Path of the Jaguar

by Vickie Britton

  Her eyes traveled over the entire area of her room, orderly, except for the desk where she had worked gluing the statue. Upon her bed, smooth and neat, as she had left it, lay a sheet of tablet paper, weighted down by a silver charm bracelet. She read the black capitals before she reached the typed note: BRING THE MONEY TO THE WELL OR DELORES WILL DIE.

  No time limit, no instructions, only a one-line, ominous threat. Charms tinkled as Lennea grasped the loop of chain and inspected the silver ornaments. Without doubt, this was Delores' bracelet, the one Lennea had purchased for her. Delores had been delighted with each trinket, the star, the tiny sea horse.

  Lennea's worst fears for Delores had materialized! Delores—deeply involved with dangerous people— Delores, impulsively mixed up in some easy-money scheme— Delores, if Lennea made the wrong decision—dead!

  Distrust of Delores washed over her. Was Delores really in danger, or was this just another of her lies? Had Delores herself written the note, a trick to force Lennea to turn over the money? The scheme possessed Delores' bold flare. But even if it were genuine—Delores had brought it all on herself—could Lennea really be expected to risk her own life delivering the money to the well?

  Lennea's fingers clamped over the fragile bracelet. Her eyes fell to the floor, where Goldie had lain covered with blood. If Wesley were right and someone were stealing artifacts and smuggling them across the boarder, then Wesley himself was the one of them certain not to be implicated. She could return to him with the note. But Wesley was in no condition to help her, he would be able to do nothing except involve the police—Carlos Alfonso, and that to Lennea would be a wrong step. Whatever sort of illegal dealing was taking place, anyone could be a part of it, any number of people could be a part of it.

  She even thought of trusting Sid. Then she visualized Sid at the well, sharp eyes scrutinizing each new find. Such an elegant man, such a grand display of wealth, but she had heard the stories about his secret financial difficulties. An empty room at the Hotel Guerrero would be an excellent front for concealing stolen artifacts and accepting illegal payment.

  Joseph! She glanced at the jaguar ring she had not taken off since he had slipped it on her finger. No, she must go alone.

  She stuffed the note and the charm bracelet in her pocket and headed toward the money she had hidden at the ruins. Lennea hesitated for a long time in front of Frank's work shed, staring at the padlocked door, then she moved on, stopping a final time to look back —only the placid hacienda in hazy sunlight.

  Not looking around again, she set a rapid pace. Imaginary faces, the Mayan spy, watched from tangles of jungle growth. She kept her eyes locked to the path ahead, afraid if she glanced either right or left, she would lose her nerve.

  Sunlight filtered through the thick foliage and spilled a diamond pattern across the bare ground, like the design of some deadly, tropical snake. She listened with intent, but heard only the sounds of her own steps.

  At the first glimpse of the ruins, she stopped to slow her ragged breathing. She hadn't been here since the night of her walk with Joseph. Possibly she would find only an empty hiding place.

  Lennea cut across the open area toward the jaguar stone. She must finish the task quickly and get the money to the well! She pried on the stone with nervous fingers. The stone loosened and revealed the plastic pillowcase stuffed, as she had left it, with bills. As she worked the case loose from its tight hiding place, the stone jaguar's bared fangs seemed to snarl at her.

  Clutching the money, Lennea fled back down the path. Her mind worked with more speed than her steps. Since she had talked to Wesley, she had been going over and over bits of information. Each incident she thought of now led her to the same conclusion. By the time she had arrived at the jeep—Frank always left his keys in the ignition— she was certain she knew who would be waiting for her at the well.

  Lennea parked the jeep as near to Wesley's pool as she could, but still a long, hard walk awaited her. Before entering the deep shade, she hesitated, trying to locate some follower in the quiet, emptiness surrounding her.

  Drop off the money, and return to the jeep, she told herself. Don't try to catch him, to confront him. That would be suicide! The stifling heat made it impossible to think clearly, impossible to breathe normally.

  The note had been left in her room while she was talking to Wesley. The writer of the note would be here now, concealed, waiting to see where she put the money.

