Thunder in the Night (Crimson Romance) (20 page)

“You’re just jealous,” Elaine teased.

“Was he along on all your zoo trips?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. Every one.” Elaine lowered herself onto a flowered sofa and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit, dear.”

As I complied, I pushed on. “How did he die, again? Mysterious circumstances?”

Okay, I was pushing my luck here, but it seemed worth a try.

They exchanged a look before Dan spoke. “We were told there was an accident.”

“Sounds like you don’t believe that,” I said, looking to Elaine, who gave a shrug.

“It’s dangerous country,” Dan said baldly. His finger was up at his ear, fiddling with his hearing aid. He’d had so little trouble with the device on our journey I couldn’t help thinking the fiddling was an avoidance tactic.

“I suppose the truth will always be a mystery,” I remarked and there were murmurs of agreement from my hosts.

We talked for a bit about their travels and I used my recorder so I wouldn’t miss a quote. After an hour or so, I’d collected more material than I’d ever be able to use and brought the discussion to a close.

It had been a very pleasant afternoon, complete with coffee and homemade cookies. They might own a big fancy house, but here in the study, where it seemed they spent the most time, they had a warm and cozy home.

“We’ll be sending a photographer, if you don’t mind,” I told them, rising from the sofa.

“Better put your lipstick on, Elaine,” Dan teased. Stopping on his way to the study door, he said, “I took the liberty of having a duplicate set of our photographs made at the one hour place. When you called about doing this article, I thought maybe you’d like to use some for illustrations.” He moved around me to a table near the window and opened a drawer.

He pulled out a package two inches thick. “Elaine’s a little snap-happy,” he said at my raised eyebrows.

“Guilty as charged!” she said, laughing. “But they’re all darn good.”

Taking the package, I said, “Thanks, Dan. I appreciate it. Of course, I can’t guarantee they’ll be used. That decision rests with the editor.”

“Certainly, certainly.” Dan bobbed his balding head in understanding.

“You can always keep them for your scrapbook,” Elaine added.

At the door, Elaine gave me another quick hug and Dan added a fatherly pat on the shoulder.

Driving back to the office, I thought about Elaine and Dan’s pictures and then about my own.

The art department had promised to print out the pictures I’d taken in Belize. They’d be ready about three o’clock, I’d been told. A glance at my watch told me it was quarter to four. I pushed down a little harder on the gas pedal.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Back at the office, I clambered down the steps to the cool recesses of the basement. Here, taking up half of the available space, was the art department. And, with any luck, my snapshots.

I knocked on the door jamb and entered. “Hello? Anybody home?”

“Yo!” A voice shouted from somewhere nearby. In a moment, the heavy door leading to the inner office opened slowly and a person emerged. Greg, one of the magazine’s college interns, was incredibly tall — at least six foot six — and carried not a spare ounce of flesh.

“Greg! What’s the word? How did my pictures turn out? Any good enough to use in the magazine?” The shots I’d posted on the blog had been fine by my standards, but I figured we’d only use the best of the lot in print.

Moving slowly over to a work table near one wall he began in a matter-of-fact fashion, “You’ve got a few blurry ones, but not too many. A couple looked pretty good. Here, judge for yourself.” He gave me a manila envelope thick with prints. Had I really taken so many pictures? Had he printed out every one? Elaine would be proud of me.

As I fumbled with the clasp, Greg gave one of the desk chairs a shove in my direction and I sank down onto the edge of it.

Flipping through the stack of glossy paper, I glanced briefly at each shot, looking for the pictures I’d taken at Tikal. As I rifled through the others, I had quick impressions of the colors. Green in the forest, blue on the sea. The deep, dark navy of the Blue Hole. Rainbow hues while we were in the marketplace.

At last, the pictures turned black and grey, the colors of the ruins. Slowing my shuffle, I paused to examine each picture. I had to suppress a shudder at the sight of the temple and its narrow, dangerous steps. Closing my eyes, I drove away the memory of my mysterious “accident” and put that particular picture face down on the counter in front of me.

The next picture was the one I’d been waiting for. Clark and the native were clearly visible, deep in conversation against the backdrop of the forest. Clark was facing the camera, the native was in profile.

