“You manipulated Quint, knowing he’d want to help me however possible.”
“I didn’t …” Her dad started to argue, but then stopped. After a few more steps along the road, he sighed. “You’re right,gatita. I was wrong to push him and was not thinking rationally at the time. I’m sorry, Quint.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I’m a big boy. I could have walked away.”
“Dad, I’m more concerned with thewhypart than right or wrong here. It’s not like you to charge forth—that’s my approach. Typically, in these circumstances, you’re the one holding me back.”
Angélica led them off thesacbeonto the trail leading the short distance to camp.
“I don’t know why,gatita,” her dad said as they shifted to single-file mode with him trailing behind her and Quint bringing up the rear. “I just really wanted that slab moved.” He yawned. “The ghosts of the Maya ancestors must have been whispering in my ear to let them fly free.”
Or the ghosts had a message for one of the Underworld’s good demons and didn’t want to wait another day to deliver it.
Angélica glanced over her shoulder at Quint. He stared back at her, a frown lining his face. She couldn’t tell if he was sharing her worries about what the hell was going on under the surface at thesite or was just hot and tired from another long, hard day of jungle clearing.
Her father, on the other hand, was visibly worn out. Rather than prod him anymore about the “why” behind his actions, she switched to a more productive subject. “What sort of stabilizing supplies do we need to take to the mound tomorrow in order to further investigate and possibly excavate?”
Her father started listing off some possibilities for ways to make the entrance more sturdy as they weaved along the tree-lined path toward camp.
Quint remained quiet for the short remainder of the walk, his brow continually furrowed.
Back at camp, they split up. Her father headed for the mess tent for a cup of coffee. Quint followed, wanting to refill his canteen.
Angélica made a beeline for their tent to grab some clean clothes and supplies, then she hurried to the makeshift camp shower. She wanted to wash off the day’s sweat and dirt before enjoying what smelled like barbecued chicken covered in achiote paste. Her stomach growled as she rinsed off the result of her struggles inside the curtained shower tent. She hoped her sniffer was right, because María’spollo pibilwas one of her favorite Maya dishes.
It was dark by the time she was mostly dried—one never fully aired out in the jungle at this time of year. Dressed in the lightweight linen shirt and matching pants that she preferred while resting back in camp, she started toward her tent to drop off her dirty clothes.
Midway there, as she skirted the communications tent, she glanced over to where Teodoro had a fire going in the pit. Along with the wood smoke, she could smell the citrusy scent of the citronella oil he used to help keep mosquitoes and other bugs away from the camp.
The sight of Daisy standing next to the fire with her hands held palms out toward the flames slowed Angélica in her tracks.
What was she doing? It was still plenty hot out. The fire’s main purpose was bug control, not warmth.
Angélica switched tracks and walked toward Daisy. As she neared, she expected the older woman to turn and greet her, but Daisy continued to stare down at the flames, her fingers spread wide over them.
“Daisy?” Angélica stopped a short distance away to avoid the heat. “What’s going on? You need some marshmallows?”
“No,Pik,” Daisy said without looking up.
Angélica’s breath caught.
Pik?As in the Mayan word for bedbug? The nickname her mom had used ever since Angélica would climb into her parents’ bed in the middle of the night?
No, she must have heard her wrong.
Angélica eased closer to the popping flames, noticing the goosebumps on Daisy’s forearms in the firelight. “Are you okay, Daisy?”
The other woman continued to hold her hands out to the fire, flexing her fingers slightly in the flickering light. “It is always cold here,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible above the chirps and trills coming from the surrounding trees. “I miss the warmth of a fire,Pik.”
Angélica’s heart went into hopscotch mode, skipping about erratically. Her fingertips tingled as she reached up to touch the heart locket on her necklace.
“Mom?” she whispered. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it is I,” Daisy said, her voice deep and scratchy, edging on eerie. “Your long-dead mother.”
Angélica frowned at Daisy’s profile. “If you’re Marianne García, why are you talking like that?”
If this was some kind of practical joke, it wasn’t funny, especially after the long, exhausting day she’d had and her worries after KuTu’s warning about those damned vultures.
