Murder Most Egyptological (A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery Book 3) by Robert Colton Read Free Book Online Page B

have?”
       “An excellent question,” I remarked.
       Arthur Fox leaned forward from his seat and asked, “Is that why you are here, Mrs. Stayton, to find out what has happened to Huston?”
       “That and to see what became of King Kamose’s mummy,” I answered.  
       Kinkaid’s protégé remarked, “I very much doubt that there is a correlation. Huston was on odd sort, a bit of a troublemaker. This time, he got himself in a pickle he couldn’t get out of and took the train to anywhere.”
       It struck me that Jacob Saunders’s words were rather rehearsed.
       Martha Kinkaid raised a petite sandwich to her lips, but before taking a bite, she said, “Mrs. Stayton, it’s such a shame to spoil our repast; come now, I’ve read a whodunit or two, you need to get us all alone and question us individually before you find out the dirty truth of the matter.” She smiled and then popped the morsel of food between her red-painted lips.
       A nervous chuckle was shared by the group, and I nodded my chin.

Chapter Five
     
    Lucy and I slept like logs, exhausted by our journey. Still, we rose early and had a light breakfast.
       Gazing around the opulent café, Lucy remarked, “I am still surprised that the expedition team resides here. They are certainly living high on the hog.”
       Though her statement was true, it pained me that the only American expressions Lucy had learned from me seemed to all mention farm animals.
       “It does strike me as peculiar. In that novel with the little brainy detective, the archeologists all lived in tents near the dig site,” I said agreeably.
       Lucy tapped her notebook at her side. “We have some colorful characters to work from.”
       I nodded my chin and replied, “Perhaps too colorful.”     
    Once through with breakfast, we returned to our rooms to change. Afterward, all kitted out for a desert trek, we found Sandy sitting in the hotel lobby, reading a newspaper.
       Clad in rugged khaki attire, he jumped up and greeted us. “Mrs. Stayton, Ms. Wallace, may the goddesses of Egypt bless you on this fine morning.”
       Lucy tittered, and I remarked, “I prefer the blessings of our own Lord and Savior, but thank you all the same.”
       Sandy stifled a queer laugh and said, “Well, it is Sunday morning, isn’t it? Don’t worry, you’ll be receiving a blessing or two.”
       I might have asked what he meant, but we were following him as he quickly crossed the lobby, and then we started down the curved staircase to the street level.
       The morning sun was ever so bright, and I was momentarily blinded after gazing at the dazzling Nile River just a short distance away.
       Locals in fine suits and crimson fez caps mingled with all manner of Europeans about the many kiosks on the street. Lucy and I spied the items for sale: fans made from feathers, flywhisks made from what looked to be horse tails, many trinkets that resembled Egyptian artifacts.
       Sandy was just far enough ahead of us that, without warning, Lucy and I were swarmed by a group of young Egyptian children. Dressed in rags and with grubby hands held open, they started shouting out to us, “Baksheesh, baksheesh, baksheesh!”
       Sandy rounded on them and started yelling and flinging his hands about. Several of the urchins scattered, but the braver remained.
       Even without interpretation, I knew what they wanted. As I reached into the sturdy handbag I’d had made for the journey, the remaining children called out again, “Baksheesh, baksheesh, baksheesh.” And those Sandy had frightened off returned.
       Our guide cleared his throat and said, somewhat condescendingly, “My dear Mrs. Stayton, if you give these ragamuffins money, you’ll never be rid of them.”
       I nodded my chin at the fellow and proceeded to hand each child an American penny, from a little coin purse. Each child delightfully inspected the copper coin and then ran off