Murder Most Egyptological (A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery Book 3) (15 page)

   There was a collective gasp, and I did just what I was told. I stood from the table and came around to him, and he warned the rest, “I’ll be on my way, and if you follow me, our little sleuth will be following dear Kamose to
the west.
”

   A series of pleas fell on deaf ears as Jacob spun me around and jabbed the gun in my back. “Lead the way, Mrs. Stayton. I just need to get to the street and into a cab, then you can meddle in someone else’s business.”

   I wanted to remind Jacob that this was all his fault, but thought better of it.

   We bolted out of the dining room and down the hall leading to the lobby. A few passersby stopped to look at our odd proximity to one another, but no one seemed to see the pistol at my spine. Jacob picked up his pace, forcing me faster toward the door.

    Once outside the lobby and standing on the terrace, the harsh Egyptian sunlight temporarily blinded me. I was fearful I might trip along the stairs leading to the street level. Just as my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw a swarm of little figures racing for me.

  
“Baksheesh, Lady!” they all cried, and Jacob’s escape was impeded. 

   Sandy leapt from the top step and landed on nearly all of us. The local children scattered in every direction as the two men wrestled for the weapon.

   I caught my breath after rolling down several stairs. Uprighting myself with the help of several brave, or perhaps greedy, children, I pulled my pearl-handled pistol from my purse and pointed it toward the sky.

   After pulling the trigger, I called out, “Mr. Saunders, the next shot will be aimed at you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Lucy was very much against my decision to answer Hazel’s summons on my own. As I reached toward the door to give it a knock, I wondered if my dear friend’s concern had been spot-on.

   The young hotel maid opened the door for me. Her eyes were swollen from crying. With a pained expression on her face, she ushered me inside the room before slipping out.

   Hazel sat on the center of her divan; she greeted me and asked of Lucy.

   “I dispatched her to check on Diana, that is to say
Arthur
Fox,” I replied.

   “Oh yes, that poor dear. I hear she has been arrested. Is it really illegal in Egypt to impersonate a man?”

   “We are sorting that out,” I said. “I think the fact that she sold articles to the local papers under a false identity is her greater concern.” 

   Hazel gestured for me to sit down in the chair across from her. “Such a pity for her, really; she was doing quite well with her career.”

   She had been, and I felt awful that I had been part of the writer’s downfall.

   “Did you know she was a woman? I only figured it out a few weeks ago. The maid who cleaned her room said there was nothing unusual about her belongings, countless bottles of vitamins, a jump rope and two dumbbells. However, it struck me that a man that keen on exercise shouldn’t look so gaunt and withered. Then it struck me, one of the old ladies who does laundry here looks like a little elderly man, all the fat off her; she’s lost her curves.”

   My answer was simple, as I was preoccupied by the four empty easels nearby. “There was something about her manner that caused me to speculate.”

   Hazel poured out tea for us both. I took my cup, but I did not drink from it. After my hostess took a sip of her tea, she looked to the empty easels.

   “Sandy, for the second time, has stolen my Monets. This time around, it would seem, with your help.”

   I gave a slight shake of my head. “He took the matter upon himself. I have nothing to do with his actions.”

   “You provided him with the distraction …”

   “No, Hazel, you did. When you sent Hat Tem after Percy, you set this entire affair in motion,” I corrected the icy woman.

  “Such a small-minded, self-righteous person you are, Mrs. Stayton.” Hazel pointed at my untouched cup of tea. “Really, you don’t think I would try to poison you?”

   “You prefer causing deaths from afar, but I won’t take any chances with you,” I responded, with some scorn.

   “How melodramatic. No wonder you have yet to publish a novel,” Hazel rebuked me.

   “Ah, but what a thriller your story will make. Accepting a bribe from Mr. Archer to abandon his son, and then the trick you two pulled, that is a perfect opener. But then, the passion wanes, and he strays. What do you, the woman scorned, do? You excite his lover’s husband, let him do the dirty work—”

   “I could have had no idea that the brute would kill Bertram!” Hazel protested.

