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

by Robert Colton

  Jacob explained that they were part of a mortuary temple built to honor a long-dead king. He pointed along the bleak land stretching toward the Theban Hills and told us that a number of such temples had been built up and down the West Bank. There was very little left to see, just rocky foundations, barely emerging from the sands.

  “What happened to them?” asked Lucy.

  “Ramses the Great!” said Jacob with a scornful laugh. “He moved the capital of his kingdom up the Nile to the delta, and built his own grand city. In time, Thebes became impoverished, neglected. The temples were scavenged for their valuables; the priests abandoned the temples, as there were no longer alms to support them.” Jacob took a deep breath and sighed. “Time marched on, and the sands took back the land.”

  “That’s what happens, isn’t it? Even etched in stone, nothing lasts as intended,” I remarked, almost absentmindedly, as I thought of the empty little room in the museum and the plaque with my dear husband’s name engraved upon it.

  Jacob gave me an odd, uncomfortable glance.

  Lost in a strange melancholy, I vaguely listened as Lucy asked Jacob about the various temples that had once stood before us. Before I knew it, we were moving on.

  Jacob led us along a wide, well-traveled pathway. After what felt like a long stretch of time, I realized this was the dirt road Sandy had taken us. I hated to admit that my feet were getting sore, and I secretly began to miss the shiny black sedan.

  At last, with all the luscious green growth well out of view, we came to the plateau where the rickshaws had been waiting for Lucy and me. Much to my delight, the young Egyptologist had procured the use of three donkeys for us, instead of the Oriental contraptions.

  Lucy laughed and laughed as I struggled to climb atop the feisty creature selected for me. I thought I would have the last laugh once she was helped onto her animal, but this donkey was the vapid, docile type and turned out to be most agreeable.

  With the grace of a man well-traveled, Jacob eased onto his animal, and with one whistle, brought ours into line. We set off up the long path toward the Theban Hills.

  Lucy pointed toward the left of the direction we were headed and said, “Sandy took us that way. How far is King Tut’s tomb from Kamose’s?”

  Jacob made a scoffing sound and replied, “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck on those steps carved from the stone; it’s the quickest shortcut, but it’s awfully dangerous that way.” He paused for a moment and then answered the rest of Lucy’s query: “Both Tutankhamen’s and Kamose’s tombs are in the East Valley, I’d say no more than seven hundred feet from each other. Kamose’s is located at the very end of the valley, as it curves to the southeast.”

  While the rickshaws had led us up a steep, narrow path, Jacob’s route took us along a more gradual way. We rode in silence for some time; surrounded by orange stone, cut into a gorge by natural forces far more ancient and powerful than the kings of Egypt.

  The sight was incredible. It seemed impossible that I was still on God’s earth. I was far, far away in a place that I had clearly imagined, yet seeing it in person, could not believe.

  Gently sauntering down the wide pathway, the canyon opened into a valley with many spider webs of patted-down walkways. At various points along the hills that climbed upward, tombs opened into the ground. Most were sealed, but one was quite busy.

  Jacob helped me off my donkey, and then Lucy. We began walking toward a flurry of activity, when a booming voice called out.

  The speaker was a thickset native, dressed in a dirty kaftan. I could not understand the man, but his voice sounded most hostile.

  Fluent enough, Jacob proceeded to converse with the man, and then quite obviously, the conversation escalated into an argument.

  Crestfallen, Jacob turned to Lucy and me and said, “I’m so sorry, but the foreman won’t let ladies into the tomb.”

  A familiar voice called out from the rocky hill above. Holding the top of my pith helmet as I swung my head upward, I saw our own foreman, Hat Tem, scrambling down toward us; a young Caucasian man followed on the native’s heels, although with less grace.

  Hat Tem gave Lucy and me a quick smile, and then quite obviously berated the fellow who would not let us peer inside the famous tomb.

  While these men held an exotic argument, Jacob glared at the fellow who had accompanied our foreman. Suddenly realizing his manners, Jacob gave a little jolt and said, “Mrs. Stayton, Lucy, this is Ernest Gibson.”