  Wesley's well was deserted. The diving equipment had been removed; the floating dock taken away. Lennea, holding her breath, drew close to the pool's edge, close enough to glimpse the sheer drop of cliff, the silent, green water.

  With haste, she placed the plastic case in plain sight on a rocky ledge, and backed away. With the same speed, she turned back to the path she had taken. Her steps continued quickly until she was out of sight of the well and for a hundred paces beyond that, then she ducked into the trees and slowly, quietly, wound her way back to the well.

  She waited in a safe, hidden spot where she could see the bag of money. Intense heat settled over everything, made the image of the pillowcase that her eyes never left appear to blur and shift. Torturous waiting. No one appeared. Her thoughts begin to lose their rigidity. She thought of Joseph and how happy they had been diving into this pool. How handsome he had looked drenched with water, laughing and sharing with her his finds.

  She thought of Joseph and she touring Chicken Itza—of Chac, the rain god. She felt layers of sadness, thick, like the heat, a kinship with all the ignorant, misguided souls who had worshipped Chac. What do you do when your gods lay toppled and broken upon the ground? Joseph, her thoughts addressed him, "I've learned more from the Mayas than you think!"

  A sudden sound brought back into focus the pool. Her cramped muscles stiffened as she heard someone approaching. Not the person she had expected! Anger mingled with dismay as a familiar figure came into full view. Lennea waited until Delores started to reach for the pillowcase before she stepped out to confront her.

  "Delores!"

  Startled at the sound of her name, Delores yanked the money from the rock and whirled around. Damp, black hair was pulled back, making her features sharp and long, and adding a dimension of desperation to her face. Her eyes were opaque and dangerously still, like the water of Wesley's pool.

  "Thank God it's you!"

  "I thought you'd be back in the States like we agreed."

  "I was afraid to get on the plane."

  "Why didn't you tell me everything? Why did you make up that lie about Joseph threatening you at the airport?" "Oh, you're so smart. I knew you'd figure it out!"

  Delores whirled and started away.

  "You're not leaving until you explain what all of this is about!"

  "I don't have time to talk to you, Lennea! I never lied to you about one thing: I am in danger! I had to write that note to you! If I don't turn over this money to him, he'll kill me!"

  "You don't intend to turn over the money to anyone. I know who you're working with and who you're double-crossing!"

  "I don't have just one partner, Miss Know-It-All, I have two! And the second one is crazier than the first!"

  "Who is it?" Lennea asked calmly. "Sid?"

  Delores tossed back her head. "Sid, the incorruptible!" she laughed hatefully. "You know better than that!"

  Lennea's lips could not form Joseph's name. Instead, she spoke with great force. "Give me the money! I'm going to take it to the police!"

  "This money is mine! I worked hard for it!"

  Lennea tried to force the bag from Delores' grasp, but she held on with frantic grip. They struggled. The plastic case stretched and strained.

  "Let go! I'll swear, I'll hurt you, like I did Goldie!"

  Anger increased Lennea's strength. Delores' hand clawed Lennea's face. Blood trickled down Lennea's cheek to the corner of her mouth, but her hold on the pillowcase became more determined.

  Delores released her hold on the bag so quickly that Lenne
a was almost thrown backward. Now in sole possession of the money, she gaped at Delores in disbelief.

  Delores' hair, undone in the struggle, hung wild and disheveled around her face. Her terrible dark eyes stared past Lennea at someone who must have appeared behind them on the trail. A cry emitted from her lips, a shriek of pain and terror.

  For a moment Delores appeared frozen, unable to move, then she collected herself, turned and fled off into the jungle. Lennea, stunned, but still with tight hold on the money, watched Delores disappear into the trees.

  Lennea felt the skin prickle at the base of her neck. She knew who stood behind her on the trail. Now, alone, she must face him, and she steeled herself.

  Once Lennea realized someone was stealing artifacts, she knew Frank LaTilla was involved. She actually pieced everything together as she passed Frank's work shed on the way to the ruins —the shed where he did his pitiful carvings, the coverup for his illegal dealings. She had thought of the diving equipment, the many crates. Robbing the treasures of the ruins was how he managed to live so well in Mexico.

