Curse of the Ruins (2 page)

Katie rolled her eyes. “Ask him to the prom. What do you think I was going to do? Get my bag back, of course.”

Five officers now surrounded them. The one still holding Katie’s arm said something to the others in Spanish. Then he turned back to the three of them. “You will follow me. All of you are officially under arrest.”

“We told you.” Sam wearily dropped to the wooden bench on the other side of the police sergeant’s desk. “We were never in Mexico. Check with the airlines. We flew straight to New Mexico, we didn’t cross the border, and we weren’t trying to avoid customs. A thief stole my sister’s bag and we were just trying to get it back.”

“If you’ll call the Hotel Monterrey and ask for my father, Professor William Crockett, he’ll clear all this up in no time.” Katie leaned on the desk. “He was supposed to meet us at
the airport, but when your men arrested us we never got the chance to find him.”

The sergeant nodded patiently. “You say your father is a professor of archaeology and that he is currently working in one of the ruins not far from the city?”

Shala, who was sitting on the bench beside Sam, let out a long breath. “That’s what we told you. Let’s see … is it eleven times so far? My uncle, their father, is expecting us to join him today so that he can take us out to the dig. You’ve searched us and our luggage. We’re obviously not hiding anything. Why not let us go so we can get on with our vacation?”

A young police officer walked into the room and delivered a piece of paper. The sergeant read it quickly. He placed it on the desk in front of him and folded his hands. “It is true that we found nothing suspicious in your luggage and your papers seem to be in order. But there is one part of your story that does not seem to check out. There is no Professor Crockett registered at the Hotel Monterrey.”

“What?” Sam jumped up. “Are you sure?
Maybe there’s more than one Hotel Monterrey in San Marcos.”

The sergeant shook his head. “I assure you there is only one. Now.” He stood and walked around the desk. “The question is, what should be done with the three of you?”

“Well.” Katie put her hands on her hips. “If you were real policemen, you would go get my bag back from that stupid crook and then help us find my dad.”

Sam elbowed her. “Uh … what my sister means is that there is obviously some kind of weird mix-up going on here and we would really appreciate any help you could give us in locating our father.”

“Of course. I have my officers inquiring as to his whereabouts even as we speak. We will also check with the federal officials about the ruins you mentioned. In the meantime, since we have no place to keep you other than a jail cell, I have decided to release the three of you—on one condition.”

“Cool.” Shala stood up. “What is it?”

“You will remember that you are in New Mexico now. And as guests of our state you
will abide by our laws. If anyone other than a police officer should contact you about this incident you will report it to me at once. Is this understood?”

“Got it.” Sam pushed the other two toward the door. “Can we get our stuff back now?”

The sergeant called to an officer and instructed him to take the three to the front desk and give them their belongings. “Enjoy your stay in San Marcos. And contrary to what you may think, I wish you much luck in locating your father.” The sergeant followed them to the door. “Rest assured, we will be in touch.”

“Now what?” Sam set his suitcase on the cracked sidewalk outside the police station.

Katie reached for a small, sturdy chain she wore around her neck and pulled out a square leather purse attached to it. She unzipped the pouch, searched through her traveler’s checks and identification papers, and found a worn envelope. “Here’s Dad’s last letter. Look, right here he says he’ll meet us at the airport today and if there are any problems he’ll be staying at the Hotel Monterrey, where he’s booked rooms for all of us.”

“There could be a problem.” Shala pulled a wallet-sized photograph of Katie from his pocket. “I found this on the floor in the airport lobby. Did one of you drop it?”

Katie read the back. “That’s my handwriting. I sent this to Dad right after school pictures came out. Why would it be in the airport?”

“There are a couple of possibilities.” Shala’s face was grim. “Either Uncle William was at the airport and accidentally dropped it. Or the man who stole your bag had it and was using the photo to identify you for some reason.”

“But how could that creep have gotten my picture?” Katie’s eyes widened. “Unless something happened to Dad.”

“Calm down.” Sam sat on his suitcase. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions. The guy could have been a pickpocket. He probably swiped Dad’s wallet earlier and read your letters. He took one look at your wimpy picture and decided to wait for you in the airport because you looked like an easy mark.”

“I do not look like an easy mark.” Katie
squared her shoulders. “And another thing—”

“We need some answers.” Shala stepped to the curb. “I say we get a taxi and go to the hotel. Maybe Uncle William left a message with the desk.”

“Pssst.
Gringos
. I have something for you.”

They turned. The voice was coming from the alley. A small Mexican American boy peeked around the corner. He held up a teal-colored canvas bag.

“Hey! That’s my overnight bag.” Katie rushed to the corner. “Where’d you get it?”

