Inca Dove 

"Hiking the Inca Trail"    ~    Journal Eclipse Galapagos 1998    ~    Journal South America 1996    
Guardian of the Maya Tree    ~    "Chronology of Pre-Columbian Cultures"    ~    "The Incas"
"Reflections on Pre-Columbian Culture and Religion"    ~     Slides for Pre-Columbian Cultures
"Neighbors of Antiquity"    ~    Pictures South America  ~  Pictures Mexico  ~  Pictures Central America

Synopsis of Inca Dove

Inca Dove unravels Inca mysteries as Muriel Tyler faces her own mortality while adventuring her spirit on a journey to South America.  This is my third novel.  I came up with the plot during my journey through the Yucatan in 1990, though the idea had been with me for several years.   

Chapter 1  

“My wife’s missing!”  Dressed in pleated chinos from Land's End and a Fila T-shirt, Steve Tyler stood barefoot at the kitchen counter gripping the phone, rankled with worry.

He explained to the officer at the South Phoenix Precinct that during fifteen years of marriage his wife had always told him where she was going and certainly when she’d be back.  Until last evening.  Muriel hadn’t returned home.  And, at three in the morning, she was still gone.  

The day before, Steve had suspected something was wrong.  Muriel hadn’t called him at work, as she usually did, just to say hello, or to ask what he’d like for dinner, or to have him run an errand on his way home from work at Intel, which he was always happy to do.  Then, when he got home, she wasn’t in the kitchen waiting for him, along with the kids.  Diner hadn't even been started.  In fact, Kristen was still in day care, as Steve quickly learned from the answering machine, and Kevin was outside playing with neighborhood friends.  Those older boys he shouldn’t be playing with. 

Kevin had no idea why his mother wasn’t home that afternoon, but he seemed unconcerned until Steve questioned him with unusual intensity.  Then Kevin grew upset and caused Kristen to cry on their way home from Kindercare.  To top it off, while Steve threw together a hot dog and potato chip dinner, the children whined about their mother, asking endless questions until Steve ordered them to stop. 

Immediately, he chided himself.  How could he snap at the children, his own babies who were just as worried as he was?  They had every right to be concerned and he had no business adding to their confusion by shouting at them. 

In desperation, Steve called Beverly Sanders, one of Muriel’s best friends.  Under most circumstances, Steve never thought much about Beverly, except that she was someone Muriel called during the week, or occasionally met for lunch or a movie.  Bev was a single mom, so he had never socialized with her as he and Muriel did with their “couple” friends.  She was just Muriel’s friend, the only person he thought of calling during the escalating crisis.

“Oh, she was probably shopping then went to a late movie,” Beverly had suggested in her calm reassuring voice, one that Steve always found peculiar for a woman who suffered through an ugly divorce and then struggled to manage three teenager boys.  “Knowing her,” Beverly continued, “she probably needed a break.  She’ll be all right.  Don’t worry.  She's 37.”

Steve couldn’t help but worry.  Especially as the hours passed and Muriel failed to call home.  And she wasn't at any of the hospital emergency rooms, he had already called every one in the city, twice.  At moments he grew angry.  Then afraid.  

“When did you last see her?”  The officer's voice sounded calm, calculating.  This disturbed Steve.  The situation demanded urgency.  Even panic!

“This morning,” Steve stated, his brow moist with sweat.   He remembered Muriel’s face as he left for Intel yesterday morning.  Had he had kissed her?  What had she said to him?  He thought a moment, feeling sick because he couldn’t distinguish that morning from any other.  They all jumbled together, fifteen years of inseparable mornings with the same person.   

“Yesterday morning, you mean,” the voice questioned.  The door bell suddenly rang. 

Holding the cordless phone, Steve ran to the door, stumbling over Kristin’s roller blades along the way.  

The Tyler home, like a typical Phoenix house, had ledges and vaulted ceilings with no doors between the kitchen, dining room and the Arizona room – the Phoenician family room.  The kids often strewed a path of toys, clothes, books and cards from their bedroom to the back sliding doors out to the pool.  This habit had always irritated Muriel.  She battled the family endlessly for their untidiness, by bribing them or gathering everything up as she walked from room to room.  

Lately, Steve realized as he reached for the front door, his wife had stopped correcting everyone’s sloppy habits, especially his own.  She had stopped picking up until Steve himself got firm with the kids and straightened up the house.  Yes, changes had been going on lately, changes he hadn’t thought about, until now.  Until Muriel was missing.

Beverly stood outside the door, dressed in a white baggy gingham pant suit.  Steve felt disappointed.  He had hoped Muriel would appear; even if she were drunk.   