  Frank had needed a partner who could do the smuggling, who had contact with Mayan art collectors. Who was better qualified than Wesley Hern's secretary? She thought about Frank's anxiousness to get the map of Tikom, his interest in Wesley's affairs. Delores had fled from Lennea that time in Merida, not because she was afraid of Lennea, but because she was afraid of the man who accompanied her—Frank! As a final assurance, Lennea remembered how Frank had unexpectedly appeared at Tikom the day Wesley had first showed her the well. He must have followed them to the well, tracked their steps.

  Lennea turned slowly toward him. Frank looked almost the same, a little dazed, slightly ridiculous in khaki shirt and safari hat. But his eyes were not dull, but brightly cruel. "Give the money to me!" His voice cut into the stillness, curtly, impatiently, the way it had sounded when he talked to Rico's father at his farm.

  "She nearly killed Goldie!" He almost sobbed as he brought a hand up to his fleshy face. "My innocent little girl, she almost killed her! Damn her! I'll catch her and when I do..."

  "Delores said she was trying to get the money to give to you. That she had never double-crossed you, but you wouldn't believe her." As Lennea talked, she stepped away from him, thinking she, too, might run, the way Delores had.

  Frank was much faster than she expected him to be. He lunged forward, his hand barely missing the case filled with cash. She could hear his panting breath and feel it hot upon her face.

  He looked cornered. He must protect himself, his lifestyle, Goldie!

  Frank was so close to her she could see the mottled cheeks, splotched with pink. Sweat ran in rivulets down his forehead. Beefy fingers reached for the money she held.

  Lennea jerked it away. Impulsively she flung it into the sacred well. Both of them, without motion, listened to the sucking plunge as it hit the distant water.

  Rage leapt into Frank's eyes. She tried to sidestep, to escape, but strong hands locked on her. He thrust her backward. She felt herself losing her balance, falling, like a weightless rag doll over the cliff. Falling! Falling! Into green, bottomless water!

  Water plunged over her head. She went downward with such force she thought she would never again see the top of the pool. Is this how they had felt, the Indians that had been sacrificed here?

  She came to the top, sputtering, choking, unable to catch any breath of air, then went under again. Arms and legs that didn't seem to belong to her struggled in panic, wild with frightened motions.

  Suddenly, from the top of the cliff, a shout, "Don't fight, Lennea! Listen to me! You must relax and float!"

  Was Frank now trying to save her? It wasn't Frank she saw as she responded to the words, as she turned on her back and looked straight up the steep, rock wall.

  "Lennea!" Joseph cried. "Keep very calm. You'll be all right until I get back. There's a rope in the jeep. I'm going after it!"

  After the stirring of branches, empty, fearful silence followed. Joseph had vanished from her sight. Or had he ever been there in the first place? Had she imagined his face peering down at her, his voice, reassuring her?

  Place of death! How many helpless victims had been tossed over the cliff? How many had desperately kept trying to live, in the end, to sink into horrible depths and die?

  She kept choking. She had gasped so much of the murky water into her lungs! Joseph, please be real! Please, come back! Please hurry!

  Disillusioned by Wesley, used by Delores, deceived by Frank LaTilla, why should she suppose Joseph would not betray her, too? She had been so sure all along Joseph was involved. If he were, then to save her would be to jeopardize himself. Delores, Frank LaTilla, and Joseph! Trio of conspirators! Plotters! At least she wasn't going to die trusting him, blindly believing in another human being!

  In terror she felt herself sinking. She began thrashing about, water filling her nose and mouth. Relax! She heard Joseph's voice again, even looked for him among the vines and rocks. "Float, Lennea!" She ceased struggling. The water held her up. She stared up at the jungle; the brilliant sun glared down at her. The water, soft against her back, was like her bed back home. She closed her eyes and listened for Mom and Dad downstairs. They always rose so early. Dad, she saw him standing close to the stove fussing with the coffee pot, dumping grounds into boiling water; Mom, wishing he were out of the way so she could begin frying hotcakes.

