Murder Most Egyptological (A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

last, Luxor.
       Truth be told, my decision to travel by airplane was partially inspired by Charles Lindbergh. This young man had done the incredible. I think my Xavier would have been inspired by the feat. I wasn’t so much flying for myself as I was for my dear husband.
       I will admit that, of course, there was a secondary reason for traveling by airplane. I had been banned from sailing on my preferred liner, and while Lucky Lindy’s name had graced the newspapers for his accomplishment, mine had been sullied by the same journalist as though I were some sort of crack pot who tried to sink the RMS Olivia . For this bad press, I doubted that the other reputable liner sailing from South Hampton would have me on board either.
       Our new friend pulled his dented pocket watch from his vest and said, “Shouldn’t be long now.” Rather obviously, he looked to Lucy’s hands and then mine. Directing his question to me, he asked, “Meeting your husband in Egypt, then, are you?”
       Lucy gave a little shudder and I a great sigh.
         “I am a widow.”
      The man made a clicking sound with his tongue as he grimaced. “Oh, you poor lady, what happened to the brave soul?”
       I was curious as to the thought process that one went through before asking this sensitive question, which is no one’s business but my own. I almost asked the fellow why he felt entitled to an answer; instead I told him, “My husband was an adventurer, you know the type. He set off to see Alaska. As he and his guide were canoeing down a stream, a great mass of salmon were surging up the stream. Upon collision, the canoe was overturned, and my poor dear husband was swept under the salmon with no chance of survival. His guide made it to the shore but was trampled by a moose before he could get away for help.” I dabbed a handkerchief at the corner of my eye and concluded, “Finding myself at restaurants and told that the special is surf and turf, I nearly go into hysterics.”
       The fellow’s jaw began to move from side to side. What could one reply to such a ridiculous story? His eyes focused somewhere in the large open waiting room, and he said, with much relief, “Ah, there’s the chap I’m supposed to fetch. Pardon, me, and ah … have a safe trip, ladies.”
       We nodded politely, and then the man bolted away calling out, “Birdy, Birdy Ralston, over here!”
       Curious, we watched the handful of travelers who had just arrived walk through the terminal. I leaned into Lucy and said cheerfully, “See, none of them look any worse for the trip.”
       Lucy gave a queer laugh and said, “How do we know what they looked like back in France?”
       A chipper lad of perhaps fifteen appeared before us and said, “My name is Peter. I’m the cabin attendant for your flight. May I escort you, ladies?” And with a well-practiced gesture, he indicated the way to the glass doors looking onto the paved runway.

Chapter Three
     
    With some hesitation, Lucy followed me outside and toward the airplane. It was not as large as I had thought it would be. Also to my surprise, much of it was made from wood, rather than metal. In magazine photographs, unable to see color, I assumed all airplanes to be made of the silvery metal like the toy planes I had sent my nephews for their most recent birthdays.
       I suppose wooden construction made for a light craft, but well, really, wood? Our sedan and my dear husband’s roadster were built of metal, and this made them quite durable.
       I said nothing. Lucy was upset enough. Instead, with a smile on my face, we boarded the airplane. The entrance was just past the center. To the rear of the craft was storage for the cargo, primarily mail to be distributed across the British Empire, and toward the front of the vessel was the small passenger section.
       I felt a little quiver in my chest as my eyes took in the accommodations. A very narrow aisle led past eight wicker chairs to the