“It’s kind of you to offer,” she said. “If you hear any rumors about the theft of the stones, let me know. I’m looking for any and all clues. But enough of my problems, tell me about the clinic. When will it open?”
“We’re open now,” he said. “There’s a nurse who’s already overwhelmed with the demand. She does what she can while we look for a full time doctor. Do you know any physician who’d like to work here? We had one lined up, but he was lured away to a more lucrative situation.”
She tilted her head, maybe thinking over possibilities. “I don’t know anyone off hand, but I’ll contact some of my friends and get back to you. Now I must be going. I start early in the morning. It was a pleasure talking to you.”
She held out her hand. He grasped it, feeling the warmth and slenderness of it, enjoying the contact with her youth and beauty. As she walked away, he watched the smooth sashay of her walk until she was out of sight, unwilling to take his eyes away until the night had swallowed her.
He slipped out the side door into the welcome darkness, smiling to himself. She was a knockout all right. Her damsel in distress appealed to his knight in shining armor. He had every intention of making some discreet inquiries about the disappearance of those valuable stones to help the damsel out of her predicament.
Two
Dominic arrived at the clinic before seven the next morning. Outside the sun heated the cinder block walls with the promise of another scorcher. Inside the floors were newly swept. A wizened little man in dusty brown sandals was emptying the last of the trash into a beat up metal can.
“Hola,” said Corazón, the nurse trying to help the growing stream of people from the surrounding villages seeking medical care. Her office was the table that had served as the buffet the night before. Several villagers stood patiently in line at the door.
The need of these humble people was overwhelming at times. One step at a time, Dominic told himself, one day at a time. They were thankful for Dr. Hidalgo, the town physician, who helped in the afternoons. But he was overworked in his own practice.
Señora Martinez, up bright and early, bounced into the clinic, exclaiming over the success of their celebration.
“Señor Harte, we raised $300 of your American dollars from the collection basket at the bar. I don’t know yet how much we brought in from other donations. Ay, madre mia, what a night. Did you dance as you promised with Elena?”
“No, she had to leave early.”
“Well, the next time. We will have more fundraisers.” She clapped her hands like a flamenco dancer and whirled in a circle.
Dominic got a reprieve from any more probing questions when Dr. Hidalgo, a spare man, graying at the temples, came hurrying in. A small child on spindly legs followed close behind, running to keep up.
“Corazón, Corazón, please, quickly,” said the doctor, “I need your help. There has been an accident at the Archaeological Park. A mishap of some sort. Go with me, please. My nurse is sick today. Señor Harte, will you drive us in the Jeep? Come, both of you, hurry.”
Without waiting for a reply the doctor turned and rushed toward the door, white lab coat fluttering, stethoscope hanging around his neck, black bag in hand. He nearly collided with the small boy when he turned back to see if the others were following.
Catching the child’s arm to steady him, the doctor said, “You did well coming for me, Flaco. Now hurry to the Jeep.”
Dominic strode after the doctor with Corazón right behind him, neither questioning the need for urgency. Dominic’s first thought was for Elena. He hoped nothing had happened to her after what she had told him last night. He climbed into the driver’s seat of the open top Jeep parked before the door of the clinic.
A small crowd of townspeople had gathered and were speculating on the nature of the accident. A wrinkled old woman with black shawl pulled tight over her shoulders said, “It was a tourist. They never are careful.”
A man with gold rimmed teeth and spiked hair said, “The ghosts who haunt the ruins have taken vengeance. The spirits of the Mayans don’t like their temples molested.”
Dominic started the Jeep, anxious to be off. Corazón threw an apologetic look to the people waiting in line and hopped into the back seat of the Jeep with the child. The doctor climbed into the front with Dominic.
“What happened?” asked Dominic as they sped along the paved road to the Archeological Park. He shouted to be heard above the roar of the wind and the engine.
“I don’t know,” said Dr. Hidalgo. “The child came running into my office to fetch me saying only there had been a terrible accident.”
Dominic could feel his stomach balling into a fist. What if Elena had seen someone stealing stones and tried to stop them? What if they had had a gun and shot her? Things were still wild in the rural areas of Honduras, in the capital city, Tegucigalpa, for that matter. Gangs deported from cities like Los Angeles came back home, armed with their newly acquired gang skills. What if some kind of gang was operating in the area? He pressed down on the accelerator. The doctor looked over at him in mute agreement, and they drove on in silence until the Jeep screeched to a halt at the entrance to the Park.
“The doctor is here,” Dominic said to the guard. “He was summoned to some sort of accident.”
“Sí, sí, pasen ustedes.” The guard waved them through. He pointed toward the Acropolis where the pyramid of the Hieroglyphic Staircase loomed.
No, thought Dominic when he saw the direction the guard indicated. Let it not be Elena. He guided the Jeep as fast as possible across the manicured grounds and around low stone walls. The boy, standing in the back, shouted and pointed to a group of people almost hidden by a thicket of leafy shrubs and trees to the side of the Temple of Inscriptions, the tallest structure in the Acropolis. Because the pathway narrowed and climbed through the ancient stones, Dominic halted the Jeep a short distance away. He could see only the backs of onlookers. He scanned the group but saw no shining dark hair. What would she be wearing? A safari hat and pants? Shorts?
They hurried up the path to the group.
“Permiso, permiso,” said Dr. Hidalgo, his voice booming.
The people parted for him. One gentleman in an official tan uniform with visor cap stepped forward. “Doctor, a man was found with a terrible wound on his head.”
Dominic’s anxiety eased. It wasn’t a woman. He was now able to see the faces of the onlookers. He found Elena’s under a wide brim canvas hat. She hadn’t noticed him.
The doctor bent to examine the fallen man while the people huddled in a circle, murmuring to each other. He rose. “I’m afraid he is dead, felled by a blow to the back of the head with …” he paused and considered. “… a blunt instrument. Does anyone know this man?”
No one spoke. Several people shook their heads, including Elena.
Dominic peered at the figure stretched on the ground. He wore neat black pants, seams pressed, white running shoes and a long sleeved white shirt. Someone you’d see on the streets of a bigger town, any day, except for the bloody mass of black hair on the back of his head.
No one knew him. A tourist perhaps? Or the thief who was stealing artifacts and got caught in the act by someone who wanted the artifacts, too?