Murder Most Egyptological (A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery Book 3) (13 page)

   Please meet Lucy and me at dawn tomorrow morning. I would very much like to enter the tomb before the expedition team arrives.

  -Mrs. Xavier Stayton

  The polite fellow at the front desk took my note and assured me he would have a courier deliver it to Sandy’s address at once.

   Without the aid of the rickshaws and the silent fellows who operated them, the journey up the Theban Hills was quite tiresome.

   Lucy and I reached the dangerous summit just as the tip of the sun sank along the horizon. The ancients of the land believed that their Sun God, named Ra, was traveling into darkness to combat chaos. This thought amused me, as Lucy and I had traveled to the West Bank to cut through some of the chaos surrounding Percy’s disappearance.

   “Be careful!” said Lucy, as I moved closer to the treacherous steps.

   I smashed my pith helmet firmly on my head and replied, “You too!”

   Slowly, with less and less sunlight to guide us, Lucy and I descended to the wadi below. Thankfully, we made it to the flat ground with ease.

   As hoped for, we were alone. The rest of the expedition team would be at the Winter Castle, partaking in a somber evening of routine, shadowed by Hat Tem’s death.

   “You are sure he won’t be long?” asked Lucy, uncertain about the necessity of my scheme.

   “I am sure.” And I was. Sandy did not strike me as the adventurous type. My Xavier would have thrilled at the chance to explore a pharaoh’s tomb in the wee hours of the night, but not Sandy. He was a creature of comfort. The risks he took would be careful, well planned and in posh locations.

   Shadows quickly engulfed the narrow valley. Lucy suggested we fetch a lantern from the supply tent. “Yes, let’s have it handy, but we shouldn’t light it yet.”

   While she left me alone at the closed entrance of the tomb, I fished out from one of my vest pockets the silver snuff case that held my cloves.

   I tried very hard not to dwell on our location. The place had long been home to the Egyptian kings, who believed that they lived on; some of their lore even stated that their souls came and went from these tombs, like a gentleman out for an evening stroll.

   Lucy returned to my side, and we waited. The sky turned from dark crimson to purple. It was not yet black when we heard the sound of pebbles falling from the cliff face and a familiar voice echo, “Blast it!”

  In the shadows, we watched a figure descend the dangerous steps very slowly. I took my little pearl-handled pistol from its vest pocket and pointed the weapon in the general direction of the footfalls coming toward us.

   “Light it!” I whispered to Lucy.

   With none of her normal grace, my dear friend fumbled with a match and then lit the lantern.

   Not too many steps away, Sandy jerked to a halt. Too stunned to speak, he instinctively flashed us his friendly smile.

   Mimicking the man, I said, “Righto, Mr. Warner. What brings you out on this lovely evening?”

   His smile shifted from nervous to guilty. “What’s all this?”

   “We wanted to see how important it was for you to get to the tomb before us,” I said, with the confidence of a woman whose theory had been proven correct, and one with a loaded pistol in her trembling hands.

   “Well, you proved yourself a bloody clever lady.” Sandy waved his hands about. “Do you mind pointing the gun down? I’m not all that fond of them.”

   I did as he asked. I suspected that the man was far from threatening. I had only brandished the thing to prove that I meant business.

   “You lied to us. You said you were not at King Kamose’s going away party,” I said.

  “I don’t know that it was much of a lie. I told you that I was at the hotel, and by the time I went ’round, it wasn’t much of a party,” he said with his usual chipper attitude.

   I nodded. “Of course, there is more to the deception.”

   Sandy’s smile never wavered. “I suppose so, but you have it all figured out, don’t you?”

   “Very nearly. I just needed you to prove my theory, that something
could
have been hidden in the tomb.”  

   “I doubted your theory. Had Percy made it here, he would have packed them away with the artifacts, just as he’d planned. All the same, I had to see for myself,” retorted Sandy, ever so happily.

   “What would he have packed?” asked Lucy, not yet understanding.

   “It is all quite clear what happened now,” I remarked, nodding with satisfaction.

Chapter Twelve

Despite the fact that it was teatime, the hotel manager had been gracious enough to allow me the use of the morning café. The airy chamber was empty, with only Hazel’s customary table set. I was seated next to the open chair that Hazel preferred, and Lucy sat next to me. At my request, the tea service was laid before the party arrived.

   Hesitantly, suspiciously, my summons was answered. Arthur Fox was the first to arrive. There was a fresh nick from the shaving blade on his chin, and the lean man wore a stiff, ill-fitted jacket that made him appear quite juvenile.

   Just after the journalist greeted us with little enthusiasm, the Smiths arrived, wide-eyed and bearing exaggerated smiles. Mrs. Smith began chattering about the lovely platters of dainty sandwiches and scones.

   Jacob Saunders came next. He was neatly dressed and tried to act carefree; however, he would not meet my gaze even as he offered to pour tea for Lucy and me.

   Martha appeared at the doorway next. She was wearing a striking red dress, and around her throat was a black silk scarf. There was a queer, maniacal smile on her painted lips. She walked quickly toward us, leaving her husband to rush at an odd gait to keep close to her.

   Professor Kinkaid looked quite haggard. His hair was oiled and combed off to the side, and his beard was very grey. He looked like a man holding onto a terrible secret.

   Gracefully sinking to her chair, Martha said, “Well, Mrs. Stayton, you have assembled your suspects. I do hope my attire is … appropriate.”

   “Quite,” I agreed. I appreciated Martha not for her character, but her desire to stay in character. 

   Kinkaid asked, in what was rather a mumble, “What is this all about?”

   As if on cue, Hazel entered the lovely room and sauntered toward us. This gave me a moment to consider my response to the professor.