  Soon her sister Val would arrive, organizing, planning a picnic, a shopping trip, a day at the fair. Val, never quite understanding Lennea, but loving her all the same. Val, yes, Val, would miss her most.

  Lennea felt weariness . She was so very tired. The thought of water closing over her didn't seem quite so terrible. She had already gone underwater twice. Wasn't the third time to mean death?

  Weakly, she began making efforts to swim, her mind resisting the gradual submission of her defeated body.

  She thought of Joseph at the airport, of Joseph beside her on the carriage. He rose before her, now, in his wet suit, black hair glistening against the sun. He lifted her into his arms and kissed her. Tears filled her eyes. "Joseph!" She said the words aloud. "I love you!"

  "Lennea! Grab the rope! Try to place the loop around you!"

  Something coiled out in front of her, as if ready to strike. It looked like a snake.

  "Lennea!"

  She couldn't reach it. Once again she tasted brackish water, once more felt her heavy body slipping downward. She was submerging into that awful black hole, from which she would not return. It didn't matter as much, now. Now that she knew Joseph had returned for her!

  Vague impressions! A dark figure climbing down a rope, descending agilely from cliff to water. Hands caught her, tied the rope securely to her waist. The same muscular form braced against rock, half-walking, half-pulling himself back up the cliff's side. Lennea felt her body being inched upward along the treacherous wall. Arms reached out, pulling her over the ledge. Awareness of Joseph and she, both soaking wet, sprawled on the ground, locked in each others' arms!

  "How did you find me?"

  "I saw the jeep and thought you'd be here."

  "All the money everyone's been looking for," she said, choking again, "is in a bag at the bottom of the pool!"

  "Don't worry about it," said Joseph. "Don't worry about anything!"

  The money was safe! She was safe! She could rest now. Or was she still dreaming? Still floating in the dark pool? Lennea's eyes closed to blessed, blessed darkness.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lennea spent the night in the hospital. Very early in the morning Sid came into the room, smiling gratefully. "Dr. Lopez says there's no reason to keep you."

  "Where's Joseph?"

  "Joseph told me to take care of you, so I recommend Hotel Guerrero and the splendid breakfast Mother has waiting for us."

  On the way to the hotel, Sid said, "Delores and Frank have both been picked up by the police. Mother and Dad went out after Goldie la
st night. Poor Goldie! I know just what a shock this is to her! I can hardly believe it myself! And to top it off, they say still another person is involved!"

  No doubt Joseph had the money in his possession. By now he would be safely out of Mexico. At least he wasn't like Frank and Delores, Lennea thought. He had cared enough about her to save her life. Part of her hoped sincerely that he would escape.

  The three Guerreros and Lennea lingered long after their breakfast feast of omelets and hotcakes, spread with Neysa's homemade jelly.

  "After each meal my Swedish Grandfather would make us shake hands with Grandma and him and say 'Tack for maten!' I'd like to say it to you now. Thanks very much for the wonderful food! Thanks for all you've done for me. You've been such wonderful friends."

  Sid winked. "I would rather have a kiss than a handshake."

  "Half-Mayan, half-Latin lover," Neysa observed. "But, Sid, remember, Lennea's kisses are for Joseph!"

  During the meal the Guerreros had talked in length about the crime, about Delores and Frank, but they had not once mentioned the money. That must be because they knew nothing of its existence. The last words she had spoken to Joseph, Lennea now recalled, had been to tell him the whereabouts of the money.

  Sid gave Lennea the key to the same room she had occupied before, but not anxious to confront the memories there, Lennea wandered toward the statue of the jaguar, set in its hollow near the dining room. She lingered, studying the detailed etchings on the glossy black onyx. She was not aware at once that someone was watching her. The sight of the short Mayan—he had spied on her in this very area—caused her to gasp.

  Deep lines formed between large eyes as he spoke, "I'm looking for Joseph Darrigo."

  "You're always looking for someone," Lennea replied. She could not read the thoughts behind the stare, except to note a challenging hardness.