He motioned inside the short woman with tight red curls, inviting her to sit at the dining room table.  “I think my wife had some kind of class today,” he said over the phone.

“Where was that?” the officer asked.

“At the Community Center or something,” he looked at Beverly.  He had called her five times that day, to help check hospital emergency rooms, and most recently to come over and help with the police investigation. 

“The Phoenix Center,” Beverly corrected.  She set her large cloth purse on the bare Ethan Alan table.  Rather than her buoyant self, Beverly looked tired, hastily dressed and without her blue eye-shadow, though she had on red lipstick.

“Does she work?” the officer asked.

“Well, sort of.”  Steve sat at the dinning table, motioning Beverly to sit across from him.  “She’s a bookkeeper.  Works a few hours a week for the neighborhood Blockbuster and she volunteers for some local charity.”

“What’s that?”

“Local charity.”

“What’s the name of the charity.”

“Oh, The Flow From The Heart Foundation, or some such name.  She’s got brochures around here somewhere.  Anyway.  Why don’t you people send someone out here… now,” Steve demanded, his patience had swiftly subsiding.   

“Wait a minute, Mr. Tyler.  What was the condition of the house when you arrived home?  Anything missing?”

“My wife’s missing!”

“Yes, I understand.  Sir, anything else gone from the house?  Her clothes?  Jewelry?  Television?”

Steve went to the kitchen counter and gleaned the Arizona room.  He looked back at Beverly.  She would know what to say.  “Yes,” he said at last.  “The Explorer’s gone.”

“Could you describe it?” 

Steve described their new willow green Ford Explorer purchased during Super Bowl Sunday, a few weeks earlier.  On that day, he and Muriel spent hours negotiating the deal – he, the hardball, she the pushover making Steve appear un-budging.  No way was Muriel a pushover, though.  She could play hardball if she wanted to.  In purchasing the Explorer, they had worked together – their marriage at its best.  They had stuck to their offer and won, and Muriel was proud of him.  And whenever Muriel adulated Steve, he felt truly accomplished.  In many ways, she was his measure of success.

They had left the dealership parking lot during the kickoff between the Cowboys and Stealers.  The negotiating had taken too long.  And Steve had felt rushed, stupidly disappointed that he wasn’t plastered in front of the television. 

“You’ll see the rest of the game when we get home,” Muriel had said. “Besides, how could the first minute matter, anyway?  Don’t they always prolong the end, second by second?  Inch by inch?”  She had been so patient, he remembered, but she really didn’t care about the game.  Had he been a jerk?

Now, as Steve glanced at Beverly sitting at the dining room table, Super Bowl Sunday seemed so trivial.  How could he have cared so much about missing the kickoff?

“Her suitcases?” the officer interrupted Steve’s thoughts.

“Suitcases?”  Steve felt shocked.  He did not want to face the possibility that she intentionally left him.  There had been no clues, no warnings.  She simply couldn't have done that.  

He looked in the bedroom closet and said on the phone, “What about suitcases?”

“Are they gone?”

“Of course not.  Even her purse is here on the bedroom dresser, where she always leaves it.  Look officer, my wife’s been kidnapped.  Yes… I think there’s been,” he choked, “some kind of foul play...”

“What makes you think that Mr. Tyler?”

“She’d never stay out this late.  She never goes anywhere without her purse.  Please, you’ve got to send someone over to take prints or something.” 

Steve returned to the dining area, his eyes tearing.  He hadn't realized until then that she had not taken her purse.  He hadn't even noticed it.  His head began to pound.

Kevin suddenly appeared at the arched hallway threshold,  in view of the dining table.  He was pale with concern. 

“What’s going on?” the boy of 14 asked, groggily rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing.”  Beverly went over to usher him back toward his bedroom. 

“Where’s mommy?  When’s she coming home?”

“We don’t know sweetheart,” Beverly answered while Steve stood speechless.  “For now there’s nothing you can do except be brave and go back to bed.” 

“Is mommy dead?” the boy asked, trying to be brave.

“Oh no, no, Kevin.  She’s just out a little late tonight.  Maybe she’s playing hooky or something.”  Beverly tried summoning courage for herself and everyone around.  Her own three children were nearly out of the house – thank God – and she had been brave for them ever since her husband left five years earlier.  Deep inside, however, she feared the worst.  A surge of panic took hold, one she hadn’t felt since Bill asked for the divorce.  Her world had crumbled then, but she had pulled her family together as she now must do for the family of her best friend. 

Nothing terrible has happened, Beverly told herself as she tucked Kevin in bed. The crisis was a false alarm.  Muriel probably took a drive to Tucson for the night.  She had been acting moody lately, as if her hormones were out of control.  Once, she had even confided in Beverly that her life with Steve had become routine and empty.  No, “vacuous.”  That was the word she used.  A vacuous life.  It had sounded terrible.  Beyond repair..

