CHAPTER 1
“Jill Moss?” It was a man’s voice on the telephone.
“Yes.”
“My name is Scott Marchand. I am a colleague of your uncle, Neil Bryant. I have something for you that Neil wants me to deliver right away.”
“What is it?”
“I would prefer not to talk about it over the phone,” he answered. “Could we meet this afternoon?” I glanced at the clock over my table. It was twenty minutes past one.
“I suppose so.”
“Meet me at the café on the corner of Yale Road and Number 9 at two o’clock, all right?”
“That’s rather soon,” I said.
“It’s rather urgent.”
I hung up the telephone and rinsed my paintbrush. Finishing this painting would have to wait.
Twenty-five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Chaco’s Grill. The restaurant stood away from the main road at the end of a steep, unpaved driveway. Dark green patio umbrellas dotted its wide terrace. I parked near the front door and got out. The lot was deserted except for a silver van under some trees at the rear and the white SUV next to my car.
A man stood on the stone steps to the terrace, one hand in a trouser pocket. He waved and removed the aviator sunglasses from his sunburned nose.
“You must be Scott,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Thanks for coming at such short notice,” he said, leading me to a table on the far corner of the terrace. “I have a tight schedule today.”
“You said it was important. What is this about?”
A teenaged waitress appeared and we ordered coffee.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” he said, “though to be honest, I’m not entirely sure what it is.”
I leaned into the shade of the umbrella. “What is my Uncle Neil up to now?”
Scott pulled a parcel from a bag at his feet and set it on the table with a thump. “He wanted me to see that you get this.”
I tore away the brown paper wrapping. “It’s his Bible. Why would he want me to have this?” The gold lettering on the leather cover had almost worn away and the corners curled from long years of use. I ran my fingertips over the pebbly surface.
“It came this morning by courier. Shortly after that Neil phoned. I could hardly hear him, even though he was shouting. There was a lot of noise going on in the background. I tried to find out where he was and why he was calling but all I could get was, ‘Take the package to my niece, Jill. Call her.’ He gave me your number. ‘She’ll know what to do,’ he said. ‘Go immediately and don’t let anyone follow you.’“ He spread his hands. “Presumably, you know what to do.”
I frowned. “Why didn’t he send it directly to me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Neil in some kind of trouble?”
“Like I said, I couldn’t get much information out of him.”
I looked at Scott. “What’s your connection to my uncle?”
“We have a long history,” he said, grinning. “I was his student a long time ago and we’ve worked together on several projects over the years. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me. Hasn’t Neil ever mentioned the work we did on the Incas?”
“Were you involved in that fiasco with the helicopter crash in Ecuador?”
“That and a few of his other fiascos,” he replied. “He is quite a character.”
“I’m aware of that,” I said, picking up the Bible. Turning the book over in my hands, I opened the front cover. A dry, pale green leaf fluttered to the stone terrace. I leaned down and gently picked it up. Holding it into the sunlight, I could see tiny, cramped handwriting on it which read, “Job 20:8”.
“Look at this,” I said, handing it to Scott.
“Funny that he wrote on a leaf,” he said. “Neil must have run out of paper, or have been off on one of his solo jaunts. He does that sometimes, you know. He gets an idea and tears off on his own or with a single guide into the jungle and disappears for days. Scares the daylights out of the crew when he doesn’t tell anyone where he’s going. Any idea what this means?”
I flipped the pages of the old Bible until I found the verse. “Listen to this,” I said. “‘He shall fly away as a dream, and shall not be found: yea, he shall be chased away as a vision of the night.’“ I glanced up from the text. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Not a thing. Do you think it’s a clue of some kind? You must know how Neil loves puzzles.”
I nodded. Neil was notorious for his love of puzzles, which was partly what made him a great archaeologist. I moistened my fingertip and turned the fragile pages of the Bible. Many passages had been underlined. On most, the ink had blurred with age and notes scribbled in the margins had long since bled into blue-black smears, the cramped words barely distinguishable. But this verse was different. It had been underlined in fresh red ink.
“I don’t know what I’m expected to do with this,” I said. “Do you have any ideas?”
“The last time I saw Neil was about four months ago,” Scott told me. “We both attended a conference in Montreal on the most recent archaeological discoveries in ancient Mayan civilizations. Neil was one of the speakers. He had just come back from Guatemala and Mexico. Since then I’ve spoken with him only once. He called me about six weeks ago to say that he was off on another jaunt into the jungles somewhere in Mexico and wanted to know if I would like to come along, but I couldn’t get away from the university. Then today he called out of the blue to ask me to get this to you.”
“Did it cross your mind to try to trace his call?”
“I did try, but all I could find out was that it came from Mexico. Telecommunications systems in some parts of the world aren’t always up to our standards. I gathered he was in a rural area.” He leaned back in his chair and took a swallow of coffee. “I’d be surprised if all this doesn’t involve you having to tear off into some wild blue yonder.
“What makes you say that?”
“I just know Neil, that’s all,” Scott said, glancing at his watch. “But right now I have to get going myself. I’ve got a tutorial to lead in a half hour.” He stood up and picked up his bag. “Let me know if you figure out Neil’s puzzle. And if you need any archaeological information, give me a shout. I’ll see if I can dig anything up for you.” He grinned at his own joke and pulled a business card from a pocket of his shirt and handed it to me.
“Thanks,” I said, squinting up at him. “I may do that.”
I took another sip of coffee. It was cold. Neil feared nothing and that fearlessness had landed him in lots of trouble over the years. I scanned the rest of the page in the book before me. I noticed that a tiny reference in the centre margin had also been underlined, though it did not refer to the verse I had been reading. I made a mental note of it and flipped through the chapters until I found Psalm 102:5.
“That’s odd,” I murmured. This actual verse had not been marked; rather a passage further up in the chapter had been underlined, also in fresh red ink. “Hide not thy face from me in the day when I am in trouble: incline thine ear unto me: in the day when I call answer me speedily.” I swallowed.
If Neil really was in peril, he would have to get in touch somehow. I placed the leaf between the pages of the book, gathered up the brown wrapping paper and walked back to my car. The silver van was still parked on the other side of the lot and I could see someone at the wheel. I had the distinct impression that he was watching me.
Getting into my car, I turned the key in the ignition. There was no way Neil could call his son Dennis for help. Dennis was a missionary in northern Mexico and almost impossible to reach. He only went to town every few weeks and the rest of the time he roamed around in the mountains. Dennis’s sister, Sandra, worked as an emergency room doctor in the city. Not only did she have a busy career with crazy hours, but she had three teenagers at home.
A ripple of apprehension trickled down my spine. Clearly, Neil was in trouble and he needed me to help. The question was, what kind of trouble?
Paperback: http://alturl.com/dd2wo
Kindle: http://alturl.com/5ocbn
E-Pub: http://alturl.com/78qfb