Murder Most Egyptological (A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery Book 3) (8 page)

   “Better than when I was a girl, I suppose. Boring men in their finery, standing in the vestibule, chatting until they might be privileged to an invitation to tea, no—that wasn’t for me.”

   Once Hazel fell silent, I asked, “Were you not the least bit jealous of Martha?”

   The woman shook her head. “No. You see, like I said, Percy and Bertram were cut from the same cloth. Once the thrill, the passion went stale, I knew it was time to be done with him.” She pointed a finger at me and said, “And that is what makes me a fine red herring, Mrs. Stayton, because no one will believe me.”

   Once our meeting came to a polite conclusion, Hazel told me that I could keep the note. Lucy and I stood from the table, but oddly, Hazel remained, as if she would stay on to hold court.

   Sandy jostled the table he was seated at and, in a haphazard manner, tossed his cards down, saying, “Righto, a shame we weren’t playing gin-rummy; with this hand, I might have won.”

   In two long strides he was beside us, and rather loudly, he asked, “What did you think of the resident Jezebel? I hear that’s what Mrs. Smith calls her.”

   I hesitated until we were in the hall to respond. “She’s quite a character.”

  “I’ll say! What gall, but she’s made good of it. Hasn’t stepped foot out of this hotel in three years,” Sandy said, sounding rather amazed.

   “What are you talking about?” asked Lucy.

   “The bet!” said Sandy.

   I asked, “What bet?”

   Sandy stopped in his tracks. “I’m surprised she didn’t tell you about it; she’s quite proud of herself.”

   Becoming a tad impatient, I said, “Then I am sure she would be pleased if you elaborated.”

   “Righto, well, this is what I know of the story: After her first husband, poor Archie, got himself shot to death, Hazel didn’t waste much time. Archie left her some artwork, pinched from his father, and a note for a few months’ back rent. She married some old sod right off. What do you know, the fellow choked to death on a piece of lamb at a dinner party a month after the wedding. I have a friend who was there, played witness to the shocking scene.

   “The scheming woman, twice decked out in black now, put on a good show. Cried at the funeral, right good, but I’ll tell you it’s when they read the will she really cried. The bloke hadn’t changed his will, and every shilling went to his children.”

   Lucy frowned and asked, “What does this have to do with a bet?”

  “She hadn’t anywhere to go, you see. She checked in here, nearly three years ago. After a few weeks, the manager approached her about paying her tab. She told him she’d settle her bill when she checked out.

   “Nearly a month passed, and one of the owners was in town. He tried to sweet talk her and all, but after getting nowhere, he came to the point and asked if she had any money. She didn’t give him a straight answer, and he warned her, the next time she left the hotel, she’d find her belongings in the street and wouldn’t be let back in.”

   Sandy gave a good laugh and shook his head. “Would you believe what she did? Looked him in the eyes and said, ‘I have no intention of ever leaving this hotel.’ Now, keep in mind, this was said over a round or two of drinks. The owner wagered her, she could rack up whatever bill she liked, but the moment she stepped foot off the property he’d take her to the courts and sue her for the amount.”

   Lucy marveled, “Hazel hasn’t left the hotel in three years?”

   Sandy chuckled. “No, she even made a hero out of herself when some dullard fell asleep with a lit cigarette. She led the bucket brigade until the fire was put out, otherwise she might have found herself forced out of the place if it went up in cinders.”

   In disbelief, I said, “How could one remain in a hotel for nearly three years?”

   Sandy pointed towards several doorways about the wide hall. “You’ve got your restaurants, the beauty parlor, even a ladies’ dress store. Besides that, she’s a local attraction. People hear her story and want to meet the woman; they get home and send her gifts: chocolates, kimonos, slippers, hats, cosmetics. Hazel keeps what she likes and uses the rest as gratuities for the hotel staff. She treats ’em well. It has been said that a few of the maids act as her spies, and I believe it; hardly a secret in Luxor she isn’t abreast of.”

   I thought of my dear Xavier’s photographs; might she have sent one of her loyal maids into my room? Had they thumbed through my belongings? What had they reported back to their conniving mistress?

