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

by Robert Colton

  Sandy,

  I have a hunch as to what happened to Percy. I believe he was taking some item to the tomb after the party was over to conceal it. The only place it might be, where no one else would find it, is the vertical shaft within Kamose’s Tomb.

  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 h
er 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.”

  Wilma’s beady eyes became very big. “He didn’t know what she was going to do!”

  William patted his wife’s shoulder. “Oh, I knew. She just wanted to see her daughter, and then make the pain end.”

  I asked, “There was an inquest?”

  “Hers was a prominent family—under the rug, I think is how you’d say things were dealt with. But scandal sticks to you, rumors, exaggerations. I couldn’t practice medicine with people calling me a murderer behind my back.”

  “You left, and your old friend Alec Kinkaid gave you a job, far away from Harrogate,” I remarked.

  The doctor nodded his head, and I went on, “Having providing a lethal dose of medicine to someone made you hesitant to give Percy what he asked for?”

  “Quite right!” He looked me in the eye. “Percy told me he’d take some from me on the days he needed it … I didn’t have much choice. Alec knew my past, but it wasn’t anyone else’s concern.”

  The doctor’s scornful eyes fell on Alec, and then he looked away.

  Kinkaid’s brow furrowed, and in his typical mumbling fashion, he admitted, “I didn’t mean to tell him. I made some mention of your flight from Harrogate, and he dragged the rest of the story out of me.”

  The doctor made brief eye contact with the professor and then shrugged as his wife patted his arm.

  Before anything else could be asked, our attention was diverted as we heard one of the doors to the sunny chamber swing open. Sandy strolled to our table, ignoring the curious stares directed toward him.

  “Sorry I’m late.” He smiled innocently and asked, “Did I miss anything?”

  The man’s quip brought about a few sighs and a bit of nervous laughter.

  Hazel set down her china cup and said, “Mrs. Stayton, I had hoped that you’d solve this, but obviously, you are just pointing your finger about and hoping for a confession.”

  Sandy gave a chuckle and remarked, “Isn’t it obvious that Jacob killed Percy?”

  There was a little collective gasp, and then Jacob shot back, “Me? Why would I have killed Percy?”

  Before Sandy could respond, I replied, “No Jacob, you did not kill Percy. You killed Hat Tem.”

  The color drained from the young archeologist’s face. “Rubbish, what possible motive could I have?” he muttered, with little zeal.

  I glanced at Professor Kinkaid. “You wanted to end your lackluster career on a high note, whatever it took.”

  “My career has been quite successful—” Kinkaid began to refute me.

  “Your career has been a joke, Alec!” barked Jacob, finally turning on his master.

  I silenced them both when I said, “How easy you made it for Hat Tem to profit from his secret find.”

  Under his breath, Kinkaid replied, “Damn you.”

  “Alec, what is she talking about?” asked Martha, squeezing her husband’s hand.

  Reluctantly, the man explained, “Kamose’s tomb was empty, it had never been used, most likely abandoned after his brief stint as regent ended.” Kinkaid sucked in a quick gasp of air and shook his head. “But all I needed was a tomb that hadn’t been documented.”

  Kinkaid looked into his wife’s eyes. “Hat Tem knew where a cache of mummies was hidden, as he h
ad already pilfered it and sold some of the grave goods. With the help of Mrs. Keeley, well-known for her dabbling, we were introduced. He told us the price he wanted, and he took us to the cache.”

  “Oh, Alec,” said Martha, as she began to understand why her husband had been so distant.

  I blurted out my theory, “You took what you wanted, items that could be claimed as Kamose’s, and then you somehow got them in the tomb—by night, perhaps?”

  Alec’s head hung. “The sarcophagus that was the hard one. We chose the simplest of them, one that belonged to a priest or a royal son, and then we broke it apart, unable to secretly move it from the cache to the tomb in one piece.”

  “Then there never was a mummy,” said Lucy.

  Martha, Alec, Wilma, and William all retorted, “Yes, there was.”

  I looked to the young Egyptologist. “Well then, Jacob, what did you do with the mummy?”

  He gave a snort, but his eyes did not meet mine as he replied, “What are you talking about?”

  I told him, “You were the last one at the hotel to see Percy, and you saw him stealing away into the night. The next morning, curious, you went to his room. He wasn’t there, then you went to wadi and you found him, dead at the bottom of the stone stairs. You put Percy’s body in the mummy case, and I know why. You wanted me to come here, you wanted for us to meet, and you wanted to seduce me into funding your own expedition.”

  Jacob broke out into a fit of nervous laughter. “By God, that sounds like pure insanity … but you are right, absolutely right!” He laughed so hard that he coughed. “No, I didn’t kill old Percy, mind you, but I found his body.”

  “What?” cried Alec.

  “Percy stole away after the party had fallen apart, and I saw him meeting Sandy in the lobby, acting a bit queer. He had a parcel, and he darted out. The following morning, I checked in on him, and he wasn’t back in his room. I headed down to the tomb early, while everyone else was sleeping the morning off. I took the short cut, and by God, there was Percy, dead at the bottom of those rock stairs. He’d taken a hell of a tumble.” Jacob started laughing again and choked out the words, “We all knew that you thought you were some sort of sleuth, a bumbling one at that. Mrs. X, indeed! It came to me, by God what would she think when the mummy arrives in London and turns out to be a messy corpse!”