“Drat!” I muttered, wondering if the authorities would be able to identify the man from the picture.

“Well, I don’t know,” Greg spoke over my shoulder. “That’s not a bad shot. Not blurry. Not too dark or light.”

“What?” It took me a moment to realize he was judging the photograph’s quality, not its content. “I was hoping for a better view of these two,” I told him, pointing at the men and thinking out loud.

“If you want an enlargement, Allison, let me know. If that would help.” He leaned closer, scrutinizing it with a technical eye. After a moment, he straightened up.

“Thanks, Greg. I’ll let you know.” I stuffed the pictures back in their envelope and carried them upstairs to my desk.

It took a few minutes to spread all the Tikal shots out on my desktop. Then, I fished in my purse for the packet of pictures Dan had given me.

These were a humorous lot. Obviously, both of the Underwoods liked to clown for the camera. The pictures featuring either one of them were posed to be amusing — Elaine in an oversized straw hat at the marketplace, Dan “balancing” one of the temples in the palm of his hand.

I laughed out loud, wondering how our readers would like them, then set those aside. I was looking for Dan’s pictures from Tikal, hoping to find some sort of clue. Another incriminating shot of Clark, perhaps.

“Or better yet,” I mumbled, “a picture of Clark carrying a big box labeled ‘DRUGS’ and with money sticking out of his pockets.”

Mart might think Clark wouldn’t get actively involved with criminal activities, but he had also been the one to tell me about Clark’s profit motive. Mart might think I was jumping to conclusions, but I wasn’t. I was investigating.

Ah! Here it was! A nice picture capturing the grassy plaza at Tikal, this snapshot was populated by trekkers. I bent close, searching the tiny figures for my own. Sure enough! There I was, just a blot on the landscape like everyone else.

I scooted my chair closer to my desk, rested my elbows on the edge and brought the picture close to my nose. Where was Clark? After a few minutes of careful scrutiny, I gave up. Maybe he just wasn’t in the shot.

He was in the next one, though, lecturing to a little knot of trekkers. It wasn’t a flattering picture. He’d been caught in mid-sentence, mouth open, arms gesturing. The people around him were a study, as well, their expressions varying from boredom to intense interest. Dan, in the foreground of the shot, was rolling his eyes at the camera. After attending four or five zoo treks, he must have had his fill of Clark’s lectures.

A few more snaps of the ruins and monuments followed. Then, it became more evident Elaine had taken the camera on her climb up the temple. There were many stunning views of the rain forest as seen from the top of the structure.

At last, I held only one picture and the moment I saw it, I felt a chill. It was just another shot from the top of the temple, crowded with tourists. I recognized a few of the faces from our group, but it was the person at the edge of the shot who intrigued me.

It was a man in native dress, colorful patterned shirt, dark shorts, sandals. He was turning away from the camera, not as if he were deliberately avoiding it, but as if he’d been caught in mid-movement.

Was it? Could it be?

I flipped through the stack of my own pictures, searching for the one of Clark in the jungle. All the other pictures fell from my hands when I found it and there was a rushing sound in my ears. Sweeping away a clear spot on my desk, I set the two pictures side by side: Clark and the Guatemalan in the jungle, Elaine’s tourist shot on the temple.

Yes!

It was the same man. With Clark. On the temple.

I gasped, my hands clenching into fists. It’s one thing to suspect a truth. It’s another to hold the evidence in your hands, to see it right before your eyes. Irrefutable.

I’d been spotted leaving the jungle and Clark’s Guatemalan buddy followed me to the temple. He’d seen me begin my clumsy ascent. Had charged at me, knocking me down, then continued pell-mell to the top, where Elaine accidentally caught him on film.

“I could have been killed,” I whispered, remembering my fall down rough stone.

Oh, things were looking worse for Clark with every moment. If I had been killed in the fall, he would have been responsible for my death. He was dealing with drug traffickers and it was clear they put a very low price on human life.

If Clark’s ultimate goal was the lofty one Mart originally claimed — to find Tommy Mendoza’s killer — he had a dangerous way of pursuing it. If his goal was something other — well, then I’m sure Clark would tell me the ends justified the means.

I shuffled all the pictures together and put them carefully into the big manila envelope. When the metal clasp held the package securely closed, I reached for the telephone.