The boy stepped back into the shadows and shrugged. “Pepe knows about everything that goes on in San Marcos. My cousin found this bag in the garbage. I knew it was yours. So I brought it to you.” He held it out to her.

Katie grabbed it. “It’s empty. And somebody has ripped out the lining.”

The boy put his hands up. “I am innocent. I am merely returning your property—an act for which most wealthy tourists would reward me generously.” He held out his hand.

“Thanks a lot.” Katie scowled.

Shala took the bag. “Look at the way these cuts are made. Someone was careful to only slice the lining, not the bag itself. They must have thought something was hidden behind the lining and they were worried about damaging it.” He looked at Pepe. “Do you know who did this?”

“Better question,” Sam said, moving close to the boy. “
Why
did they do this?”

Pepe shook his head. “Not so fast. I have not survived this long on the streets of San Marcos by
giving
away information.”

Sam reached into his jeans and took out a couple of dollars. “Here. Now, what’s the story?”

Pepe took the money and stuffed it deep in his pocket. “The one who took your bag is not from San Marcos. He is an outsider, hired to meet you at the airport. And your
amigo
is right. The bag is torn like that because he was searching for something he believes you are carrying.”

Katie frowned. “What in the world would I have that somebody would go to all this trouble to get?”

Pepe shrugged. “That I cannot tell you. But I would be very careful,
señorita
. If these men did not find the thing they were looking for in your bag, they will try again.” He turned to walk back down the alley.

“Wait.” Sam grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “Can you tell us where the Hotel Monterrey is from here?”

Pepe’s face brightened. “It is my business to offer assistance to poor lost tourists—for a small fee, of course.”

“Of course.” Sam gave him another dollar.

Pepe stepped into the street and pointed up the road. “Take Desert Avenue. Turn left at the square. The hotel is on Piedra Street. It’s a good choice. Hot water and everything.”

“One more question.” Sam held a dollar over Pepe’s palm. “What have you heard about an American archaeologist named William Crockett?”

Pepe snatched the money and shoved it in his pocket. “At this time I cannot say. But I will be very glad to ask around and bring this information to your hotel tonight.”

Pepe hailed a taxi for them. “You will not be sorry that you have hired me, tourists. I know this town like the back of my hand. Anything you want”—he snapped his fingers—“Pepe will find a way to make it yours.”

“Yes, there was a Professor Crockett registered here.” A swarthy man with a long nose stood behind the counter looking down at his logbook. “But he checked out several days ago.”

“That’s impossible.” Katie tried to pry the book from the man’s hands. “Didn’t he reserve rooms for us?”

The clerk held on firmly. “Excuse me, young lady. The hotel register is strictly confidential.” When she let go, he skimmed the pages with his finger. “I have no record of Professor Crockett making reservations for
anyone. Perhaps you are mistaken about the time and place you were to meet him.”

Katie shook her head. “Not hardly.”

“I don’t get it.” Sam ran his hand through his short blond hair. “Why would Dad tell us to meet him here and then not show up? Something must be wrong.”

“That is very puzzling.” The clerk snapped the book shut. “But I am sure your father would not want you to stay here under these circumstances. I suggest the three of you consider returning home until the professor contacts you. The airport has flights leaving daily.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this right now.” Shala glanced around the hotel lobby. There were two men standing near the front door who seemed to be hanging on every word they said. He turned to the clerk and handed him a credit card. “We want two rooms, please.”

The man hesitated. “Are you sure this is wise? After all, you have no idea when, or even if, Professor Crockett will return.”

“He said we wanted two rooms.” Katie
folded her arms. “Your sign outside says you have vacancies. Is there a problem?”

The man swallowed. “How long will you be staying?”

Shala gave the others a warning look. “We’re not sure right now. We’ll let you know later.”

The clerk grudgingly produced two keys. “You are on the second floor at the end of the hall.”

“Come on, guys.” Shala pretended to yawn and took the keys. “I’m really beat. It’s been a long day.”

They picked up their luggage and followed Shala to the stairs. At the top of the landing Katie stopped and peeked over her shoulder. The two men who had been waiting by the door had moved to the desk and were talking in whispers to the clerk.

Katie pretended to have trouble with the wheels on her luggage. She knelt and watched the men through the railing. When they turned to leave, one of the men looked up the stairs.

Katie drew a sharp breath. It was the thief from the airport.

“I’m not sure what’s going on here, but it looks like Katie is right. Dad’s in some kind of trouble.” Sam spoke without looking up. He was hunched over a table with a screwdriver in one hand and a bundle of small multicolored wires in the other.