Page 47 of Sins of Leo

“Maria.”

“Do you know of any guides that might be familiar with some of these old spots?”

“You’re speaking to one. No one knows this jungle better than me.” She flashed him a smile.

Her offer reminded him of the warning in his dream. “Good to know, although I’d hoped to find the one my wife’s father used. Name of Santos.” Ruth had pulled that name from the journal in case the original guide still lived.

“Ah yes, Santos. He doesn’t offer guidance since his accident. He lost an eye,” she confided.

Leo didn’t react to the news, even as Maria confirmed another part of his dream. “Do you think he’d speak with us? I know Ruth will have questions about her father’s last days.”

“You must be speaking of Dr. Warmstone.”

“You knew him?”

“Of him. My mother spoke of an explorer and uses him as a cautionary story for those who think they can wander with impunity.”

“No one ever found his body.” Stated, not asked.

“Which isn’t surprising. The jungle has a way of keeping its secrets.”

“Your English is excellent,” he remarked. Surprising given the map showed this village not just off the beaten path but hours away from the next closest town.

“I attended an English-speaking boarding school,” she admitted. “My mother wished for me to do great things, and so she sent me away to learn.”

“Yet you returned.”

“Only to visit. I work as a bio technician in the city.”

“Congratulations.” He wondered if that lab happened to be managed or owned by Cetus.

“Thank you. Mother is quite proud.”

As they exited the jungle, a small village appeared comprised of mishmash housing. Some homes were made of corrugated metal panels. Some used logs lashed together. There were afew stone huts and even a two-story house made of red brick. The road between the abodes remained packed dirt, on which children ran, kicking a ball while dogs chased and barked.

“I don’t suppose you know of a place renting rooms? We have camping equipment, but I think my wife would appreciate a bed.”

“There is an empty house at the far end of the village.” She pointed. “It belonged to Carlos, but he died two months ago and had no sons or daughters to inherit. It might be a touch dusty, but there is an outdoor shower. For a meal”—she pointed to a metal-walled shack painted yellow—“see Consuela. She provides excellent meals for a fair price.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Let me know when you want to go on your tour. I’m staying with my mother in the brick house.”

Maria sauntered off with swinging hips, but he didn’t watch for more than a second before heading to the hut she’d indicated. The people outdoors—hanging laundry, whittling wood, or just standing around chatting—gave him curious looks, but no one said anything.

Carlo’s abandoned home did indeed have dust and a nest of mice, which he cleared while Ruth lay in the bed. He’d lain down a sleeping bag first as a layer against filth.

Seeing as how she slept deeply, her body recovering from the transit, he debated staying or finding Santos. The village didn’t set off his danger vibe but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be keeping an eye out.

Once she did wake, he’d do a quick circuit to see if any other outsiders were currently hanging around. Cetus could have made it here first, although he doubted it. The difficulty in reaching Astriaco would hamper their effort.

Rather than stare at the sleeping Ruth, he exited just in time to see a man wearing a patch limping down the street.

Leo took a few steps and called out, “Excuse me, are you Santos?”

The fellow halted in his tracks and squinted with his good eye. “Who you?” The English query emerged heavily accented.

“Name is Leo.” He held out his hand, but the guy ignored it.

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