  The young man, with dull dark eyes and very regular features, showed little interest in us. With an English accent, he asked formally, but without care, “How do you do?”

  I merely nodded, while Lucy gave him a warm greeting that was ignored.

  Hat Tem’s voice rose to a thunderous pitch and then he spit on the ground before the other foreman.

  Jacob clapped his hands and said, “We had best push off. I think Hat Tem just cursed this gent’s bloodline for a thousand generations.”

  The fellow named Gibson gave us a nod and remained rooted in his spot. From the corner of my eye, I could see that he was watching us from the corner of his own eye as we walked on.

  Once we had gone a little distance from the argument, I asked, “What was Hat Tem doing with that fellow?”

  Jacob gave a snort. “He was trying to badger him into letting you two into the tomb.”

  “Yes, I realize that, Mr. Saunders. What I meant was, what was Hat Tem doing in the company of this Gibson fellow?”

  Jacob’s steps came to a sudden halt. “Despite the lack of any formal training, Gibson flatters himself and claims to be an Egyptologist. He worked for Alec a few years ago, but he was dismissed.” The man let out a heavy, and somewhat rehearsed, sigh, “I suppose that Hat Tem might have been asking him for work. After Kamose’s tomb is cleared and the season is over, there are no guarantees for next season. Of course, I would employ him … if I find a backer.”

  Despite being turned away from the Boy King’s tomb, Jacob led us on a marvelous trip through the East Valley. I must admit, riding on the donkey was my favorite part of the adventure. Xavier had always exhibited a childlike love of animals. How he would have adored riding a donkey into the Valley of the Kings, like a true adventurer.

  This thought caused me to reach for my snuff case from my purse as Lucy and I were escorted to a table in the hotel restaurant.

  The steward slowed his pace, as Lucy and I were both rather sore from our outing. I was robbed of any remaining strength when I saw the Smiths waving to us from the otherwise empty table that we were headed to. I forced a pleasant smile, and we sat down with the couple.

  Wilma’s beady eyes fixed on me, and she said, “You got some sun today.”

  I glanced at Lucy and envied her perfect sun-kissed skin, knowing that my face was blotched with freckles from our adventure with Jacob.

  Lucy took care of the tedious small talk, and I nodded appropriately from time to time. Jacob joined us just as drinks were being served, and an instant later the Kinkaids took their places.

  Martha, dressed in scarlet, was eyeing the extra seat at the table as her husband asked Jacob, in a tone that was a little less than friendly, “Where were you today?”

  Jacob chuckled and replied, “I took the ladies for a little tour of the East Valley.”

  Martha and Alec exchanged glances. Before anything could be said, Arthur appeared and took the last seat.

  The journalist’s appearance surprised everyone. Wilma couldn’t stop fussing with her napkin, and Dr. Smith scooted his chair an inch away from the lean fellow.

  Martha, bold as ever, commented, “Mr. Fox, so you do know where the dining room is.”

  Smiling awkwardly, Arthur replied, “Mrs. Stayton invited me.”

  After our orders were taken, Martha looked to me and asked, “So, Jacob dragged you around the tombs; did you enjoy yourselves?”

  “Oh, yes, it was all quite fascinating,” I replied.

  Lucy added, “We nearly saw ins
ide the tomb of King Tut.”

  Jacob gave a snort and remarked, “That foreman of Howard’s wouldn’t let them in, damned fellow.” I noticed his eyes fix on Alec’s as he concluded, “I was surprised to see Hat Tem was loitering around there with Gibson.”

  Alec was about to respond, but his wife quite intentionally spoke first, “Sexists! Remember that business when the antiquities people tried to ban women from entering the tombs?”

  Wilma shook her pudgy head. “We have no business inside them anyway …”

  “Yes, I know, we are all grave robbers; pray for our souls, Mrs. Smith,” said Jacob as he lifted his glass in a mock toast.

  Martha gave a great sigh and remarked, “This country is really rather backward when it comes to how they treat women, but what can you expect? The king keeps his wife locked up at the palace, like some sort of harem woman. Imagine that, especially in this day and age, where, in America, women can now vote!”

