from her and hinted to him of her fears.
"Let's go back to the luggage drop-off."
More time must have elapsed than Lennea had realized. Only two suitcases remained, slowly whirling on the great moving strip. Delores' smart new case, that Joseph so easily lifted from the ramp, intensified the fact of Delores' absence. Lennea set the battered suitcase she had borrowed from her sister Val beside Delores' maroon one and gazed down the hallway to a series of arrows leading to a large room with long tables where luggage was being checked. Lennea had counted on Delores being with her when she went through customs. She felt a dread of the very stern and formal officer, who she would not be able to understand.
Joseph lifted Delores' suitcase. "Are you going through customs with me?" she asked, relieved and a little surprised.
"I'll try to pull it off," he said with a smile. "I'll tell the inspector I wear all of these bright, frilly things in the evenings."
Joseph's laughter joining hers made Lennea feel less anxious.
She noticed he established rapport with the customs inspector as easily as he had with her. Soon they were speaking rapidly back and forth.
"Did you explain about Delores?"
"I told him both suitcases are yours."
With only a perfunctory glance at the contents of Lennea's bag, the examiner turned full attention to Delores' expensive suitcase. Hastily he ruffled through the reds, yellows, and scarlet of Delores' bright wardrobe.
"Que es esto?" Frowning, he bent close to examine—Lennea couldn't tell what—some object at the bottom of the case.
Joseph said something again in Spanish.
A vision of little white pills Delores often took to keep her alert during exam time made Lennea's heart pound against her chest. Is that what he had found? With her pitifully limited Spanish vocabulary, she would never be able to explain!
Almost as a distraction, Joseph lifted a big, flowered cosmetic bag from Delores' case, exclaiming, "Why do women need all this makeup?"
The frowning inspector looked up suspiciously, but he smiled when Joseph translated the words into Spanish. Still, he took the cosmetic bag from Joseph, and with sharp-eyed intent, poked a finger around the lipsticks, mascaras, bottles of cream and perfume. Lennea's breath caught in her throat. Time stopped for her as he asked Joseph several more questions. At last he closed the case and motioned for them to move on down the line.
"I told you I'd get your smuggled good safely across," Joseph said with a quick flash of very white teeth.
"Where is your luggage?"
"On the plane. We might still catch our flight. Let's see if Delores is waiting for us at the boarding gate."
"Let me take one of those cases."
"You have enough with that—do you call that monstrosity a purse?" He referred to the oversized canvas bag she had bought especially for the trip. Lennea's arm ached from the weight it and the length of time the strap had been around her shoulder.
"It's a flight bag." Inside was a disorganized lot of last-minute items, along with some books and papers she had brought along for Wesley Hern.
The
intercom barked out another message in rapid Spanish. "They're still calling our 8:45 flight," Joseph interpreted. "We must hurry!" Now feeling she would be lost without him, Lennea rushed to keep up with his increased speed as they swerved through the maze of people.
When they reached the boarding gate, Delores was nowhere in sight. Lennea glanced out at the silver plane silhouetted against the darkening sky. The gate keeper, concerned about their lateness, gestured for them to board.
She had hoped, somehow expected, to find Delores waiting here, all smiles and quips. Bewilderment at the empty reception rushed over her. "What shall we do now?"
"Why don't you go on," he said, urging her forward. "I'll wait here tonight. If there's no word of Delores by morning, then I'll take all possible steps to find her."
Lennea had no thought of deserting Delores or leaving her fate in the hands of a stranger, one who may or may not be Joseph Darrigo from the National Museum of Anthropology. "I'll stay with you." Wariness of Joseph sprang from nothing he had said or done, only from Delores' omission. Somewhere in Delores' constant chatter Joseph's name was certain to have surfaced. Unless... Warnings of Joseph, of the entire situation, flashed before her mind. Something was terribly wrong!
Joseph didn't pressure her to leave. All he said was, "Your last chance," and the two of them moved to stand by the huge glass that looked out into the airstrip. They remained there until they watched the plane the three of them were to have boarded grow smaller and smaller until it became a spot among clouds.
They lugged the heavy bags back to the main terminal. "I'll stay with the luggage if you want to look for Delores."
Lennea had expected Joseph to suggest the exact opposite. For some absurd reason she felt reluctant to leave Joseph with their luggage. He had been so protective, so gallant, she felt a little ashamed of her suspicions of him. After all, how likely was it that he would want to run off with the assortment of things Delores and she had brought from the States?
"Obviously I can't be admitted to the ladies' lounge. She might be in one of them if she became ill."
In spite of his persuasiveness, Lennea again declined.
"Then I'll go first." Joseph started away, but turned back to smile, to call, "Now don't you disappear, too!"
If only Wesley had met them here! Wesley she could trust. He would know exactly what to do! Dr. Wesley Hern—Lennea worshipped him. She still felt dazed when she realized that he had selected her application to be his assistant above all those more qualified graduate students. Most of Lennea's studies had been about the North America Indians. That, combined with her limited knowledge of Spanish, made his choosing of her little short of a miracle.
Lennea knew she had Delores to thank for the chance of spending the summer in the Yucatan as Wesley's assistant. Delores, his personal secretary, and she were to work with Wesley at the new archaeological excavation site of Tikom. The professor was busy uncovering evidence to support his theory of why the Maya Indians abandoned their great pyramids for his new book, Wrought in Stone. Not for love of Maya Indians had Lennea accepted this position. What Lennea knew about the Mayas she had learned only from Wesley's classes and her texts. She shrank from the idea of barbaric, blood-dripping sacrifices, which was all that ever really came to mind when she thought about them. But to be near Wesley Hern, to in some small way assist him—that was her personal idea of heaven!