   “Mrs. Keeley, thank you for playing hostess,” I said, with all the charm I could.

   “Of course, it is my pleasure,” Hazel replied as she took her seat and gazed over us as if we were her subjects. For a moment, the woman’s cool grey eyes lingered on the single seat that remained unoccupied.

   Martha elbowed her husband and pointed at the little teapot to his right. Nervously, he poured out a cup of tea for Hazel, his wife, and then himself, as he remarked, “Mrs. Stayton, I don’t understand why we are all here.”

   “I’ll come to my point, Professor. I wanted to announce that work on Kamose’s tomb will come to a halt. In short, I am firing you all,” I said with a gleeful smile.

   Jacob’s face froze, and he began to stutter, “But there is still much to catalog …”

   Martha gave a sardonic laugh and said, “Mrs. Stayton, I’m disappointed. I thought you had brought us altogether to tell us
whodunit?”

   “Oh, I have,” I told Martha in a friendly, agreeable tone.

   Kinkaid snapped, “Well, then, get on with it, woman!”

   I nodded my chin and looked to Martha. “You have played the part of the suspicious lover quite well, Mrs. Kinkaid, and I have been wondering why. I know you didn’t kill Percy. You had no reason to. He was just a passing fancy. He meant nothing to you. In fact, I think his, as well as your other beaus’, purpose was simply to make your husband jealous.”

   Martha’s intelligent eyes narrowed, and her red lips pressed together. I went on speaking, “You were just playing another game, but then the pawn ended up missing. You were left to wonder if you had gone too far this time. Had the jealousy you meant to create become lethal?”

   As Martha’s eyes darted to her lap, Alec barked out, “What are you saying, Mrs. Stayton?”

   I looked the man in his eyes and asked, “Did your wife ever ask you if you killed Percy Huston?”

   Without hesitation, he responded, “Of course not!”

   I gave him an amused smile and said, “Yes, of course not, because she feared that you did.”

   Martha looked to her husband, with a questioning glance.

  Kinkaid turned red. “Martha … surely, you don’t …”

  She made no reply.

    I remarked, “Your wife did all she could to act as if she were a likely culprit and play you off as the doddering cuckold, whose sole passion is his artifacts.” I looked to Dr. Smith. “And she was helped along by a loyal friend, was she not, Doctor?”

   The man’s face went pale. “Well, yes, maybe … Alec isn’t the jealous type. He wouldn’t have knocked off old Percy, not over a few love letters and boxes of chocolates …”

   “What are you babbling on about? Martha enjoys flirting, and that’s all. I know that; I’m no fool!” Kinkaid said angrily.

   Martha and Dr. Smith exchanged glances, and both started to speak, their words a jumble of apologies and assurances that they trusted the professor.

   Kinkaid took his wife’s hand. “Martha, really, you must believe me. I know you, I know you …”

   Her tearful eyes came alive as if something inside her, long lost, had just been renewed. “You’re so preoccupied, and this dig has been the worst; you’ve been an absolute stranger to me.”

   As if we all had vanished, the man said, “I know, but you must understand, I didn’t want it to be this way.”

   Dr. Smith beamed happily. “There, Mrs. Stayton, you see, neither of the Kinkaids had any desire to do Percy in.”

   I nodded. “Oh, yes, you are quite right. But that isn’t so true for you, is it?”

   All eyes turned sharply on the doctor as he rung his hands and frowned. “Now, Mrs. Stayton, that’s not fair.”

   “Percy Huston knew why you left your former practice, did he not?” I pressed.

   Wilma finally spoke. “It’s no one’s business. We had nothing to do with Percy’s death!”

   “How did Percy’s belongings end up in your room?” I demanded.

   The Smiths looked to each other, and before her husband could lay a restraining hand on the woman’s shoulder, she leaned away and replied, “Waste is a sin. His belongings would have just been chucked in the hotel’s incinerator—”

   “Wilma …” The doctor shook his head.

   “Well, it’s the truth. When it was obvious he was gone, it seemed mighty suspicious that he’d left behind his camera and painting brushes and all of his clothing. Better to give away the things to the needy.

   “William and Percy had a fight, you know, and I thought people would suspect … but my husband had nothing to do with whatever happened to the man.”  

  I pounced. “Then why did your husband send the fake telegram to Jacob, and why did you buy that pitiful replica of a mummy and abandon it at the train station? Did you not want me to think the case was closed; were you not hiding something?”

   Again, the Smiths looked to each other and then back to me. Dr. Smith placed his hand gently on his wife’s shoulder. “We didn’t tell the other what we were up to; what rot.”

   Wilma blushed. “For what I paid for that mummy, it ought to have been real. These natives will cheat you for every pound!”

   I nodded. “And you were light on funds after Percy fleeced you.”

   Dr. Smith shook his head. “You are wrong there, dear; what he wanted from me was sleeping medicine.”

   I felt Hazel shift in her chair beside me, as I asked, “For himself?”

   “That’s what he told me …”

   “And you did not believe him,” I countered.

  “He wanted eight doses, and I told him that was enough to kill someone …”

   “What did he have over you?” insisted Hazel.

   Smith’s eyes darted about us all, and he sighed and said, “I had a patient in Harrogate; she had a cancer, and she wasn’t long for this world. I proscribed her morphine for her pain. I doled it out to her private nurse.” He let out a deep breath and reflected on the past. “She was just holding on to see her daughter, who was rushing back from Australia. The day the girl was due in, my patient rang me up herself. She wanted more morphine on hand; she said she was in a bad way.

   “I went to her, and I gave
her
a bottle, not her nurse, but her.”