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

by Robert Colton

  “My God, you are depraved!” hissed Alec.

  Jacob beat his fist on the table and cackled. “I dragged his body into the tomb, put it in the casket, and chucked the real mummy into the vertical shaft.”

  Martha demanded, “Then what happened to Percy, was it an accident?”

  Jacob’s skin was red, and his nervous laughter had concluded. Now, he seemed shocked by his own outburst.

  I asked the bewildered fellow, “When you found the body, did he still have the parcel he had left with?”

  Jacob’s darting eyes narrowed, and slowly, he responded, “No … no, I didn’t see it.”

  “Well, what happened to his body? How did it get out of the sarcophagus?” asked Lucy.

  All the stress in Alec’s face broke, and he blurted out, “I found him, just before the workmen came to pack the sarcophagus. I panicked and hid the body, at first in the back of the tomb, and then I buried him, not far away.”

  Martha mumbled, “Why?” Alec gave her no reply.

  There was a long moment of stunned silence before I spoke. “If the parcel was missing, I doubt Percy’s death was a mere accident.” I turned to Sandy and remarked, “So many accidents.” But as I spoke, my eyes fell on Hazel.

  At first, the woman gave me a cold glare, but then there was a spark of something manic, a strange smile appeared on her face, and she spoke. “It would seem there is no point in keeping the mystery’s conclusion to myself.”

  All eyes fell on Hazel as she sipped from her tea and gathered her thoughts. “You all want the truth?” Hazel scoffed. “The truth is boring and humdrum.” A sinister smile crept onto her face, and then she spoke once more, “Percy’s death was an accident …”

  Hazel replaced her napkin in her lap, then she looked to me and said, “I had thought that you liked my Monets, but now I realize, they were mere clues to you. I forget how uncultured Americans can be.”

  The insult missed its mark. My low opinion of Hazel rendered her powerless.

  Hazel began, “My first husband, Bertram, made off with some pilfered art, belonging to his father. We sold some off to help with expenses. Not the Monets, though. Archie told me that one day they’d be valuable, very valuable. Since then, I have learned a bit about art and began dealing in it, as much as I could. You see, well-to-do people don’t care to let on that they need money; they want someone else to act as a discreet agent. And there are others who want antiquities, but they don’t know how to manage the task. That is where I can guide them.”

  “Hat Tem!” said Martha.

  “Yes, Hat Tem. He found the cache and was doing his best to make some money without getting caught. He was a clever young man. He knew my reputation, from his sister, and he came to me for advice. It struck me that he should meet up with an archeologist. One with the permits to dig, and then, together, they could ‘find’ the tomb.”

  I gently remarked, “Hat Tem was in your debt.”

  “Indeed,” responded Hazel.

  “But what does that have to do with Percy’s death?” asked Martha.

  “Percy was sent here by Bertram’s father to paint replicas of my Monets and steal away the originals. This job taking photographs was just a set up.

  “After seducing me, which I must admit was a rather easy task, Percy would come to my room, he’d make sketches of me, then we would make love … and I would fall asleep.” She shot Dr. Smith a cold glance. “I think he drugged whatever I had been drinking, and then, while I slept, he sketched the Monets.

  “As a matter of routine, I asked the maids about the contents in his room, and I was told that he had a lot of paint and four canvases. I told them to measure the canvases, and then I knew his intent. When a telegram from Mr. Farber was retrieved from the waste bin, checking on Percy’s progress, all was known to me.”

  She paused to pout. “Day after day, the girls reported back, and the copies were nearly completed. And then he grew bored with me; that’s when his tryst with Martha began.”

  Martha’s head lulled on her neck, and she blurted out, “For Heaven’s sake woman, who killed him?”

  “Percy vanished from the party, my mood turned, and I went back to my room. I saw at once that my Monets had been switched. Percy was gifted, but the work was lifeless, produced by an amateur. I rushed back to the ballroom. Sandy had just sauntered in, and …” She paused for a moment, as a shadow seemed to pass over her face, “I believe he had switched the art for the fakes and handed them off to Percy. I found Hat Tem, just preparing to depart. I begged him to go after Percy and get back my art.”

  “Oh, dear Lord,” said Arthur.

  “Hat Tem returned to the hotel very early the next morning, with my paintings. I asked what happened; he was shaken up, and all he would tell me was that it was an accident. He left me, very upset. That’s when it seems Dr. Smith saw him.” She paused for a moment. “The day came, and everyone said that Percy was missing. I never asked Hat Tem any more about what happened, but it now seems obvious.”

  Martha shook her head. “My dear, it is very convenient for you to accuse a dead man, but how do we know you didn’t follow Percy and push him down the cliff yourself?”

  Lucy objected, “That couldn’t happen. The staff watches her to make sure she doesn’t leave the building …”

  Wilma called out, “Hazel could have disguised herself,” the beady-eyed woman pointed to Arthur, “as a man, just like Fox does!”

  The journalist swallowed hard, and had she an Adam’s apple, it would have bobbed up and down.

  Lucy gave a great gasp, and Hazel made a rather sinister laugh. I had not wanted to expose the journalist’s secret, but alas, the truth was to come out.

  The journalist’s thick Boston accent receded, as she said, “No one takes a woman seriously.” She looked to me. “Maybe a wealthy woman like you feels empowered, but I know what the men were saying about you behind your back.” As if the room melted away, and only the two of us were there, she said, “Think about Hatshepsut and all she did, built temples and monuments, she ruled a kingdom, but it was all taken away from her; even her memory was obliterated. Men—petty, shallow men—afraid of us as their equals …”

  “Well, I’ll be!” said Jacob, quite surprised.

  Everyone studied the journalist, for the first time seeing past her thick glasses, and the shaving nicks she gave herself on purpose.

  Determined to once more be the center of attention, Hazel gave a great laugh and said, “I can assure you, I did not play masquerade to slip out of the building. I told you the truth. Hat Tem is responsible for Percy’s death.”

  I nodded my agreement, “Yes, of that I am doubtless.” I looked to Jacob. “You found Percy’s body at the bottom of the wadi, and it left an idea in your head, did it not? When it seemed that Hat Tem might no longer be your accomplice, but your adversary, you already had a notion in mind.”

  Jacob gave a little jerk and sighed. “I knew old Alec wouldn’t fink me out, he couldn’t, but Hat Tem, I just couldn’t trust him. He was talking to that damn Gibson. If I didn’t find funds fast, Hat Tem would have let him in on our secret.”

  “You pushed him down the cliff, to take credit for finding a bunch of antiquities?” asked the oh-so-civilized Sandy in near disbelief.

  Jacob shouted, “For fame!” He shoved back from the table.

  “Jacob!” Alec was aghast. “You are a monster.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not a fool.” Jacob pulled out a gun from his jacket and pointed it at me. “Now, everyone should be silent and remain seated, except for you, Mrs. Stayton.”

  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 medd
le 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 Pyra
mids. 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.