 “I need a fling or something,” Muriel had confessed, rather flippantly.  They had been lunching at the newly opened Coffee Plantation off Warner and 48th Street, next to the new Reay’s Market Gourmet Groceries. 

“You can’t be serious.  It’s a mid-life thing.  Steve’s a great husband and wonderful father,” Beverly recalled saying, almost stupidly.  Murial's confession had shocked her, it was so unexpected.  She’d always viewed Steve and Muriel as the perfect couple, destined to be together throughout their lives.

“Thirty-seven is not middle-aged!” Muriel had insisted, her large blue eyes serious and determined.   Murial was going through something, Beverly thought back, some kind of emotional phase.  

“Kids can be rough,” Beverly had told Muriel, feeling uncomfortable giving advice.  “Especially teenagers.  But Steve’s so supportive.  Look at me.  Alone with three monsters pulling me in every direction.  Bill was a bum.  I only wish I’d left him first.”

“I know.  I admire your stamina.” 

Muriel’s look, Beverly recalled, had seemed plastic, insincere as if she were merely saying what anyone would say – rather than what she felt.  Did she really admire my stamina, Bev wondered?  Or had she thought me a fool for not fighting for a better settlement, or for clinging to a worthless man.

“I guess it’s just extended PMS,” Muriel concluded.  “Doesn’t menopause start about now?”

“Don’t be silly,” Beverly said.  “And don’t let your age determine anything.  Take another class.  Take on more hours of work.  Just don’t let the kids or any routine bog you down.  Take a trip....”

Beverly turned out the light to Kevin's room as the words, “take a trip,” ran through her mind.  What had she suggested to Muriel?  Had she inspired her friend of seven years to take that trip?   To flee her family?  

Offering Muriel advice had felt strange in the first place.  It wasn’t something Beverly usual gave.  If anything, Muriel had always offered suggestions, concerning Beverly’s messed-up romantic interests.  Protective, in fact.  There to say this guy is too self-absorbed or that one too unreliable or too aggressive or even too nice.  “A man too nice has this flip side,” Muriel had said.  “a very abusive flip side.”  How Muriel knew so much about men, with only Steve in her life, Beverly wasn’t sure.  But Muriel was wise.  She knew a lot about human nature, probably because she suffered through her mother’s death.  It seemed some people were just better at figuring out life than others.  Muriel was.  Beverly wasn’t. 

Beverly shut the door to Kevin’s room.  The weary and frightened boy had already drifted back asleep.

Minutes later, two police officers arrived at the Tyler house, a young blond man and a robust black woman.  An odd partnership, Steve noted. 

The officers went through every room of the house.  They checked the garage, all the windows, and they even searched around the yard with flashlights.  Then they searched Muriel’s purse in the master's bedroom, together with Steve, concluding that all her money or credit cards were intact.  As far as Steve could tell, no jewelry or make-up was gone from her dresser, their bank accounts and credit accounts hadn’t been touched in the past week, and no one had disturbed any of her clothes or nightgowns neatly folded in the drawers.  Nothing was out of place.  She had simply vanished without a trace.

“What was she wearing when you last saw her,” the young blond officer, Patrick Nelson, asked. 

The question distressed Steve.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember what she had been wearing when he last saw her, yesterday morning.  And he couldn't stop thinking about that moment.  “She might have been in a T-shirt, one with the flute player, Kokapelli, or some kind of Hopi design.  She likes Native American designs.  And jeans, but I’m not sure.  She likes to buy clothes… has so many I don’t know what’s new when she first wears it.  That sometimes annoys her.  She wants me to notice things, I know she does.  But then when I do offer a compliment, she doesn't believe I'm sincere.  'Oh, this old thing…’ she'll say.  Isn’t that incredible?”  He looked at the officers.

“No, Mr. Tyler, not really,” Nelson sympathetically replied.  “It’s usual.  Just keep thinking about what she might’ve been wearing and give us a call when you remember.  So,” the officer wrote in his report, “you say she’s 37, 5’4”, about 130-135.”

“That’s right.  Light brown hair, silky down her back – she wears it long for me.”  Steve grinned.  Muriel had indeed said, several times, “I wear my hair long just for you, Steven.” 

“Curly?  Wavy?” the black woman asked.

“Some waves, though she often wears a single French braid.  She’s good at doing it herself,” he added.  “Braiding, that is.”

“Birthmarks?  Any distinguishing marks?  A mole on the face?  Scars?”

