Effigy by Theresa Danley Page A

saw the cold reprimand in his eyes. John quickly deposited them and the ratty hat into the closet behind the front door.
    Peet cleared his throat. “Where’s—”
    “Out shopping. She won’t be back for a couple of hours.” A cold day in hell wouldn’t stop Martha from her errands, let alone a little drizzle in the weather.
    When John turned back to the living room he found Lori studying an enlarged photograph of a Mayan pyramid prominently displayed on the wall beside the fireplace. He grinned, pleased with her interest for it was his favorite picture, taken during the spring equinox several years ago.
    “They call that the Castillo down in the Yucatan ,” John said. “Perhaps better know as the Pyramid of Kukulkan.”
    “It’s impressive,” Lori said.
    “Ah, but look closer and I think you’ll agree that the most impressive part isn’t the pyramid, but its shadow.”
    Lori leaned in closer. “The shadow?”
    John smiled, waiting patiently for her to see it—the play of light along the profile of the pyramid. Step by step the anemic shadow appeared to slither down the entire pyramid, only to connect with the head of a large stone serpent at the foot of the balustrade.
    “The shadow forms a snake,” Lori observed.
    “Precisely. That image appears every spring equinox when the sun aligns perfectly with the pyramid. It’s an amazing architectural feat of shadowplay.”
    He turned back to Peet who’d seated himself on the arm of the recliner near the heavily draped picture window. To John’s dismay, he’d rested an arm across the large telescope standing to the side.
    “But I’m guessing the two of you didn’t come here to discuss shadows.”
    What did they come for? John was still trying to wrap his brain around the instigator of this strange visit. Anthony Peet hadn’t stepped foot in his house in nearly ten years. John hadn’t spoken as many words to him in all that time. On the outside they were colleagues who’d had a falling out, but on the inside the grievance was far more caustic. So what could possibly be so important to prompt Anthony to leap the chasm of smoldering bridges?
    Peet stood, his hands plunging submissively into the pockets of his trousers. But when he took a step forward, all humbled appearances dissolved with the scrap piece of paper he’d retrieved. He held it out to John.
    “We’re hoping you can tell us what this is.”
    John eyed him suspiciously as he took the note. He unfolded it and found the word “ACATZALAN” boldly printed across its length. Whatever had been printed or written below had been torn away.
    “Where did you get this?”
    “We found it.”
    John studied him carefully. Was this a joke? The least Peet could have done was bring him something of archaeological value. Or perhaps even something astronomical. Surely he understood that it would take something significant to acquire John’s cooperation. After all, until Peet agreed to step away from the effigy project, John had refused to assist with the research—even if it was one of the greatest finds in southwestern archaeology.
    “Does this have anything to do with the effigy?” he asked.
    “No”
    “Yes”
    John turned back to Lori who was blushing at the sound of her voice contradicting Peet.
    “It’s for my dissertation,” she quickly explained.
    John wasn’t convinced. “And your research led you to a torn piece of paper?”
    “Do you know what it means?” Peet pressed.
    Inside, John wanted to throw this nonsense back out the door. He wanted to forever wash his hands of Anthony Peet, but something was stopping him. If someone had asked him right then and there what that something was, he’d admit it was Lori. Even in retirement he found himself unable to turn away a student. So that brake on his impulse had to be Lori. At least that was easier than admitting to his own inner curiosity.
    John set the note aside and started for his library. “Just wait right there,” he growled as he