   “No, but you knew that he would end the affair, one way or another.” I paused to let my words sink in. “But you were left with little, as the bribe money was gone. So then came Mr. Keeley, an older man. Tell me, how many little accidents did he survive before he choked to death? On the same morning, he had tripped on a well-placed toy along the staircase. Had you ever tried to ply him with alcohol and taken him on a stroll beside the Nile, hoping maybe he would trip and then drown? Perhaps you tripped him once or twice when hurriedly crossing a congested avenue, but he escaped the errant trolley or automobile?”

   Hazel nodded her head, almost approvingly. “What a devious imagination you have. I am suddenly rather curious as to how
your
husband died.”

   The shot hit the mark, as intended. I bit back, “I am surprised that the hotel maids have not deduced that for you.”

   “No, but they told me of the many portraits of the handsome fair-haired man—”

   I would not stand for this. “My husband died in an accident, a legitimate, horrible accident,” I told her in a forceful tone.

   Hazel’s hand trembled, and she set the china cup down on the table between us. Startled by my outburst, she actually said, “I am sorry—”

   “I do not seek your pity, and I will not have Xavier’s death compared to the demise of your husbands and your lover, which were brought about by your own manipulations and scheming.”

   Hazel’s eyes focused on mine. Quite insulted, she replied, “You have no proof that I had anything to do cause any of these deaths.”

   “You are right, absolutely right, and it doesn’t matter,” I told her as I looked around the sitting room, the same little room she had sat in for three years.

   I thought of the fancy chicken in the cramped cage at the farmer’s market. Perhaps setting it free had been the best I could do for the bird. It would have spent its final moments in that cramped cage until someone wrung its neck, or it could have lived in the park, enjoying its liberties for however many hours, days, or even weeks before the thing met its end.

   I gazed past Hazel, out the window to the gardens, and in the distance, to the Nile. Beyond that lay the entire world, for anyone bold enough to explore it.

   “You manipulated the deaths of two men, and even managed a third by accident. What has it gotten you, Hazel? Nothing but a most opulent prison.”

   Hazel Keeley made no witty retort.

   Feeling that, somehow, a perverse justice had already been served, I left the fancy chicken in its cage.

   Our pharaoh had been a sham, but a far different thing from Betsy Wilton’s flimflam. Mother Stayton and I had spent a fortune on this fake, and the media had made much of the discovery. Needless to say, I dreaded the headlines that were sure to come. At least my name would be small, in comparison to the rest.

   Professor Kinkaid’s reputation would be ruined, and he faced a bundle of legal charges for his irresponsible conduct. I was sure Martha’s name would be dragged through the mud as well. This thought gave me no pleasure.

   Dr. Smith faced a renewal of the rumors that had forced him out of England. I felt pity for him and his God-fearing wife. They were true exiles, now seeking another place of banishment to hide from the past.

   Diana Fox would make quite a few headlines as well, and like Queen Hatshepsut’s accomplishments, the journalist’s work faced rejection and scorn.

   The most sensational headlines would belong to Jacob Saunders, a convicted murderer. The press would cover his trial with zeal, and then exploit his all but certain execution to sell a few more newspapers.

   I wanted no part in this. After leaving Hazel in the shadow of all that had transpired, I went straightaway to our
dragoman
and requested he make arrangements for a hasty departure for Lucy and me.

   After settling a rather staggering bill from the Winter Castle, Sandy took us by train to Cairo. We saw the Great Sphinx and the Pyramids. Sandy even arranged for us to ride a camel.

   We stayed for just two days, and while we explored the ancient city to my delight, Sandy promptly had us back at the hotel for tea. He was a terrible creature of comfort, and we had proven quite the burden.

   At last, Sandy escorted us to our final stop in Cairo: the airport. Knowing just how nervous I was, he sat with us in the crowded waiting room.

   After we had made all the polite small talk that we could, our
dragoman
asked, “How did you know this all had to do with the artwork?”

   I was glad to be distracted from the thought of air travel, and I replied, “Your friend, Onslow Farber, was never really concerned with our missing mummy; he was worried about Mr. Archer’s missing Monets.”

