Alison and Correy Morgan came to Mexico with their archaeologist aunt to assist with some digging, and they manage to root out a little dusty mystery, too. The site that they're working on is loaded with treasure, but the artifacts are disappearing at almost the same rate that they're being exhumed. Those Mexican idols are strictly old sombrero for most juvenile readers and so is the Morgans' stint of sleuthing. You can pick out the guilty man right away when he says, ""Well, you're out of luck, kid...there ain't any hotel in Topolo"" (the suspected, but actually helpful natives speak much more grammatically), nor is it surprising that the chief archaeologist's son, who keeps dreaming of having a car of his own, is the go-between. Siesta-inducing at best.