Free Drowning Pool (Miss Henry Mysteries) by Melanie Jackson

into the plaza that had been netted over. It was locked, but it was simple and forcing it—as long as the lock wasn’t rusted—would not be a problem. She would just have to bring along a couple tools.
    There had been the occasional rusted grill set into the wall s, perhaps to provide ventilation to storage rooms or maybe stalls in a stable, but they were gone now that she was nearing the east side of the temple. What little plaster was left was flaking off like a snake shedding skin and Juliet was not sure she wanted to see what lay beneath. But the wall was fascinating in its decay and she couldn’t help but stare at the crumbling plaster being pried off by the tenacious vines. She could not be certain without removing more of the crumbling surface, but she had the sick feeling that a human skeleton had been built into the wall as some form of warning or perhaps decoration. Or was that supposed to be a lily growing out of the body?
    So, the story of the lilies wasn’t pure fabrication. With the internet one could never be sure of what was being presented as facts.
    Juliet shivered but felt that she was being challenged by the gods. She had to go on. Her exploration of the outdoor area was almost done—and thank heavens for small favors.
    With the westering sun at her back, her shadow pushed on ahead, looming large as the wedge between the intersecting walls widened slightly into a space that held an old well. The cracked wooden cover was slightly too large and probably was not original. It was carved with what looked like the face of a demon , but which Juliet guess was the likeness of one of the Aztecan deities. The sides of the well were plastered and painted. The frescos were badly faded but she was coming to recognize the water lily motif.
    The tusked god that guarded the well was drawn in black and white with only a yellow stripe across his face. He was standing on what looked like a large bone and holding an obsidian blade. His extended tongue ended in a scorpion’s tail.
    The slight crunch of grit underfoot was all the warning she had. Fear reasoned faster, and in her case, more accurately than other emotions. When the inner voice whispered that there was danger, she listened.
    “That is a local representation of Tezcatlipoca, god of the smoking mirror, enemy of both sides, lord of the nigh and near. My father admires him. It was in part why he chose this property, though there was some local resistance to our foundation at first.” Henrik smiled with his thin lips but it did not warm his eyes. He was about as animated as a tree stump and Juliet wondered if perhaps something had happened to paralyze his face. There was no evidence of skin grafts and no sagging to suggest a stroke, but the face was disconcertingly immobile.
    So, the temple was real and not a recreation. Or at least not wholly a recreation. And Klaus von Hayek had had to have it, in spite of local sentiment. And then he had surrounded it with a strangely warped version of a medieval castle.
    There were people who coveted with the obstinate, concentrated longing of a child too young or too spoiled to have acquired compassion or morals. They saw nothing wrong with taking what they wanted—be that art , or property that didn’t belong to them. And they did not acquire their heart’s desires—or retain them—by luck. They had men around them who went to bed nightly, praying for an excuse to do something violent—assuming they prayed at all, which was rather a large leap.
    It would be rude as well as unwise to reprehend the morals of their unseen host, especially to his son. In another setting—like one where she and Raphael could leave when they liked and where there were fewer men with guns—she might say something. But her ability to discover anything about the roundel, and perhaps to stay alive, hinged on her remaining in von Hayek’s graces.
    “Charming. And the teeth? Or are they tusks?” she asked, sorry that it wasn’t Smythe who