   Lucy giggled, and then said, “At the museum, Mr. Archer mentioned that he’d recently been in Egypt; he tried to buy the paintings from Hazel then, I suspect.”

   Sandy nodded his head. “There was too much spite between the two; a deal couldn’t be struck.” 

   I suggested, “After Mr. Archer’s failure to acquire the paintings, Mr. Farber figured a way to get Percy into the hotel, where he would naturally meet Hazel.”

   Sandy agreed, “Yes, I was damn well surprised that old Onslow came up with such a dastardly scheme.”

   “I’m not; I dare say he has Mr. Archer’s guarantee that if the paintings return to London, they will go on display at the museum,” offered Lucy.

    Concluding my response to Sandy, I told him, “I had an inkling of the truth when Hazel said that Percy was skilled, not talented, as she described his art. She said his hands could paint whatever he saw. She made no mention of creation, only duplication. This was because she knew he had made the forgeries, good ones at that, which is a skill.”

   “What have you done with them?” Lucy asked Sandy, with a devious expression on her lovely face.

   “By the pharaohs, whatever makes you think that I took them…?” Sandy began to laugh.

    Ignoring his reply, I asked, “How did you get a key to Hazel’s room?”

   Sandy put his manicured finger to his lips and squinted for a moment. “You are, after all, the sleuth,
Mrs. X.
What would you guess?”

   Sandy was very handsome and quite charming, I replied, “Hazel is not the only person who can make a gift of French chocolates to the maid staff.”

    Both Lucy and Sandy began to laugh, and I smiled at my own wit.

   An announcement was made over the loudspeaker. Sandy leapt up from the chair beside me and said, “Righto! Well, that is your flight, ladies.”

   “Thank you, Sandy; thank you for all of your help,” I told the man.

   Almost bashfully, he replied, “I should have told you the truth straightaway. But Onslow just wanted to let you stir the sand until I had the opportunity to figure out what became of those paintings. Had I an inkling that the real things were back in Hazel’s possession, well … all the same, it made for a good game. ”

   “You played it ever so well,” I assured him.

   “What an adventure!” said Lucy, taking Sandy’s hand. “Thank you.”

   A familiar shiny, smiling face appeared before us. “Mrs. Stayton, Ms. Wallace, so good to see you again.”

   “Peter!” exclaimed Lucy.

   After one more goodbye to Sandy, we were led by the friendly cabin boy through the terminal. Lucy placed her hand on my forearm and asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

   I nodded my chin. “Oh, yes; I must face my fears.”

   I would have gladly flown around the world had Xavier been at my side. Instead, he was in my heart … thus, I could do it.

   In a blur, we exited the terminal, crossed the tarmac, and quickly boarded the craft. I inhaled the wicker and the polished wood, and again, I thought of Great Aunt Dottie’s porch.

   Lucy sat me down, and Peter quickly put a rug over my knees as several men took the other seats. Just before the engines came roaring to life, I placed a clove on my tongue and rubbed the top of the silver snuff box that had belonged to my beloved husband.

   In an effort to distract me, Lucy asked, “Once we are home, I’ll have to make sense of my notes. Won’t all of this make for a thrilling whodunit?”

   “I do hope so, although now it all seems so simple and obvious,” I remarked.

   Lucy’s high sense of morality came through as she suggested, “I think that in the book, Hazel Keeley should go to the gallows.”

     Before a reply that might soothe my dear friend came to me, I was silenced by a deafening roar as the three twirling propellers whizzed to life.

   The engines were so loud, the airplane was so cramped, and everything seemed to be happening very quickly. The craft gave a jerk and started rolling. Gaining speed, we soared onward.

   My stomach turned as I felt us lifting from God’s earth. I swallowed hard and told myself,
I can do this.

   Higher and higher we climbed. Lucy smiled kindly at me, and I forced a nervous smile back. As the air grew cooler and the craft leveled out, Peter stood from his seat, facing mine on the other side of the aisle, he came close to me, and leaning forward, he asked, “How are you doing, Mrs. Stayton; can I get you anything?”

   I nodded my chin and spoke loudly over the deafening sound, “Yes, on the previous flight, you mentioned … a parachute.”