"They're native to this area. Julie says they're probably all over the jungle."
"Sure, but how often do you see one? Ever? You think you could walk out in the jungle and catch one if you decided to play a little joke on the rest of us?"
"Well, no. They're wild animals; they-okay, where do you get a coatimundi when you need one?"
"Me, I'd call a pet shop,” Abe said, “which is what I did. It turns out there are two pet stores in Merida, and the first one I called, on Avenida Colon, said it was very funny but he had one for almost two months and nobody wanted it, and now I was the second norteamericano this week who wanted one."
Gideon straightened up. “And you found out who the other one was?"
But Abe liked to take his time coming to the punch line. The coati, he told Gideon, was ordered by telephone and delivered to Piste, which as it happened was the nearest village to the Mayaland, about a mile and a half away; a humble, somewhat tacky little crossroads that had become a center for tourists who couldn't afford or didn't want the Mayaland's luxury. The buyer had taken possession of the boxed animal at the bus stop, in front of the Mayan Cave Bar Disco ("English Spooken Here"), from which he left by taxi in the direction of the Mayaland. This was, Gideon should take note, late Tuesday afternoon, the day before the coati was discovered in the work shed.
"And the name,” Gideon murmured, “of this mysterious gringo was…"
"No, Senor Merino didn't get his name, but he could describe him: 'Un hombre con una barba de chivo.’”
Gideon wasn't up to the Spanish. “A man with a what?"
Abe's fingers tapped his chin. “A billy goat's beard."
"Worthy?"
Abe nodded. “You were right in the first place."
The narration had wearied him. He lowered his frail arms and slid down on the pillows, closing his eyes for a few seconds. “Right now I'm a little tired, but in an hour I'll feel better. I'll get dressed and go and have a talk with him and see what's what. And tell him what's what,” he added.
"Like hell you will,” Gideon said firmly. “You're staying in bed today. I'll talk to Worthy."
"No,” Abe said, shaking his head, “I'll take care of it. It's my responsibility, not yours."
"Then how about delegating it? I'll go see him right now. I want you to take it easy and get your strength back. Come on, Abe, be sensible."
"Maybe you're right,” Abe said meekly, and Gideon looked at him with a stab of concern. Docility wasn't exactly his style.
"Abe, I don't think it would be a bad idea to have the hotel doctor take a look at you."
Abe dismissed this with a flap of his hand. “No, no. I'll drink liquids; I'll rest.” He closed his eyes again and settled himself down to sleep. “You'll see. I'll be fine."
"All right,” Gideon said uneasily and stood up. “I'll drop by later and tell you how it goes with Worthy."
"Check up on me, you mean,” Abe said wearily. “All right, thank you."
Gideon had reached the door when Abe called. “Gideon?"
"Yes?"
Abe's hands were clasped tranquilly on his chest. His eyes were still closed. “If you brought another bowl of chicken soup I wouldn't say no."
"Oh, all right,” Worthy said peevishly, “I'm the criminal; I admit it. I put the miserable beast in the work shed. It was just a joke."
He dabbed his gleaming forehead with a handkerchief. “Couldn't we continue this later? I'm really not feeling my usual self."
"None of us are, Worthy. That's why I'm talking to you."
Worthy eyed him mutely across the table in his room.
"How much does a coati cost?” Gideon asked.
Worthy shrugged. “It was fifty-five dollars American."
"That's a lot of money to spend on a joke.” He smiled in spite of himself. “Not that it wasn't funny."
Worthy seemed gratified by this, and even smiled faintly himself. “Well, I was trying to make a point, you know, although it may have been a little too subtle for Emma. Gideon, is there some point to this? You have my confession. What more is there to discuss?"
Gideon sat back and studied him. There was quite a bit more to discuss: Had Worthy been making any other subtle points? Like putting something nasty in the apple juice? (Who, after all, would know more about laxatives?) Digging in the temple when he wasn't supposed to? Slipping death threats under doors? Skulking around Chichen Itza with a pipe wrench?
He decided to lay at least part of it on the line. “I was wondering if you had anything to do with this problem we're all having today."
"If I…why would…” He stared at Gideon.
"You're saying someone did this to us on purpose? Poisoned our food?"
"Well, ‘poison’ is a little strong, but I think so, yes. I wondered if it was another little joke."
"But that's…that's monstrous!” Worthy cried sincerely. The sweat had sprung out on his pale forehead again. Fooling around with the digestive system was no joke to Worthy Partridge. “And you think that I…that I would…"
Gideon didn't know whether to believe him or not. Worthy was an intelligent, subtle man; Gideon didn't doubt his ability to dissemble. He had denied the coati incident convincingly enough on the morning it had happened. Still, his outrage seemed like the real thing.
"Gideon, how can you say this?” he cried. “Do you really think I'd do such a thing? I'm as sick as anyone else. My God, sicker, sicker!"
"Everybody's sick, Worthy. Whoever did it is smart enough to realize he'd stick out like a sore thumb if he was the only healthy one."
Worthy twisted his gangling, sandy-haired legs around each other, left knee behind the right, right ankle behind the left; an arrangement most men's pelvic anatomy made impossible.
"No,” he said after a moment, “I wouldn't say that"
"Wouldn't say what?"
"Wouldn't say we're all sick."
They had looked sick enough to Gideon. “What do you mean? Who isn't sick?"
"Stanley Ard,” Worthy said evenly.
"Stanley Ard?"
"The reporter."
"Yes, I know, but why would-” But of course he knew very well why. It just hadn't occurred to him before. As Abe had implied, Ard wasn't the kind of reporter who would have scruples about manufacturing events when it came to improving a story. And if it meant bellyaches for a few others, well, that was a price that just might have to be paid.
"Worthy,” he said, “that's an interesting thought."
"Yes,” Worthy said, and wiped his forehead again. “And now I really think I should lie down."
When Julie awakened at five-thirty she was hungry and cheerful. They ate omelets for dinner (Julie having overcome her reservations about the brown-yolked eggs) and then brought some more soup to a shaven and largely restored Abe. They had talked about Stan Ard, whom Gideon offered to confront, but this time Abe had been adamant. It was his job, and he would talk with Ard the next day about the tainted juice and see where it led. As to the attack on Gideon, it was agreed that Marmolejo was the one to follow up on that.
Chapter 15
It was the end of the next workday before Julie, Abe, and Gideon got a chance to talk again at length.
They were on their way back to the hotel along the path. The crew was eighty or ninety feet ahead of them, out of sight and hearing. Behind, the policeman maintained a discreet twenty-foot distance, ambling as casually as a man strolling through a zoo.
Indeed, they might have been in some wildly extravagant walk-through aviary. They moved along a moist green corridor impossibly crowded with gorgeous little birds of blue, red, and orange, which darted by their heads as nimbly as swallows or watched gravely and openly from the branches. Motmots, jacamars, cotingas, manakins, according to Julie. And some she swore were not in her Birds of Mexico.