the Hotel Monterrey, where he’s booked rooms for all of us.”
“There could be a problem.” Shala pulled a wallet-sized photograph of Katie from his pocket. “I found this on the floor in the airport lobby. Did one of you drop it?”
Katie read the back. “That’s my handwriting. I sent this to Dad right after school pictures came out. Why would it be in the airport?”
“There are a couple of possibilities.” Shala’s face was grim. “Either Uncle William was at the airport and accidentally dropped it. Or the man who stole your bag had it and was using the photo to identify you for some reason.”
“But how could that creep have gotten my picture?” Katie’s eyes widened. “Unless something happened to Dad.”
“Calm down.” Sam sat on his suitcase. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions. The guy could have been a pickpocket. He probably swiped Dad’s wallet earlier and read your letters. He took one look at your wimpy picture and decided to wait for you in the airport because you looked like an easy mark.”
“I do not look like an easy mark.” Katiesquared her shoulders. “And another thing—”
“We need some answers.” Shala stepped to the curb. “I say we get a taxi and go to the hotel. Maybe Uncle William left a message with the desk.”
“Pssst.
Gringos
. I have something for you.”
They turned. The voice was coming from the alley. A small Mexican American boy peeked around the corner. He held up a teal-colored canvas bag.
“Hey! That’s my overnight bag.” Katie rushed to the corner. “Where’d you get it?”
The boy stepped back into the shadows and shrugged. “Pepe knows about everything that goes on in San Marcos. My cousin found this bag in the garbage. I knew it was yours. So I brought it to you.” He held it out to her.
Katie grabbed it. “It’s empty. And somebody has ripped out the lining.”
The boy put his hands up. “I am innocent. I am merely returning your property—an act for which most wealthy tourists would reward me generously.” He held out his hand.
“Thanks a lot.” Katie scowled.
Shala took the bag. “Look at the way these cuts are made. Someone was careful to only slice the lining, not the bag itself. They must have thought something was hidden behind the lining and they were worried about damaging it.” He looked at Pepe. “Do you know who did this?”
“Better question,” Sam said, moving close to the boy. “
Why
did they do this?”
Pepe shook his head. “Not so fast. I have not survived this long on the streets of San Marcos by
giving
away information.”
Sam reached into his jeans and took out a couple of dollars. “Here. Now, what’s the story?”
Pepe took the money and stuffed it deep in his pocket. “The one who took your bag is not from San Marcos. He is an outsider, hired to meet you at the airport. And your
amigo
is right. The bag is torn like that because he was searching for something he believes you are carrying.”
Katie frowned. “What in the world would I have that somebody would go to all this trouble to get?”
Pepe shrugged. “That I cannot tell you. But I would be very careful,
señorita
. If these men did not find the thing they were looking for in your bag, they will try again.” He turned to walk back down the alley.
“Wait.” Sam grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “Can you tell us where the Hotel Monterrey is from here?”
Pepe’s face brightened. “It is my business to offer assistance to poor lost tourists—for a small fee, of course.”
“Of course.” Sam gave him another dollar.
Pepe stepped into the street and pointed up the road. “Take Desert Avenue. Turn left at the square. The hotel is on Piedra Street. It’s a good choice. Hot water and everything.”
“One more question.” Sam held a dollar over Pepe’s palm. “What have you heard about an American archaeologist named William Crockett?”
Pepe snatched the money and shoved it in his pocket. “At this time I cannot say.
“There could be a problem.” Shala pulled a wallet-sized photograph of Katie from his pocket. “I found this on the floor in the airport lobby. Did one of you drop it?”
Katie read the back. “That’s my handwriting. I sent this to Dad right after school pictures came out. Why would it be in the airport?”
“There are a couple of possibilities.” Shala’s face was grim. “Either Uncle William was at the airport and accidentally dropped it. Or the man who stole your bag had it and was using the photo to identify you for some reason.”
“But how could that creep have gotten my picture?” Katie’s eyes widened. “Unless something happened to Dad.”
“Calm down.” Sam sat on his suitcase. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions. The guy could have been a pickpocket. He probably swiped Dad’s wallet earlier and read your letters. He took one look at your wimpy picture and decided to wait for you in the airport because you looked like an easy mark.”
“I do not look like an easy mark.” Katiesquared her shoulders. “And another thing—”
“We need some answers.” Shala stepped to the curb. “I say we get a taxi and go to the hotel. Maybe Uncle William left a message with the desk.”
“Pssst.
Gringos
. I have something for you.”
They turned. The voice was coming from the alley. A small Mexican American boy peeked around the corner. He held up a teal-colored canvas bag.
“Hey! That’s my overnight bag.” Katie rushed to the corner. “Where’d you get it?”
The boy stepped back into the shadows and shrugged. “Pepe knows about everything that goes on in San Marcos. My cousin found this bag in the garbage. I knew it was yours. So I brought it to you.” He held it out to her.
Katie grabbed it. “It’s empty. And somebody has ripped out the lining.”
The boy put his hands up. “I am innocent. I am merely returning your property—an act for which most wealthy tourists would reward me generously.” He held out his hand.
“Thanks a lot.” Katie scowled.
Shala took the bag. “Look at the way these cuts are made. Someone was careful to only slice the lining, not the bag itself. They must have thought something was hidden behind the lining and they were worried about damaging it.” He looked at Pepe. “Do you know who did this?”
“Better question,” Sam said, moving close to the boy. “
Why
did they do this?”
Pepe shook his head. “Not so fast. I have not survived this long on the streets of San Marcos by
giving
away information.”
Sam reached into his jeans and took out a couple of dollars. “Here. Now, what’s the story?”
Pepe took the money and stuffed it deep in his pocket. “The one who took your bag is not from San Marcos. He is an outsider, hired to meet you at the airport. And your
amigo
is right. The bag is torn like that because he was searching for something he believes you are carrying.”
Katie frowned. “What in the world would I have that somebody would go to all this trouble to get?”
Pepe shrugged. “That I cannot tell you. But I would be very careful,
señorita
. If these men did not find the thing they were looking for in your bag, they will try again.” He turned to walk back down the alley.
“Wait.” Sam grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “Can you tell us where the Hotel Monterrey is from here?”
Pepe’s face brightened. “It is my business to offer assistance to poor lost tourists—for a small fee, of course.”
“Of course.” Sam gave him another dollar.
Pepe stepped into the street and pointed up the road. “Take Desert Avenue. Turn left at the square. The hotel is on Piedra Street. It’s a good choice. Hot water and everything.”
“One more question.” Sam held a dollar over Pepe’s palm. “What have you heard about an American archaeologist named William Crockett?”
Pepe snatched the money and shoved it in his pocket. “At this time I cannot say.
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