She wished again that Wesley was here with her now instead of the stranger, Joseph Darrigo. She longed for Wesley's calmness, his cool, objective intelligence. But Wesley wasn't here and wasn't going to be here. Lennea alone must take full responsibility for Delores' safety.
Lennea grew impatient waiting. She placed the suitcases under the seats and began skirting the nearby area for Delores. After checking the restroom, she paced up and down the crowded corridors, looking into souvenir stores, snack bars and money exchanges.
She wandered until she grew weary of her futile search and started back to where she had left the luggage. Not far behind a middle-aged man abruptly stopped walking. Something about his guarded manner caught her attention. With a sense of shock she met the glance he cast from the corner of his eye. He looked exactly like the Mayas pictured in the books in her bag—the same short stoutness, the same large head with generous, jutting nose and huge eyes, marked by heavy-lidded concentration.
Deliberately she passed close by him and continued walking toward the suitcases. She forced herself not to glance back. She stopped finally beside a window and looked out at the lights of the airstrip, hazy in the moist air.
The Mayan had followed her. He stopped across the aisle. Lennea felt his surreptitious watch and a shiver of fear made her legs weaken. How long had he been following her? Why was he spying on her?
She tried calmly to decide what to do. However much she wanted to confront him, it would do no good. It would be wiser pretend she did not know of his existence. She moved slowly away from him into the crowd. Whatever had happened to Delores was linked somehow with this evil-eyed stranger. She began walking faster, darting around travelers and suitcases and coming face to face with Joseph.
"Have you found Delores?"
In the safety of his grasp, she took a long look back. The Mayan was nowhere in sight.
Joseph's dark eyes, concerned, worried, gazed in the direction she looked. "What's wrong, Lennea?"
Lennea felt exhausted, unsure of herself. Because of her tiredness, normal occurrences were probably being distorted. "I'm glad to find you," she said. "Can you help me put a call through to Wesley Hern?" She searched through her bag as she spoke to him. "He'll know exactly what to do."
A shadow darkened Joseph's face. "The only thing we can do is wait and see if Delores does show up," he said. "She's certain to contact you."
It was plain that he didn't want her to call Wesley. She thought again of the slight traces of anger on Joseph's face when she had first met him, anger so soon replaced with charm and solicitude. Even in his banter she had sensed some undercurrent. Once more that uneasy feeling, that sense of warning, pervaded her consciousness.
Who was Joseph Darrigo? Was the Mayan working with him? To do what? Through her lashes, she gave him a sidelong glance as they moved toward the telephone booth. Even the way he walked, the set of his straight shoulders, confined by tan suit, commanded authority.
Joseph talked to someone on the phone in fluent Spanish which changed without a pause into fluent English. "Hern? This is Joseph Darrigo. We've run into some problems here at the airport. Lennea wants to talk to you."
Lennea accepted the receiver, wishing Joseph would go back to the chairs and wait. He stayed where he was, so close that she was made uneasy by his nearness.
Lennea explained to Wesley about Delores' disappearance. Dangerously close to tears, she included the fact that many hours had passed.
A long hesitation followed on the other end of the line. "Delores is unpredictable," Wesley said. "You of all people should know that."
"Delores wouldn't just leave. Not without her suitcase. Not without saying anything."
Another hesitation, longer this time. "Why don't you just leave a message for her and continue on to Merida? Delores will show up. She knows how to take care of herself."
Lennea replaced the receiver, feeling disappointed, feeling left alone to deal with Delores' disappearance. No doubt Wesley was unable to imagine peppery, over-confident Delores as a potential victim. He couldn't visualize her as Lennea saw her—a beautiful young woman, lost through mysterious circumstances, by herself in a huge, foreign metropolis.
"What does Hern suggest?"
"That we leave a message and go on."
"Is that what you want to do?"
"No," Lennea answered. "Let's wait through the night." The enormous airport terminal did not stop its perpetual motion, but did slow down as the hour grew later. Lennea watched for Delores, for the Mayan man, with weariness increasing as time passed. Often Joseph left her to prowl about the station,
returning with cups of steaming coffee or some snack that was to ease the burden of wait and worry.
On one such absence, Lennea fell asleep, her thoughts drifting as they usually did to Wesley. She imagined them alone in the steamy jungles of the Yucatan. Wesley wore khaki clothing, casual clothes that in actuality he would never, ever wear. He held her close against him, something he had never done, and he was whispering, "Lennea, Darling, I love you so!"
Lennea awoke with a start. At first she believed she really was in Wesley's arms. Her head remained contentedly against his shoulder, and an arm rose sleepily for an expected embrace. She felt the pressure of a hand against her long blonde hair, fingers entwining loose strands in a gentle, comforting grasp.
"You were sleeping so peacefully," Joseph's voice was as soothing as his touch had been. "Come with me. Let's take another look around."
"You go on." As her eyes followed Joseph's quick departure, she wondered why she hadn't just gone home for the summer. Scandia, Kansas, so peaceful—none of the fears there she was feeling now. The only hassle would be the bachelor farmers her sister Val continued to place opposite her at the dinner table. As close as Val and she were, she could not admit to her sister that all those things that made Val so happy were not for her—the garden, the clubs and picnics, the four children and one on the way.
Dad, of course, opposed archaeology, anthropology, and Wesley Hern, who he had never met. He, along with Val, wondered why his twenty-four-year-old daughter couldn't cook a decent meal and why she wasn't content to settle down, marry, and become a part of the close-knit Swedish community.
Joseph had stopped to speak with the man at the desk. Intense words of Spanish passed between them. As Joseph turned, dark eyes seeking for her, she understood that he had some information about Delores and hurried to meet him.
"Delores called and left a message for us to go on to Merida," Joseph said.
Path of the Jaguar Page 1