  Lucy added, “They say Parliament is considering giving women the vote too.”

  Arthur spoke up, “Mrs. Stayton, you’re still an American citizen; have you voted?”

  I shrank a bit in my chair. “No, I have only been back to the States once since we were given the vote.”

  Arthur nodded agreeably, but there was something disapproving in his manner.

  Playing her part, Martha pulled her glass of wine from her lips and remarked, “What does one wear to vote?”

  The woman was rewarded with polite guffaws.

  While the professor brooded in silence, the others around the table shared snippets of gossip. Wilma captured Lucy’s attention and lectured her on the importance of avoiding sin. Arthur and I carried on a pleasant conversation on the topic of traveling and living away from the States. It seemed to me the writer was rather homesick.

  After dinner was served, Jacob asked Lucy if she would enjoy a dance. To my surprise, she very politely declined. He took her hand and gave it a soft kiss, said a few words in French, and sauntered off.

  Both tired from our long day, Lucy and I retired for the evening. Once apart from the group, I remarked, “I haven’t had a moment alone with you all day. How was the rest of the evening with Jacob?”

  As we climbed the stairs with aching legs, Lucy smiled and said, “He’s quite dashing, and when he puts his mind to it, very charming.” She gave a sad little sigh. “It is a shame he is so transparent.”

  “Transparent?” I remarked, though, of course, I knew what she meant.

  “He thinks he is going to seduce me with his charm, and I will convince you to sponsor him next season on his own expedition,” responded my dear friend.

  I was very proud of Lucy’s rational intellect. She was pretty, quiet, and polite, which often left her intelligence overlooked. Still, she was not one to be underestimated.

  Lucy and I parted and went to our separate rooms. I had only just changed into my well-worn dressing gown when there was a sharp rap at my door.

  I was surprised to find Martha standing in the hall, so surprised that I stared at her blankly until she said, “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  Finding my voice, I halfheartedly welcomed her into my room. She looked about the tastefully appointed sitting room, and her eyes fell on a framed photograph of Xavier, sitting on the writing table.

  Martha gazed curiously at my husband’s image, and this, I did not care for. With a sharp tone, I said, “You wanted to speak to me?”

  Martha’s intelligent eyes fixed on mine, and her façade was missing when she said, “We must seem a rotten lot to you. Well, I guess we are. My dear Alec has become paranoid; the pressure of success, I suppose.

  “I’ll admit, he was hesitant to be financed by a woman. It made him uneasy; when your Mr. Farber sent Percy to us, and then you sent Arthur, that didn’t help matters.”

  The woman gave me an almost natural smile and shrugged before she said, “When you strolled in for tea, decked out in that ridiculous costume, I thought Alec would realize you were just a harmless idiot. Instead, he raised his back to you, and just look at where that has gotten all of us.”

  With an icy tone, I asked, “You thought I was a harmless idiot?”

  Martha nodded her head. “I still do; that’s why I have come to set you straight. Whatever you think of us, you would be wise to fund Jacob next season—”

  My ill temper toward the woman got the better of me, and I cut her off to say, “Has Jacob taken Percy’s place as your current paramour?”

  Martha shot back, “No, the boy despises me. However, Alec says he has a bright future. I don’t want to see him outdone by Gibson.”

  I suspected this former assistant of the professor’s had also been one of Martha’s dalliances, but I made no mention of my suspicions. “Until Percy’s disappearance is explained and Kamose has been found, I am incapable of pondering a future investment.”

  Martha let out a long breath and said, “I understand” then started toward the door.

  I stopped her departure by asking, “The night of the party, when did you last see Percy?”

  The woman closed her eyes and thought about the events, slowly, she replied, “It was late, very late. He and William had some sort of spat; poor William had been drinking. I’m afraid he might have even confronted Percy about … the two of us. William is a dear thing like that.”

  “Percy left after this confrontation?”

  “I can’t say yes to that; however, I don’t recall seeing him afterward.” She started to turn back to the door.

  “Did you give Percy a note, asking him to meet you later that night?” I asked in an emotionless tone.

