The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(936)

                I told Fuentes that he must give Dr. Brisco most of the credit. “His ideas won us the grant.”

                “But the diaries?”

                “That was mostly me—and Kristen Boisvert. She plans to do her dissertation on Jonken and his collaborators. She will be thrilled to meet you.”

                “It will be my pleasure. Our department at the Universitidad is a direct result of my grandfather’s apprenticeship with your great-uncle. And now we two sit here with puzzles and questions, yes?”

                “Yes,” I said—and suddenly understood why he had come. In spite of years of archeological study and the cultivation of scholarly detachment, my heart stuttered. “Why did he leave so suddenly,” I asked, “when he was so gifted and so interested?”

                Fuentes had the answer for that. “And what happened to her, when she was so young and full of life?”

                “It was the same day, wasn’t it?”

                He nodded. “My grandfather was literate. Your doctoral candidate will discover his family was of modest means, not poor by the standards of the time. He had prospects.”

                “He has a certain elegance in the photograph, I’ve always thought.”

                “You are perceptive. Unlike the others, he was not in desperate need of the work. When his situation no longer pleased him, he was free to leave.”

                “Alice Jonken was a wealthy young woman. She did not enjoy the jungle and I do not think she was as entranced with archeology—and maybe with Petrus—as she’d expected to be.”

                Dr. Fuentes raised his eye brows.



                             “The diaries, which are very lively and detailed—at least until her disappearance—mention her only infrequently.”

                We sat quietly for a moment, each thinking our own thoughts, and glancing, almost involuntarily, at the photograph over my desk. After a moment, Fuentes unrolled the poster I had given him. “I was struck,” he said, “by the shadows. Perhaps they have been distorted in retouching.”

                In the enlargement, it did seem that the shadow of the photographer was more prominent.

                “My thought,” he said, “is that while this was labeled as a picture of your great uncle with worker ( until your fine exhibition, of course) the photographer, was actually looking at my grandfather. What do you think?”

                I compared the poster with the photograph. Once this detail had been pointed out, I had to agree. The shadow of the camera and the photographer indicated a subtle inclination toward Jose Antonio. “That might account for Jonken’s questioning expression,” I said. “Of course, we cannot be sure Alice took this particular photo—although she did take some.”

                We sat silent again for a moment. It was a painfully awkward situation, as each of us had suspicions it seemed impolite to raise.

                Finally Fuentes said, “My grandfather was supposed to take Alice downriver that day.”

                “He had taken her to the nearest city several times,” I said.

                My visitor looked surprised.

                “It’s in the diaries. I have the transcriptions if you would like to read—”