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…
“As I was about to say,” she said, with as much geniality as she could muster, “I have two arms; I can dig. I have a hand; I can take notes. It appears you have tea making covered, so I suppose I shouldn’t offer up those skills.”
“But…” he began, before she cut him off.
“Mr. Hayden, you should know that one way or the other, I am not leaving Mexico City,” she said with finality.
Hayden said nothing for a moment, just stared blankly at her, chewing on the end of his cigar. Finally, he pulled the cigar from his mouth and smiled broadly.
“I should have known better than to argue with a woman,” he laughed, “I see there is no convincing you to return home. Very well, I shall take you up on your offer of two strong arms and a hand to take notes with.” She breathed a sigh of relief, her heart still pounding in her chest from her anxiety.
“Now that is cleared up,” she ventured, “Maybe we could go over the details of the excavation.”
“Harold didn’t tell you anything?” he asked.
“No,” she croaked, embarrassed by her ignorance.
“It will make more sense to go over the details at the actual site,” he inhaled from his cigar and then used it to gesture in the air, “it is all so difficult to visualize in a drab little office.”
“When can we go out to the site?” she asked, eager not to lose momentum.
“I think tomorrow will do,” he replied, “What to do you think?”
“Tomorrow would be excellent,” she said with enthusiasm.
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