She shrugged. “My brain says no, but my gut says to act fast before this place crashes down around us.”
“You mean this building?”
“I mean this site.” Her frown added to the doom and gloom of her statement.
Okay, that was definitely Daisy 8-Ball kooky. Had she experienced some kind of premonition? Or was she channeling Marianne and delivering a prophetic warning from the spectral world?
He tried to read if anyone else was hiding behind her blue eyes, but he was no seer of ghosts—well, except for Angélica’s mom when she wanted to be seen, of course.
Daisy blinked and smiled, her usual sunshiny-ness back on the surface. “Are you done taking pictures?”
“Almost. Can you switch places with me and try to shine the light on the top of the shells?”
They carefully traded sides and he returned to snapping pictures. After about twenty shots, he lowered his camera and said, “It almost looks like someone placed those two shells in there purposely to protect them from the weather.”
“I thought the same thing.”
“Why would they have shell trumpets here?” he asked.
He was curious to hear if she shared his theory of them being like bugles, here to blow if prisoners were trying to escape. A way to alert the guards throughout the site.
“I’m not sure. This seemed to be like the caches—a collection of one particular set of objects rather than a variety of pieces all placed together for a reason, like ceramic vessels and carved jade idols in a burial site.” She picked up a fragment of white shell, turning it over before returning it to its original spot. “The shells were probably sitting on a shelf made of wood that disintegrated over time. I’m just amazed these two survived with the glyphs intact. Dr. García will probably have us collect these other fragments so volunteer grad students can try to put the other conch shells back together at the lab. Unfortunately, the weather has really wreaked havoc on the pieces.”
Quint looked around at the bits and pieces. “Do you want me to take pictures of the shell fragments, too?”
“It probably wouldn’t hurt.”
“Here she comes,” Pedro called from his stance at the wall. He leaned over the edge again. “Up here,mi angelita.”
“What in the hell are you doing up there?” Angélica shouted. “That place could collapse any minute.”
Pedro raised the conch-shell trumpet. “I had to get up high for you to hear me blow this.”
What sounded like a scoff came from below. “You think you’re some kind of medieval herald?”
He laughed. “If by ‘herald,’ you mean a handsome knight, then yes.”
“Where did you find that conch-shell trumpet?”
Quint grinned as he started snapping pictures of what remained of the other shells. Of course Angélica would know what that shell was upon sight, even from a distance. She probably knew what it was by sound alone.
“Come up here and I’ll show you,” Pedro shot back.
“Is Parker up there, too?”
“Yes,” Quint called out while continuing to take pictures.
“So am I,” Daisy hollered.
A string of curses came from the boss, followed by, “I can’t believe you blew in the shell, Pedro. That piece should be in a museum, and you put your grubby lips on it.”
Pedro made kissing sounds. “My lips are not grubby, just a little dusty. Come here, Blue Bunyan,” he called to Quint. “Let me kiss you so you can tell her how sweet my lips are.”
“No can do, flyboy.” Quint picked up a fragment and took a picture of the front side and the back, even though he couldn’t see any markings on either side. “You’re not touching me with those lips after blowing on that shell.”
“You know you’re supposed to leave any finds in situ so we can analyze the surrounding situation,” Angélica said.
Ha! Quint had been right on the in-situ part. Now to see if she continued down the level-headed path and made them come down and wait for her dad to ensure this building was safe before any field work continued. That reminded him … He took several shots of the crumbling walls, what remained of them, anyway, along with some photos of the floor. Juan might want to see them for structural analysis purposes.
