One Grave Less

brushing lightly past the departing Madge Stewart, who tilted her head in disapproval and gazed at him suspiciously through narrowed eyes.
    Martin looked very much the history professor that he was, in his brown tweed sports coat, well-trimmed beard, and spectacles. But he looked worried.
    “What can I do for you, Martin?” said Diane, smiling.
    He glanced behind him in the direction of the door before he spoke in a low voice.
    “I got a call this morning. It was from a reporter at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution . . . ,” he began.
    “About the fire?” said Diane.
    “No, funny, he did not even mention the thieves or the fire. He asked about you.”
    “Me?” said Diane. “What about me?”
    “Now, I don’t credit it. I know how reporters are. But I thought you should know.”
    Diane smiled. “Know what?”
    She thought she would have to drag it out of him he was so hesitant to tell her.
    “He asked about your involvement with drug smugglers when you were in South America,” he said.

Chapter 8
    The man moved in the seat of the pickup but appeared not to wake up. Maria knew he would eventually awaken, realize how long his partner had been gone, and go looking for him. She could ambush him in the dark, but she had no idea when he might wake up, and time was their enemy.
    She looked down at her new little friend who insisted on being called Rosetta. She was a paradox—a little kid, yet too grown-up. She was going to get home to her mother. Maria would make sure of that.
    Maria and Rosetta were hiding behind a thicket of dense foliage. Hiding had its challenges. They wanted to remain obscured from view but they didn’t want to get unwanted creatures on them. The place in which they were secreted was like a curtain of flora hiding them from view of the truck driver. It was a good place to not be seen, but Maria had to do something.
    “I want you to stay here, Rosetta. He must not see you. Understand?” Maria said in her raspy voice.
    The little girl nodded. “You don’t want him to know who helped you escape. You aren’t going to kill him.”
    It was a statement, not judgmental.
    “That’s right,” said Maria. “And if I fail, I don’t want you captured.”
    “You won’t fail.”
    Maria hoped she was worthy of the little girl’s faith. She couldn’t imagine Rosetta alone in the rain forest, but she had the feeling Rosetta could get along out here better than she could.
    Maria put the smaller of the guns in her waistband. She picked up the club that had worked so well against Luis Portman and eased closer to the truck. She was fairly sure that when he left the truck in search of Portman he would come down the animal trail they had followed. She selected a secluded spot by the trail to wait.
    She picked up a handful of nuts and pebbles and tossed them onto the roof of the pickup. They made a rattle that was loud to her ears but apparently not to the sleeper.
    She tossed more. He stirred.
    She picked up a larger rock and threw it at the back window. It bounced off and landed in the bed of the truck. The man awoke. She saw him sit up straight and look around. The truck door opened and he got out. Her heart thudded against her ribs. He was a big man.
    He had blond hair and sunburned skin and was dressed in the same camouflage and khakis as Portman. She was told before she visited here to wear solid colors rather than camouflage or clothes with designs. Easier to see bugs that get on you. She wondered why these men wore camouflage. It wasn’t to stay hidden. His was desert camouflage. It must be some kind of macho thing.
    “Luis, where the hell are you? How long does it take you to take a dump?”
    He came walking down the trail, as Maria predicted.
    When she was in her cage searching for a way to escape and spied the thick stick lying on the ground, she mentally practiced with it over and over—in her mind swinging it at all the pain points on the body. Swinging hard, not hesitating.
    He came closer, easy strides. He wasn’t worried.
    Maria gripped her club tight. She listened for his footfalls coming closer to her hiding place.
    One. Two. Three.
    She swung hard, aiming for his knees.
    He went down hard with a yelp and curses. Maria followed through with a strike to an elbow and another to the sacral plexus.
    “What the fuck!” he screamed.
    Maria was breathing hard and her heart thudded against her chest. She raised the club over her head and aimed at his brachial plexus when suddenly she