    “Well, I believe this is a bet I would be forced to welch on …”

   “Oh no, Ms. Wallace, it has turned into a sort of game. There is a bounty out. Any staff member who catches her leaving the hotel gets a full month’s salary. From time to time the manager sends her a phony telegram to get her to go to the train station or the embassy, and some even say the fire was started on purpose, to drive her out.”

   “This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” I replied.

   “We do things a little differently in Luxor,” said Sandy, in a strangely proud manner.

   “Indeed you do.” I paused for a moment. “You knew Bertram Archer?”

   Sandy’s stride faltered, and his tone was hollow when he next spoke. “Yes, quite. We were good friends. Truth be told, I was the one who had to send the dreadful message to his father that Archie was dead …” His words trailed off, and then his voice became normal again. “The chap who did him in was hanged pretty damn quick.”

   “Were the young Mr. Archer and Mr. Farber acquainted?” My question seemed almost rhetorical.

   “Onslow and Archie were the best of mates. How do you think Onslow got that plum job at the museum? Archie’s dad helped with that.” The smile on Sandy’s face ebbed away. “I don’t mean to tell stories out of school.”

   “Of course not. Just one more question. What of Bertram and Percy, were they friends?”

   “Oh no, they were rivals, always after the same kind of girl, or should I say female scoundrels …”

  Almost absentmindedly, I said, “I believe Mrs. Smith has supplied us with the correct name: Jezebels.”

   I looked at our dashing blond
dragoman
, momentarily disarmed by the twinkle in his blue eyes and that innocent, friendly smile of his, and wondered what more he had failed to mention to us.

Chapter Eight

Lucy and I dressed for dinner. She wore a lovely gown of purple satin, and I lent her my emerald earrings and necklace. I was dressed in my navy blue velvet gown, and ornamented with just a few gold bobbles. I felt rather smart in appearance.

   Taking Kinkaid at his word that I was unwelcomed by the members of the expedition team, I reserved a table for two in the Lapis Court.

   Upon entering the lavish dining room, one even grander than the Papyrus Court, I realized the meaning of its name. The walls were covered in rich paper the color of the night’s sky. Plush velvet curtains of dark blue hung from the many windows looking out toward the Nile; the glistening fabric was edged with golden tassels. 

   I looked down and saw that my lovely dress blended in perfectly with the grand room’s décor. As the steward pulled out my chair and I sat down at the table draped in dark blue cloth, I commented to Lucy, “It seems that I am
incognito
.”

   My dear friend gave me a bashful smile and mumbled something complimentary.

   After the wine was served, Lucy remarked, “I should have brought my notebook. We have so many suspects to discuss.”

   I was actually relieved that she had left her many notes behind. I wanted to clear my head of it all, just for a short time. While she viewed our business in Luxor as the outline for my next manuscript, I could not yet see the happenings around us quite so objectively. I was confident that Percy was dead, and I had every reason to believe his killer to be among the expedition team.

   With little tact, I attempted to make small talk. Lucy was generous, and no more mention of our mystery was made.

   Just as our salads were being served, the Smiths clamored into the dining hall and made their way straight to us.

   Speaking in unison, they greeted us, as two waiters rushed forward with chairs. Dr. Smith looked quite the different man dressed in a black tuxedo. Even the somewhat pudgy Wilma Smith looked smart in a simple black dress cut most modestly.

   The two, very pleasant, were skilled at producing much chatter that conveyed little information. No sooner had they placed their dinner orders, than Jacob Saunders arrived and started shoving a chair between Lucy and myself.

   “What a dinky table. Didn’t they know how many of us there would be?” The young Egyptologist pointed to a large empty table. “And look at that, Hazel’s spot isn’t even put to use while we eat like sardines.”

    Lucy offered the young man a piece of bread from the basket before her, but he waved it away. “No, thank you … Ms. Wallace, is it? Now once Alec and Martha arrive, we must be given a larger table. Alec has no control of his elbows, none whatsoever.” Jacob stood and started to call for a waiter.

   In a hushed voice, I said, “I very much doubt that the professor and his wife will join us …”

   To my surprise, the two entered the room. Stiffly, Kinkaid allowed his wife to lead him to the tiny table. The professor wore a black dinner jacket that was ill fitting and did not suit him. Martha, her black bangs dipping to her painted-on eyebrows, wore a scarlet gown with a plunging neckline. As I’m sure she intended, the effect was quite eye-catching.

