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“We’re all different. We should respect her wishes,” Sam said gently.
Remi stopped and stared out at the ocean, the pristine beauty calming her as it usually did. “You’re right, of course. I just don’t want her to overdo things, to injure herself and get into big trouble. That would make her recuperation time even longer.”
“You know what you need? Let’s head over to the Valencia Hotel and get you a full spa treatment. The whole deal. That always makes you happy. And then lunch on the restaurant veranda, maybe a Kistler Chardonnay, some blue point crab . . .”
“Why, Sam Fargo. Now I remember why I hang out with you.”
“I thought it was my piano playing.”
“And your lovely singing voice.”
He gave her a skeptical frown. “Maybe that’s pushing it.”
“‘To each his own,’ said the man as he kissed the cow . . .”
They spent the morning and much of the afternoon at the hotel, and when they returned home, Remi was in considerably improved spirits. Sam suggested they begin poring through the archive of pre-Columbian lore Pete and Wendy had amassed.
The whole research team was working harmoniously downstairs, Pete leaning over Kendra’s station and pointing at something on her monitor.
When evening came and twilight faded into night, they’d only dented the reams of accounts, many of them conflicting. Sam and Remi agreed that the Toltec society around A.D. 1000 would be where they’d focus their energy, scouring the accounts for anything that hinted at European influence around that time. When they said good night to Selma and Kendra, they were both exhausted but heartened that they’d made at least a small amount of progress in their research.
“Did you see the way Pete was looking at Kendra?” Remi asked as she plumped the pillows in readiness for some well-earned rest.
“Not really. What did I miss?”
“I think he might be taken with her.”
“Pete? Really?”
“That’s what I got. I wonder what Wendy thinks?”
“I’ll defer to your feminine intuition in these matters. Everyone knows men are the last to know these things.”
“It’s one of the endearing qualities of your gender.”
Zoltán watched them from his position at the foot of the bed, his eyes alert, ears pointing straight up.
“At least I’ve got that going for me,” Sam said.
Remi moved behind him and slipped her arms around his chest. “I’m willing to forgive you for putting me on ice recently—at least a little, big boy.”
“Don’t scare the dog.”
“He’s braver than he looks.”
Zoltán, as if following the discussion, closed his eyes with a faint snort.
Sam, check this out,” Remi called, the morning’s second cup of coffee cooling on her desk beside her oversize monitor.
“What am I looking at?” he asked.
“Quetzalcoatl.”
“The feathered serpent god of the Aztecs?”
“Also called Votan by the Mayans.”
“And?”