  Very slowly, Martha turned around and looked me in the eyes. “I was going to, but the night ran late. Alec was not himself, and Percy was … distracted. How did you know that I had written him a note?”

  I stepped over to the writing desk and took the folded sheet of stationery. Handing the note to Martha, I told her a little lie. “This was found in Percy’s room.”

  Arthur’s suggestion that Martha was in fact a chaste wife, only looking for attention, resonated as I watched her skin turn red as her eyes studied the note.

  Martha crushed the letter into a tight ball and held it to her bosom. “It couldn’t have been in his room. I never gave this to him … I threw it away.”

  In a soft tone, and free of the spite Martha so easily provoked, I suggested, “Perhaps this time you should burn the letter.”

  The woman nodded her head and slipped out of my room.

  Hazel Keeley had lied to me. Why implicate Martha as the last person to be in Percy’s company unless she had been jealous of her?

  I glanced to the two photographs of Xavier and envisioned a maid studying the images, then I imagined the same maid, Hazel’s spy, sifting through Martha’s trash basket, eager to find any little object that might interest her mistress.

  A cold chill ran down my spine. Suddenly, the hotel room seemed quite dirty, as if I had just witnessed a dark, shiny bug with many little legs run across the bedspread.

  Chapter Ten

  Lucy and I ate our breakfast and watched as a group of local men, dressed in fine suits and fez caps, paid court to Hazel at her preferred table.

  I reflected on the stories of the current Egyptian queen and how her husband was said to keep her sequestered in their palace. Hazel seemed to live a similar life. Surrounded by opulence, every need met, a curiosity for the public, and bound in place.

  It seemed a sham to me, not a life at all. She existed, but she did not live.

  Lucy was just asking me what I had in mind for the day when a pageboy appeared and told me that I was urgently requested at the front desk.

  Lucy and I tossed our linen napkins to the table, and off we went.

  We found Jacob Saunders standing at the front desk, holding a telegram. He and Lucy glanced at each other bashfully, and then he said, “Put your peepers on this, Mrs. Stayton.”

  For Lucy’s benefit, I read the mes
sage aloud, “Saunders, stop. I thought you should know that I am in Rotterdam. Stop. Took a job here. Stop, I thought it would be easier for everyone else if I left. Stop. Share this with whom you like; it is of no matter to me. Stop.”

  Jacob smiled and said, “Mystery solved.”

  I waved the sheet of paper about and said, “Really, Mr. Saunders? I thought you of all people would know a fake when you saw it.”

  The man’s handsome smile contorted. He was having difficulty putting together a response.

  There was quite a commotion at the nearby entrance. A voice cried my name, and I turned to look.

  “They found him; they found him!” called Martha Kinkaid.

  “Found whom?” asked Jacob.

  Martha barked at the fellow behind the front desk, “Call my husband, hurry! Tell him to get down here.”

  “Oui, Madam.”

  Jacob stared coldly at Martha, who yelled for the two porters at the door, “This way, come, come.” She looked to us. “Oh, do they understand a damned word I’m saying?”

  A moment later, a dull grey metal chest was lowered to the marble floor by two young Egyptians in railroad porter attire.

  Martha started to open her red leather handbag but then paused. “Jacob, tip the boys and then send them off.”

  Jacob gave a grunt, but followed the orders.

  Dr. Smith and his wife appeared from the hallway and quickened their pace when they saw us.

  Despite the long metal box on the floor, Dr. Smith pointed at the telegram in my hand and asked, “What is that?”

  Jacob replied, “The old cad bolted after all.”

  Handing the telegram to Dr. Smith, I asked Jacob, “Why would he send the message to you?”

  “Who else would he? Maybe Arthur? Certainly not Alec, and he wasn’t too fond of … the Smiths.”

  Both of the Smiths shot me a nervous smile. William read the message rather quickly and said, “Why, Wilma, you are right; he’s off to the Netherlands.”

  Breathless, Kinkaid flew down the grand staircase and joined us. He looked at the metal box with strange suspicion. “What is this about?”