   Once standing before the table, Martha cast me a demeaning glare as she said to no one in particular, “Is this some sort of joke; are we to take turns sitting?”

   Jacob pointedly ignored Martha and said, “I’ll get this solved, Alec.” He stormed off to see that we were moved.

   I was ever so embarrassed as we were all escorted to a larger table.

   Satisfied with himself, Jacob gave me a big smile and said, “Now that’s better.”

   Lucy looked about and asked, “What about Mr. Fox?”

   “Oh, he never joins us,” retorted Martha. “I don’t think he likes us. Mrs. Stayton, how did you come about employing him?”

   Alec glanced at me and looked away as I responded, “I read a number of his articles in
The Science and Archeology Chronicle Quarterly
. I rather fancied his style of writing. He made me feel as if I were there, wherever it was that he was writing about.”

   Martha remarked, lifting a glass of wine, “He’s a talented writer, but he’s a queer sort of fellow. Always taking notes, notes and notes and notes. Alec thought he was some sort of spy you sent to watch over us.” She raised her glass as if toasting us and then took a quick drink.

   I smiled and said, “If it puts your mind to ease, I have not received any personal correspondence from Mr. Fox.”

   Dr. Smith took the chance to change the subject. “Ladies, what do you think of Luxor?”

   Lucy gave a nervous chuckle and said, “We have not seen much of the city yet. We spent most of the afternoon with Hazel Keeley.”

   Professor Kinkaid’s jaw clenched, and his color darkened. I thought he was about to have another outburst, but he remained silent.

   Wilma shook her head. “Stay clear of that … Jezebel.” This last word was said in a stutter as she looked away from Martha.

   Dr. Smith ignored his wife and said, “Some are lucky at love, others at gambling—and Hazel certainly likes to play games.”

   Martha lifted her glass again. “Nice turn of a phrase, William.”

  The compliment caused him to squirm.

   Jacob, now sitting to my left, wore an ivory blazer over a white shirt, black bow tie, and black tuxedo pants. I had seen this done in pictures, but in person, the effect was striking.

   “Tell me, Mrs. Stayton,” began the young Egyptologist, “how long have you been a sleuth?”

   The ruggedly handsome fellow fixed his eyes on mine, and for an instant, I felt like a nervous schoolgirl. Jacob was not as dashing as my Xavier, but he did possess a certain charm.

   “Actually, my goal was to write a whodunit, but in the process, just last spring, I found myself caught up in a murder.”

   “I read about that business in the papers.
The butler did it,
what a laugh, you certainly couldn’t have ended your novel with that kind of tripe,” said Martha.

   I merely nodded my chin in reply.

   Jacob asked, “So you have no formal training in the field of detection?”

   “I can’t say that I do.” At the conclusion of my reply, the professor gave a little jerk as if he had been kicked from under the table, and then he and his wife exchanged glances.

   Lucy politely came to my defense. “She has a natural knack for detection; tell them what you pointed out to me before we came down for dinner, you know, about your sketches.”

   I felt a rather devious smile form on my face as I responded, “Ah, yes. I do see little details that others might ignore. For example, the broken lid to Kamose’s sarcophagus was never intended for a king. In fact, due to the lack of a beard, I believe it was made for a woman.”

     And then it was Jacob who reacted as if he’d been kicked under the table; he and the professor exchanged glances before Kinkaid spoke, nervously.

   “Mrs. Stayton, I’m sure it didn’t escape your attention that the lid was broken into many parts, as was the beard.”

  “No, the chin was rounded and polished,” I responded in a well-mannered tone.

   Martha pointed at me with her wineglass. “What an eye you have, dear. Maybe the lid belonged to that builder queen whom Jacob does so detest.”

   Jacob ignored Martha and said in a cheerful tone, “The lid, as with most of the items, had been usurped for Kamose’s use. The names and titles were altered, and the beard was added on after it had been carved for its original owner, perhaps a priest. The beard is there in the rubble, I can assure you.”

   “Maybe Percy ran off with the beard; there, Mrs. Stayton, how does that strike you?” asked Martha, sounding as if the alcohol had gone to her head, though her glass was still more than half full.

   The professor took his wife’s hand and squeezed it. “Martha, do—” but he had no more to say.