“Not that I can think of.”  Steve visualized his wife’s naked body.  He suddenly felt stripped to his essence, standing before the officers.  He had been lackadaisical about understanding his wife.  And now, she may be dead somewhere and he'd never be able to tell her how much he really loved her.  That she was his heart beat, his reason for doing everything he did.

“Well,” Steve added, sighing to keep away tears, “She’s got a kind of mole by her right nostril.  At least she’s always complaining about one growing there and wanting to have it removed.  I never would’ve notice if she hadn’t pointed it out.”

“OK,” the black woman jotted down the detail.  “Brown mole.”

“No white, I guess...”

“White mole on right nostril,” the woman said.  “Anything else?”

“Oh, well.  There's one more thing.  She’s a double D cup.  Very large chest.  Kind of a burden to her, in fact...”  Steve noticed that the black woman, officer Snider, had very large breasts.  He looked aside, adding, “She’s a beautiful woman, Officers.  Please bring her home.”

“We’ll do the best we can.  Meanwhile, try and recall any details from when you last saw her… or any clues as to what might have happened or where she might have gone.  We get calls about missing adults several times a day, Mr. Tyler.  Lots are marital spats – a husband or wife takes off for a few days.  Did you check with her parents?”

“Her dad lives in Portland and her mom’s dead.”

“Called him?” Nelson asked.

“Don’t want to worry the old man.  He’s seventy now.  Not in too good of health.”

“Anyway, Mr. Tyler,” said officer Snider, “the police can only do so much.  That’s a fact.  The rest is up to you.”

“But this is not like her.  We never have any serious fights.  Just small arguments.  You know how women are.  She didn't think I talked enough about my job.”  Steve looked at the officers who quietly listened.  “I probably don’t… but there’s nothing interesting about being an engineer.  Why trouble her, you know?”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Officer Snider said.  “Sir, did you find her wedding ring on the dresser or somewhere around the house?”

“Of course not.  She never takes it off.  Never has since the day I placed it on her finger.”

“Fine, Mr. Tyler.  Just asking.  In cases like this we have to check every possibility.”

Nelson looked at his partner for a moment and said.  “It is odd that the car’s gone with no signs of a break-in and all her other things are left untouched.”  He turned to Steve, who now leaned against the dining room wall, his fingers wiggling in agitation. 

Beverly patiently sat at the dining table, waiting to help out.  When Steve and the officers returned to the kitchen, she offered to make some coffee, which the officers politely accepted.

“Did your wife ever drive anywhere on the spur of the moment, without her purse?” Nelson asked, after taking a sip of the rich fresh ground coffee.  “Great coffee,” he added to lighten the mood.  “Beats the crap down at the precinct.”

“No.  She never drove off without her purse.  Never,” Steve insisted.

“Sure?  The grocery store?  For gas?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Steve said, angrily, and he seldom grew angry, except during heated meetings at Intel, and rarely with Muriel.  “I always buy the gas,” he said, in a calmer tone, tying to make it through the interview.  After all, the officers were there to help him find his missing wife, not to implicate him in a crime, he told himself.  “Besides, she keeps her money in her purse.  And her purse is here with all her money and credit cards.  Even her driver’s license.  Now why would she be driving without her driver’s license?”

“All right.  All right, Mr. Tyler,” Snider said.  “Be patient.  Calm.  Anger never helps matters.  Look, give us a call if you come up with anything.  Anything at all.” 

The officers set their coffee on the dining room table, gathered up their briefcase and left the house. 

Steve stood at the front door as the police car pulled away.  Neighbors, he assumed, were watching.  When would he tell everyone that Muriel was gone?  He’d have to ask neighbors if they saw her leave, it occurred to him, though he dreaded the thought of going from house to house.  “My wife’s missing,” he imagined saying.  “Oh?  Well, come on in…  care for some tea?”  Some of the neighbors he hadn’t even met.  Fine way to get acquainted.

He felt helpless for the first time since he was a small boy and his younger brother fell from the school yard slide, breaking his arm.  He could do nothing at that time but stand there and watch his mother gather up her screaming child.  But his mother was not here for him.  No one was – except maybe Beverly.  Thank god Beverly was here, he thought as he returned to the kitchen to see what she was doing.

He would not go to work that day, he had already decided, and probably wouldn’t go for the rest of the week.  Rather, he himself would drive around to every hospital or place Muriel frequented and look for clues to her whereabouts.  But first, he would make sure Beverly took care of the kids until Muriel returned.  Then he would drive the Taurus to his parent’s house in Sun City West.  Muriel had always been close to his mother, a fact he forgot to mention to the police.  

© 2000 by Teresa Allen. All Rights Reserved.

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(last edit:  12-30-00:  Happy New Year !)