1934. Competing factions wage a cold war in the streets and marketplaces, vying for dominance of Mexico City. When a series of murders threatens to turn the cold war hot, only Helen Young, drawn to Mexico to complete her late husband’s archaeological work, can put the pieces together and avert disaster.
She could not wait to get out and explore her new environment. Had Harold been so immediately enthralled as well? Helen felt a pang of sadness hit her and she summoned all her strength to not break into tears for the thousandth time in the past month. At this point she would not be surprised if she had permanently exhausted her tear ducts from the constant use.
A soft throat clearing brought Helen back to reality. She glanced back at an elderly man and apologized; he smiled indulgently back at her. A small group of people gathered a short distance from the plane, awaiting the new arrivals. As she made her way down the stairs, Helen scanned the crowd. All she had to go on was a grainy picture, but she was nervous when she did not immediately see Alexander Hayden. Her task became more difficult as the disembarking passengers mixed with the crowd. Finally she spotted him, emerging from behind two women. She waved to him; he nodded expressionlessly at her in return.
As they greeted each other, she was taken by how different from Harold he appeared. Harold’s athletic build and good looks stood in stark contrast to the diminutive Hayden, who could easily disappear behind a potted plant. Not a small potted plant perhaps, but certainly a Fichus Tree. Hayden took off his hat to her, simultaneously wiping his sweaty brow with a handkerchief from his coat pocket. Switching his hat to his left hand, he reached out to shake her hand. Helen was thankful the sweat soaked handkerchief had not greeted her.
“Mrs. Young, I am glad to meet you at last. I am so very sorry for your loss,” he bowed his head.
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