   The woman tore her hand from her husband’s grip and lashed out, “Do what, Alec, be silent, behave, what? We all know why Mrs. Stayton is here. A valuable mummy and a member of our team are both missing.”

   Kinkaid remained silent and pouted.

   Thank the Almighty, the waiters arrived to take the orders of those who had joined poor Lucy and me for supper.

   “I suspect that Kamose was first a regent and then a usurper of the crown. In fact, I wager he started the tomb he was buried in while he was regent. After he claimed the kingly titles for himself, he most likely began a new, grander tomb. After his brief stint of power, his successor saw fit to put Kamose in his original, unfinished crypt.”

   “That does make sense,” I told Jacob, after listening to his theory.

   Martha, who had limited her comments to disparaging remarks about the dinner, tapped the doctor on the shoulder. “I can’t take much more of this conversation. The orchestra is at least making some attempt tonight.”

   She stood, and hesitantly, Dr. Smith walked her to the dance floor.

   Perturbed, Wilma’s dark little eyes followed her husband as he cumbersomely danced about the floor with Martha and her scarlet dress held some distance away from him.

   Kinkaid tossed his napkin to the table and spoke for the first time since he had tried to control his wife. “The music is too loud for me; good night, all.”

   Had he more personality, he might have stormed from the room, but instead, the professor darted out of the way of two waiters, only to walk into a couple headed to the parquet to dance.

   Jacob smiled to me and said, “Would you like to dance, Mrs. Stayton?”

     I batted my eyelashes and said, “You are too kind; perhaps Lucy might …”

    Lucy jumped from her chair and said, “I would love to!”

   Jacob turned his smile to her and led my friend away.

   A moment passed before Wilma spoke to me while keeping her beady little eyes on her husband. “Alec is the finest man I know, after my William; the rest of them are all rot. I don’t know why he is so worked up by your visit. As for you, Mrs. Stayton, it’s the good Christian thing to do, to be worried over Percy, but he doesn’t deserve it.”

   “Why is that?”

   “He’s a dishonest man, an opportunist. I say good riddance to him.” She spoke freely, without her husband there to restrain her. 

   “Martha likes to shock people, doesn’t she?” I asked, following the woman’s gaze.

   Wilma looked to me hesitantly. “That she does; she has to, or no one would pay any mind to her.” The woman sighed. “I don’t know why Alec even married her. All he cares about is the stuff he digs from the ground. That’s wrong too, you know. They might be heathens, but that doesn’t make grave robbing right.”

   “Does your husband share your opinion?” I asked.

   “He can’t afford to.” There was a long pause, as if she had said something she had not meant to. “He’s loyal to Alec, yes, true friends.”

   I hesitated for just a moment, not wishing to put Wilma on her guard, and asked, “Tell me about the party, the night Percy was last seen.”

   Wilma’s dark eyes grew large. “What about it?’

    “Did Percy stay until the end of the party, or perhaps did he leave with anyone?”

   “First, he trailed after Mrs. Keeley, but they returned shortly. I saw him make eyes with Martha, so shameful, and then something caught his attention and he was gone.”

   “What was that?” I asked.

   “Something outside the smoking room; I guess someone in the lobby.”

   “Was anyone missing from the party?”

   She thought about my question and replied, “I’m not sure … I think the only one missing was my William …”

   The pudgy woman’s little dark eyes became quite nervous, and she sputtered out all sorts of excuses for her husband’s absence.

   After Jacob and Lucy had finished dancing, I made mention that the night was growing late.

   Jacob flashed me a toothy smile and then took Lucy by the hand and said, “What about a moonlit stroll in the gardens?”

   I could see that the idea appealed to her. “Go on, you two, make a night of it.”

   Before my friend could protest, I slipped away.

   Lucy had her gentleman friends in London, shiny-faced young men who took her to dinner and the cinema. Yet, she always put me first, and I worried that she was letting the potential for romance slip her by so that she could keep me company. I guess, rather selfishly, I let this happen more than I ought to have.

   While I knew that Jacob Saunders had lied to me about the mummy case, I trusted him to show Lucy a memorable evening.

    Stopping at the front desk, I asked for the room number belonging to Arthur Fox. As it turned out, he was just one floor below my own room. 

   Curious about him, I debated about stopping in on the fellow until I found that I was at his door. Timidly, I gave it a little knock.