“May I speak to Mart Lawler, please?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Within the space of a few heavy heartbeats, Mart was on the line. The sound of his voice made me feel better almost immediately and I unburdened myself. I told him about my pictures and Elaine’s shot showing the same man.

“Well, that confirms why he broke into your room for the camera,” Mart said when I’d finished. He was quiet a moment and it was easy to picture his handsome face serious in thought. “When are you coming out here to the zoo for your series?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I thought tomorrow morning. Although how I can face Clark knowing he nearly got me killed — ”

“Allison,” Mart’s voice held a calming note, which I ignored.

“Oh, come on, Mart!” I exclaimed, my volume increasing. “Maybe Clark started out wearing a white hat, trying to find Tommy Mendoza’s killer, but somewhere along the line, he changed hats. I can’t believe he’s still trying to track a criminal. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever believed that. You want to know what I think? I’ll tell you! I’m convinced Clark’s taken over where Tommy left off. I know, I know,” I rushed on when Mart began to sputter, “I said it before, but I’m serious now!”

“Allison! Allison!” Mart broke in when I stopped for breath. “Will you hang on for just a minute and listen? I wasn’t going to tell you you’re wrong.”

I’d been staring at the envelope on my desk and had to blink a few times as his words registered. “You weren’t?”

“No. I wasn’t. You aren’t the only one gathering information today, although I don’t quite know what to make of mine.”

“What? What? Tell me.”

“I can’t now, over the phone. Anyone could walk in and I don’t want to be overheard.”

“When, then?” I pressed.

“Tomorrow morning, when you come here. We can talk then.”

The hours stretched long between now and then. Plenty of time for nail biting and pacing. “Why not tonight? Come to my place. Or I’ll come to yours,” I suggested.

He hesitated. “No, no. I can’t tonight. I’ve got another obligation.”

“More important than this?” I questioned in disbelief.

“It’s unavoidable. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll see you tomorrow, first thing, okay?”

“But — ”

“I’ve got to go. Bye.”

The receiver buzzed into my ear.

• • •

The ticket taker waved my car through into the zoo parking lot. Since it was early, I got a spot near the entrance.

I’d dressed with extra care, knowing if I thought I looked good — cool and professional — I’d have a better chance of coming off that way to Clark, as well. Still, as I clutched my folder and marched resolutely toward the zoo gate, even my best coatdress in deep berry wasn’t up to the task.

How could I face a man whom I suspected of such crimes? How could I smile and be friendly without betraying what I was really thinking? I was a journalist, not an actress. But right now, I knew I’d have to be both.

I moved through the entrance and was immediately assaulted by the smell of the concession stands getting ready for business. Even on a cool spring day, crowds were evidently expected. Popcorn, hot dogs, and cotton candy were the items closest at hand. At ten in the morning, the very idea made my already-nervous stomach churn. I turned away, wondering where the administrative offices were located.

Signs and posters cluttered this area, directing visitors to the gift shop, the petting zoo, and the dolphin show. Others trumpeted the Mardi Gras gala, just a few days away. I’d heard about this event at work, and would be covering it for the society page. A big fundraiser for the zoo, it would be attended by all the social luminaries, decked out in satin ball gowns and tuxedos. Briefly, I wondered what Mart would look like in a tuxedo. I could almost imagine it. It was even easier to imagine him with the bow tie undone and a few buttons open. I blinked, dispelling that inviting image and focusing on my surroundings.

Wending my way past the gift shop, I could also imagine his reaction to this commercialization. With his emphasis on naturalism and recreating the wild, the existence of dolphin shows and petting areas must be especially grating. I marveled at his ability to tolerate it, recalling his statement about change and how it will never come from those content with old ways and old ideas. He was a strong individual, no doubt about it.

Off to the side of the path was a wooden sign shaped like a penguin. One flipper pointed to the left and was labeled “Offices.” I followed the direction.

The secretary kept me waiting a full ten minutes before I was finally able to see Clark. Was he deliberately putting me off, or was I being paranoid? The stagnant time merely increased my apprehension and it took conscious efforts to keep from tapping my toes or some other fidgety motion. I did dog-ear the cover of the magazine I was holding, I’m afraid.